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passivenovember · 4 years ago

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Sometimes I get really high and cry about how I don’t have anything from my childhood home. So here’s this.

WARNINGS FOR: mentions of suicide, Billy healing from the incident at Starcourt.

He’s never been fed by what is inherently sentimental. Even as a little boy, those precious creatures that lived on the highest shelf in his heart were easily destroyed or ripped away by the person he was becoming. Stuffed toys fell to pieces under the heat of his anger, the toxic potion that was brewing under the surface of his skin ate away at the rose-colored hue surrounding his childhood home to the point of absolute degradation.

Billy doesn't remember a time when he longed for the sanctity of his bedroom. For the pale yellow sunlight streaming past blood stained Thomas the Train curtains, or the box of broken toys that Neil had left alone. He doesn't remember when it happened, when the flip switched and his longing went from missing Saturday morning cartoons in his parents bed to simply missing his mother and all the things she had taken when she jumped off the roof.

It wasn't always like that. Billy remembers something else. He remembers a blanket that smelled like cinnamon toast crunch, adorned with microscopic holes he liked to such his thumb through. He remembers a set of roller blades the color of crushed mustard seeds; Neil taught him to skate. No one knows that, no one remembers, but Billy. Does, he. Remembers strong fingers laced with his own, holding tightly while Billy figured out how to maneuver the cracks in the sidewalk.

Billy is haunted by a time when his fathers hands were good for other things.

Before Hawkins. Before that night when the demon punched a hole through his chest, Billy had been giving things away. To lighten the load, he supposes, that which had become unbearable.

First it was his skateboard.

Max wanted it.

At the time he didn't think it was as simple as all that; his bitchy kid sister begging, day in and day out for access to the magic carpet that sat entombed in Billy's closet. He hadn't used it in years, ever a slave to the bright blue ocean, but it didn't matter. It was the principal of the thing, the skateboard to his kneecap.

Max took and took and took until Billy had nothing left to give. She said you don't even use it anymore and Billy said doesn't matter, you can't skate.

Neil told him it could be good for bonding.

Neil told him Max was a good kid, she deserved to have something of her own in their house on Willowbrook Avenue.

Neil told him to hand it over before I stick it up your ass, kid.

So Billy ground his teeth together and tried to push down the aching emptiness at tossing away the last thing his grandmama had given him before she passed away. It was the principal of the thing--if Ruthann were still around she'd tell him to let the kid have it. Let her have something of her own, so. He polished its bearings and left it outside her bedroom door, pretended to read until she came knocking an hour later with confusion twisting her freckled face to shit.

You're sure I can have it. She asked.

And.

Yeah. I'll teach you.

He wonders if Max remembers those afternoons in the driveway that morphed into weekends at the skatepark with Max scuffing up the wheels and Billy tapping into his thin line of patience. Wonders if she's plagued by the memory of hidden smiles and misplaced affection, because. Billy had thought it would hurt more, giving away a piece of his childhood like that, but. He had long since stopped attaching emotional worth to things that broke. Things that crumbled.

He wonders if Max remembers a time when his hands were good for other things.

Billy made a habit of throwing away the things that weighed him down.

The skateboard, the blanket that smelled like cereal milk, he thought all of it made him weak. The more shit he had that mattered to him the more he had to lose, so. Every Spring Billy would wrap his fingers around the mouth of a big black trash bag and lighten his load. Scoop armfuls of his childhood into the abyss that always, somehow, incredibly operated as a portal to Max's room.

Sometimes he wondered if she even had a personality or if everything she had, everything she was, came directly from Billy's dumpster.

One man's trash, and all that.

She wore his old shirts. Read his books, hung discarded posters of naked chick's on the insides of her closet doors for some fucking reason, and. In a weird way Billy felt like maybe he was being immortalized. Every phase of his life was shone back at him like the surface of a lake, or a shiny new penny on the dashboard of the Camaro, and he felt good. Useful, for his trash becoming someone's gold.

So Billy kept tossing things out.

Reorganizing and downsizing until his room looked like a generic movie set for a troubled teen. Every weekend Billy packed the little pieces of himself into neat trash bags, tying the lip closed and leaving them for max. Nestled at the foot of her door, like a bargain brand Christmas gift that was not at all what she had asked for. Gifts that came 52 times a year.

The bags always vanished. Billy felt heavy and light. Heavy and light. In the end he wasn't sad to see it go.

Maybe it was just a side effect of growing up in the big, empty house on the hill and fighting the incessant need to fill it with shit but Steve Harrington was a packrat. The kid never got rid of anything. Before Starcourt. Before that night when the demon punched a hole through his chest, Billy would tease him about it.

What, like you need five binders full of empty laminate pages?

Steve's tongue would poke out of the corner of his mouth while his fingertips brushed the offended plastic. I'm going to start scrapbooking.

And that was is usual way, to find an explanation, a inarguable reason for all the junk in his life, but.

Billy thought it was okay to have things around for comfort.

Wasn't really his style, but it was Steve's and Billy didn't stop the kid from collecting whatever he could get those slim fingers on. Old NATARI cartages, broken HAM radio antenna's, torn polaroid's, annual Moms of Loch Nora Bake sale t-shirts; he kept everything in case an old timey push mower could prove itself to be useful.

Before that night when the demon punched a hole in his chest, Billy would smirk. What sad sack wants a MILF's face on his chest?

Steve just shrugged his shoulders. Someone could need it.

And Billy just snorted, because.

Harrington's a weird guy.

Thoughtful and pretty and so, so fucking weird.

When they brought Billy home from the hospital he slept in a shirt with Karen Wheelers face on it, every night for a week.

Funny how it all comes back around.

He spends a lot of time in bed with the covers pulled up under his chin. Draped in Steve's ridiculous knit sweaters and thick woolen socks because everything is cold, now. As if winter has settled rough and desperate into the very marrow of his bones and even though the fabric rubs too harshly against the healing rise of his stitched skin, Billy can't shed even a single layer for fear of freezing to death.

That's what it had felt like Before Starcourt. Before the monster punched a hole through his chest, when it just had its fingers inside his skull.

Endless winter.

Steve buys every type of heated blanket on the market. Searches high and low for expensive down t-shirts that will help you feel more comfortable, but. Billy doesn't even remember what that's supposed to feel like.

Steve says comfort feels like sleeping in on Saturday mornings because you don't have anywhere to be. Home sounds like your mother fixing pancakes just before lunch time but--oh. Everyone always remembers half a second too late. Billy tries to smile, tries to accept the help Steve gives him--he wears the sweaters and keeps the socks on after his morning bath even though he's not really a sock person because Steve is so hopeful.

Bright.

Steve smiles over the mug of hot cocoa he fixes Billy every morning and hopes. If we start the day warm, who knows?

Billy doesn't have the heart to tell him.

Steve spends a lot of time in bed. Plastered to Billy's skin--chest to back because Billy needs to feel like he's protecting something, after Starcourt. After that night when the demon punched a hole through his chest.

Sometimes Billy feels like Maxine.

Stealing bits and pieces from someone's garbage can. Here he is, sleeping in Steve's bed wearing Steve's clothes taking up such a large part of Steve's life, and.

Pretty Boy just snuggles closer and lends his warmth in more ways than one.

Billy doesn't always know how to handle it when those milky brown eyes watch him roll around under the covers until his body finally feels at peace. Every night Billy closes his eyes says the same thing. "I can be out of here by next week, if you--" Afraid to look for fear that he'll see relief reflected back at him.

Every night Steve says the same thing in return. "You're my whole world now, Billy."

As if that's supposed to get the car back on track. As if Billy hasn't veered off the road and crashed into a tree every single day since--

"Maybe it would make you feel better if, you know." Steve shuffles impossibly closer, the hot line of him charring Billy's skin even through the layers of wool. "If you had something familiar."

"You're familiar."

Steve's flesh burns even hotter. Eyes shining even bright, at that. Something almost like love. "I meant something from your childhood."

Billy rolls onto his side.

Steve moves with him without even thinking about it--chest to back because Steve needs to feel useful, after Starcourt. After that night when Billy hit the floor and the light went out of his eyes. Billy's chest rises against the palm of Steve's hand, where it's pressed against him. Steve will never get tired of that motion.

"I don't have anything from my childhood."

Which. "Not even at home?"

"This is home now." Billy sounds like he doesn't want to talk about it, but.

Steve can't bring himself to care. Or maybe stop caring. "I meant at Neil's."

"Got rid of all that shit." He can hear the tremor in Steve's voice, when the boy finally finds it.

"Neil got rid of your--"

"No." Billy says simply. "I did."

He can hear the wheels turning in that beautiful head. Steve swallows, the movement palpable in the thick night air. "But. Don't you miss it?"

After a while Billy shakes his head in the darkness, curls catching on the plaid pillowcase. It takes Steve a moment to decipher what it means, how it makes him feel that Billy can so easily toss away the things that no longer serve him.

They're quiet for a while. So long that Billy's breathing goes deep and even, a clear indicator that he's fallen asleep. Steve knows it won't last long, knows the nightmares wake him up, and.

Steve always stays awake through the first three to give Billy something familiar to hold onto.

#harringrove #idk what this is lol

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octothorpetopus · 4 years ago

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Yesterday Came Suddenly (Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid)

A disastrous car accident changes four lives forever.

A/N: this has a happy ending, I promise!

Tags: @rxseinbloom @cha0ticbisexual @starsandsupernovae @agenthotchner @ange-must-die

With the way both of them drove, it was a wonder it had never happened sooner. That being said, it wasn’t either of their faults, not Derek’s behind the wheel or Hotch’s in the passenger seat. It was no one’s fault when a deer came out of nowhere and Derek swerved on instinct, wrenching the wheel right without remembering they were riding the edge of a cliff. He slammed the brakes, but it didn’t matter, they already had enough momentum to carry them over the edge. The car was weightless for a moment, a moment that seemed to last forever. But the moment did end, and the car tipped, glass and metal crunching where they hit earth, first on the front right, then turning so they were rolling, rolling way too fast down the side of the hill, shattered glass flying as the world turned in a nightmarish carousel. It seemed like they rolled for hours down that hill, although it was probably only seconds. They never really knew, because Hotch was knocked unconscious upon first impact, and Derek smashed his forehead against the steering wheel sometime after that. At some point between blacking out and waking up, the car came to a stop, thankfully right side up. Derek woke with a start, gasping for air as if he was drowning. For a moment, he didn’t know what had happened, and all he felt was warm, sticky blood dripping onto his cheeks from a wound over his eye. Then the pain from his legs hit him, and he squeezed his fists so tight he felt the skin on his palms break, but it didn’t matter, it wasn’t anywhere near his legs. When the pain subsided (still, only slightly), he opened his eyes, and at first saw everything through a haze of red. Every window was completely shattered, but the cab of the SUV had held up surprisingly well. The hood, or at least as much as he could see, was crumpled, and the roof was full of dents, but the airbags and seatbelts had saved them from the almost certain death. They’d both have concussions, and Derek was fairly certain his nose was broken, but he was awake and alert, which was a good sign. His hands shook almost comically as he patted himself down. He’d have bruises where the seatbelt cut into his shoulder and waist, but his upper body was mostly fine. His legs, though, were a different story. His left leg bent nauseatingly at mid-thigh. Broken. The lower part of his right leg hung loosely from the knee. Definitely broken. With wavering hands, Derek unbuckled his seatbelt, wincing as it snapped across his bruised ribs. That was the first time he noticed Hotch. Hotch was still passed out, his chin resting on his chest. Derek couldn’t see much of Hotch, except that his left shoulder was sharply out of place and his face was dotted with tiny red cuts where the shattered window had slashed his face.

“Hotch.” He reaches over as much as he could to shake Hotch’s leg. “Hotch. Wake up, come on, Hotch, wake up!” Hotch woke in much the same way Derek had, panting and gasping for air.

“What- what happened?” His eyes scanned the car wildly before coming to meet Derek’s, and they were more terrified than Derek had ever seen him.

“There was… there was a deer, I think. In the road. I swerved, and we must have gone over the edge. The car’s pretty busted up. I’m mostly fine- well, no. Both my legs are broken. Other than that, I’ve got some bruises, a broken nose, probably a concussion, and possibly a broken finger. You look like you’ve got a dislocated shoulder, can you see what else?” Hotch, still slightly bewildered, unbuckled his seatbelt with his right hand.

“My legs are a little bruised up, and so’s my face, but my shoulder looks like it’s the only-“ he went silent, and Derek’s heart dropped.

“What?” He followed Hotch’s gaze down to his stomach, where a growing patch of red surrounded a narrow cut in his shirt. Gingerly, Hotch pulled the fabric away. A cut surrounded by glittering pieces of glass was leaking blood, having previously been camouflaged by the seatbelt. It didn’t look like it went all the way through, but there was already a significant amount of blood.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Hotch’s head fell back against the headrest. “Wait. Can you get your cell?” Derek found his phone on the console, but it was completely busted.

“Try yours.” With his okay hand, Hotch pulled his out of his pants pocket.

“No. It must have gotten crushed between me and the door.”

“Damn it.” If Derek had been any less practical of a person, he would have started crying. He certainly felt like it. But crying wouldn’t help Hotch, who was bleeding out from his stomach. “Hotch, we have to fix your arm if we’re going to have any hope or stopping the bleeding.”

“Okay. Do you know how to do that?”

“I’ve had some first aid training. But I’m also your only shot.” Hotch didn’t hesitate.

“Do it.” Derek turned as much as he could, giving a muffled cry as his legs burned under him. He braced one hand against Hotch’s ribs and grabbed his shoulder in the other. “I’m gonna count to three, and then you’re gonna say ‘wishbone’. Got it?” Hotch nodded, on the verge of hyperventilating but still somehow making an effort to stay calm.

“One… two… three…”

“Wishbone!” Hotch yelped as his shoulder cracked back into place.

“You good?” Hotch, panting, nodded. “You’ll need a better fix down the road, but that’s not our most pressing issue.” Derek, attaining with the effort, pulled off his leather jacket and hoodie. He handed Hotch the hoodie. “I need you to put pressure on the cut. I’m not sure, but the glass might have cut your aorta. If it did, we’re going to have a problem. I would get you out of there and try to hold pressure myself, but my legs-“

“Don’t worry about it, Morgan.” Hotch held the hoodie to his stomach. “We should get those legs set.”

“How?”

“I could try to find some sticks or something-“

“Hotch, you can’t go anywhere.”

“Give me your jacket.” Hotch, still holding the hoodie to his stomach, wrapped the jacket around it, holding the hoodie in place. “Voila,” he said, wincing.

“That’s not gonna last.”

“No, but there’s a first aid kit in the back. I’ll help you get your legs set, then you help me.” Hotch got out of the car, but didn’t shut the door. “There are a few trees down here, I should be able to get decently sized branches and make some splints.” Wobbling slightly, he walked away, disappearing into the underbrush. Derek sighed and sat back, waiting for him to return. Their phones were both dead, and depending on how much damage they’d taken internally, it was possible the trackers could have been destroyed. The same went for the car’s GPS. So if their electronic tracking was out the window, then what? They had been en route to the unsub’s house from the police station. JJ and Rossi had been interviewing the latest victim’s family one last time when Hotch had called and told them where to go. Emily and Reid had been at the coroner. The road that Hotch and Morgan had been driving on was a narrow road along a ravine, which they were now at the bottom of. No one else had been coming from the same direction, so there was no chance of anyone just seeing them on their way. It hadn’t been very long, but it was probably long enough that someone had realized something was up, and once they realized they couldn’t get in contact, it would be an all-out search. That being said, they wouldn’t worry about them until they arrested their unsub, which could be another hour or more, if he ran. And even once they realized something was wrong, they would have to search a significant amount of road. It was possible they could be stranded at the bottom of this ravine for a very long time. Their best bet was to get a fire started, and pray that some poor soul saw the smoke.

“I’m back.” Hotch was breathless, his forehead was shimmering with sweat, and his shirt was deep red around Derek’s hoodie, but he held two sturdy-looking branches in his arms. “Can you turn around?” Derek put his weight back on his arms and tried to swivel out towards the car door, which Hotch had just opened. He managed to turn his hips, but couldn’t manage to move his legs.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice straining.

“Then I need to move your legs, otherwise I won’t be able to get access.” Hotch loosened his tie and pulled it over his head. “Bite down.” Derek took the knot between his teeth and clenched his jaw. He screamed into the purple tie as Hotch seized his leg, even as gently as he could, and turned it out the door. “Just one more. You’re doing great, Morgan.” His other leg burned with a searing, white-hot pain, even after it was fully turned. Hotch pulled his jacket off, gasping as he wrenched the wound on his stomach. He ripped it into strips, which he draped over his shoulder. “This is going to hurt. Really bad.”

“Just do it,” Derek replied, muffled. Hotch lifted his left leg from the calf so that it sat in a completely straight line. Derek yelped, screaming curses into the empty, echoing valley. Hotch tied one of the branches to his leg with strips of his jacket. When he was done, he cupped Derek’s face in his hands, both of them panting heavily. It was a platonic gesture of affection, but a rare one from Hotch. It seemed like if there had ever been a time for it, it was now. The other leg hurt almost more, but Derek held onto consciousness. He would not pass out.

“Your nose might heal a little fucked up, but I’m not going to risk making it worse.”

“It’s fine, Hotch. Could you grab the first-aid kit? Don’t hurt yourself too much.”

“I’m fine.” But his pale, clammy face and the growing red patch gave him away. There wasn’t much Derek could do to stop him, though, was there?

Hotch wasn’t paying that much attention to his own injuries, frankly. He knew that was stupid, especially because Derek was right and if the glass had cut his aorta, he was screwed, but there wasn’t much they could do so far. The most there was in the first aid kit was gauze and bandages, which wouldn’t stop bleeding from a major artery. He could feel himself getting more and more lightheaded with every step towards the back of the car. The trunk wouldn’t open, but the window was completely knocked out, so he was able to reach in and pull out the first aid kit without scratching himself on the glass. From the front of the car, he could hear Derek groaning softly. Maybe there were some painkillers in there, even if it was just Advil. But first, they had some other stuff to handle.

“I have to get you out of there.” Morgan’s eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

“At least until the sun sets. It’s way too hot out here, if we stay in the car we’ll just get dehydrated that much faster. Also, it’ll be more comfortable for you when you’re patching me up.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“I’m going to have to lift you out of there.” Before waiting for a response, Hotch slid an arm under Derek’s arms and grunted as he lifted Derek over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He set him down so he was sitting against the side of the car. “This is where we’ll have the most shade.”

“Ow.” Derek prodded his ribs. “That hurt.”

“Yeah, whatever. Can you help patch me up?” Hotch unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the sandy ground along with Derek’s jacket and hoodie. A few drops of blood landed in the dirt alongside them. As he sat down on the ground, he handed Derek the kit.

“Let’s see… we’ve got gauze, band-aids, rubbing alcohol… nothing for sutures.”

“That’s fine, it wouldn’t have done any good if I’m bleeding internally.” Derek swiped a cotton ball soaked in alcohol across the front wound. Hotch hissed, but didn’t flinch. He allowed Derek to wrap gauze around his stomach, and then slumped against the car beside him.

“So… what do we do?” Hotch just shrugged. He didn’t know what else to do.

“I have no idea. We sit. We wait. And we hope.” Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch saw Derek begin to shake. His first thought was that he was having some sort of seizure from hitting his head, and Hotch’s gut dropped. Then he realized he was crying. He lifted his aching arm, but not the one that was dislocated, and wrapped it around Derek’s shoulders. He wished he could move his other arm enough to fully encompass his friend, but they’d have to settle for this for now. “They’ll find us.”

“God, I hope you’re right,” Derek said through his tears, which cut streaks in the blood and dirt on his face. “I know it’s stupid to be thinking about all the things I wish I’d done, but there are too many.”

“Yeah.” Hotch leaned his head against Derek’s shoulder, another uncharacteristically affectionate gesture, but then again, if there was ever a time for affection, it was now.

Derek was thinking about his house. It was a two-bedroom cottage in the DC suburbs, not the kind of place anyone would have expected from him. He tried his hardest to take care of his garden, but he was always gone too long and the flowers dried up. Who was watering the flowers? For that matter, who was feeding Clooney, his 11-year-old German Shepherd? If he died, would anyone remember to go check on him? He thought about the photos that lined the clean white halls, which he had always meant to paint a bright green but never gotten around to. There were pictures of his mom, his sisters, his dad, his friends. He thought about the tins of cookies stacked up on his counter, which Penelope brought over about twice a week. He thought about the episodes of Storage Wars piling up on his DVR. He had never planned for dying like this. He had a will, every FBI field agent he knew had a will, so that wasn’t an issue. But there were so many things he had never thought about before now. And then there were the things he always planned on doing, like taking Penelope to Thailand, which they’d always talked about, or learning how to weld, or-

“Hotch, can I tell you something?”

“What?” Hotch perked up, but he looked worse than ever. His hand was freezing on Derek’s arm, and the gauze on his stomach was already soaked through.

“I’m talking to you as a friend. Not as FBI agents, and you can’t be my boss about this.”

“Derek. We’re friends.”

“Okay.” Derek swallowed, his throat dry and dusty, but still began to speak. “I wish I’d told all the people I love that I love them.” His heart felt like it was twisting itself in two, but he kept on. “My team. My family. And… Spencer.” Hotch turned just slightly to look up at him, not as surprised as Derek had expected him to be. “I always thought I’d tell him later. I had a plan. I was going to wait and ask him to that French film festival next month. And then I was gonna walk him home and tell him how I felt. I had a whole plan, and now even if I make it through this, I’m still gonna have two broken legs. So no film festival.”

“I’ll be honest, Morgan… I kind of figured.”

“What, you knew I had feelings for him?”

“I didn’t know, but I had my suspicions.” Hotch chuckled and then groaned.

“How’d you know?”

“Well, you always loved to tease him, but last year, you really picked up on it. And I know you well enough to know that’s how you flirt.”

“Wow. You know how I know you’re a better profiler than me? Because you figured it out last year, and I barely got it five months ago.”

“That’s why I’m your boss.”

“So, what, you’re not gonna yell at me for falling for another agent?”

“No. Not right now, anyway. Morgan, don’t ever let this job stop you from loving someone. That’s where I’ve always gone wrong. Those rules exist for a reason, but sometimes… well, fuck the rules sometimes.” Hotch shivered, and Derek pulled him in tighter. It was unbearably hot out, but Hotch was still freezing. That was bad. That meant blood loss. “Still. I wish I’d said something.” He sort of hoped Hotch would say something like “We’re going to make it out of here,” but that wasn’t in the cards. Of course it wasn’t. Hotch wasn’t the kind of guy to make empty promises and Derek wasn’t the kind of guy to believe them. For the first time, he really looked out at the landscape around them. They were somewhere in the Nevada desert, surrounded by nothing but red dirt and the odd tree. The sides of the mountain they had been driving on sloped up around them, steep but not steep enough that they couldn’t have climbed up if not for their various injuries. They were far enough down that someone just driving on the road wouldn’t have seen them unless they noticed the tire tracks and stopped to check it out. His phone was busted, and so was his watch, but judging from the sun’s position in the sky, it was closing in on six o’clock. They had only been down here for a half an hour, an hour max, but who knew how long it would take the rest of the team to catch their guy? And even then, they had about 35 miles of road to check out, and the darker it got, the harder it would be for them to notice the tire tracks. The longer they were down here, the better it was looking that none of the major arteries in Hotch’s body had been harmed, but if they weren’t found within a few hours, that wasn’t going to matter. He’d bleed out anyway. And although his broken legs wouldn’t kill him, Derek realized if he didn’t get water, he’d die of dehydration, or starvation, or heat exposure, or hypothermia, or just plain old hungry desert coyotes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, only he didn’t know who he was apologizing to. Hotch, maybe. Or God. Maybe it was to his father, who he’d always tried to be as good as, or maybe it was to Spencer for never telling him about his feelings. There were too many people Derek had to apologize to, and for the first time in his 30-something years of life, he was realizing he really might never get the chance.

Meanwhile, Hotch was considering his team. He found that that was how he spent most of his days, at least when Jack wasn’t around. Who else was there to think about? Haley? He didn’t like to sound callous, but there wasn’t much more to think about with her. Beth? Beth, who had left him and gone to New York? Again, what more could he say? There was only Jack, the team, and, well, her.

“Morgan, while we’re on the subject…”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not the only one.”

“Not the only what? Person in love with Reid? ‘Cause if you say you are, I’m gonna-”

“No. Not Reid.”

“Good.” Derek paused. “Wait, then who?” The way he looked at Hotch, he really didn’t know. Then again, Hotch supposed he had always been better at hiding his feelings than the rest of them.

“Emily,” he said simply. “It’s always been Emily.” Beside him, he felt Derek’s head turn to look up at him.

“I- like, our Emily? Emily Prentiss? Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss?”

“No, the other Emily we both know- yes, Emily Prentiss.” Hotch let his head fall back against the car, his hand resting over the gauze on his bare stomach, which was warm and damp with his own blood. He was really bleeding out. It was only just beginning to click, but he pushed it down. Those were feelings he couldn’t afford to deal with right now.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell her? You know she loves you, right?” Hotch sighed.

“Maybe. I don’t know, maybe I know she does. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m her boss, and even if I wasn’t, we still work together. Our jobs rely on us being able to be impartial, and if we’re together… it clouds my judgement, and my judgement is all I have.”

“Hotch, not five minutes ago, you told me to fuck the rules. That was your exact wording. Your judgement if you and Emily love each other out loud instead of in that broody silence you both love so much isn’t going to change, because you’ll be feeling the same feelings you are right now, except then you won’t have the pressure of pushing them down that you’ve had to hold onto for so long. Fuck the rules, right?” Hotch turned to look down at Derek, smiling as much as he could despite the fading black at the edges of his vision.

“Yeah. Fuck the rules.”

Hotch didn’t look so good. Derek didn’t have much to think about, so he thought about that. Hotch’s breathing had slowed. A lot. And there was a lot of blood soaking through the gauze wrapped around his stomach, enough that another layer wouldn’t help. The sun was finally beginning to set, the signal that their chances were about to dim significantly. Even as bad as he looked, Hotch still managed to stand up.

“Where are you- Hotch, what are you doing?”

“I have to grab something. I’ll be right back.” Derek heard him open the door on the other side of the car and rifle through the glove compartment. He returned with a notepad and a pair of pens. Slowly, and with a lot of effort, he sat back down and ripped a sheet off the top of the notepad. He handed it to Derek, along with one of the pens.

“What’s this for?” Hotch grinned, but it was more like a grimace.

“Write him a letter. Spencer. Just… just in case.” With trembling hands, Derek took the paper and pen. He had to brace it against his own hand, so he wouldn’t hurt his leg, but he found he could steady himself enough to write what he needed to. Beside him, Hotch was writing a letter of his own. In shaky, splotchy chicken scratch, Derek began to write.

Spencer,

Don’t worry about me, kid. I know you, I know how much you love to beat yourself up for things. Don’t. What happened was no one’s fault but mine and that stupid deer in the road’s. Things happen and if you’re reading this, the worst thing happened. And if the worst happened, that means I never got to tell you how I feel about you. This is pretty clearly not how I wanted to tell you, but I wanted you to know. This letter is so you don’t have to see my face every day, knowing how I feel about you, and never get to say anything to me. I’m telling you you don’t need to. However you feel about me, just knowing that I love you is all that matters. Don’t feel bad about never telling me if you felt the same, and never feel bad about letting me die loving you if you didn’t. Loving you was all I needed, kid. But oh, man, the things I wish I’d gotten to tell you. I was going to ask you to that French film festival in Baltimore next month. I learned some French for it and everything. You were going to be so impressed with me. Actually, you’d probably shake your head condescendingly, smile, and tell me all about how wrong my pronunciations were, probably. Still. I’m sorry we’ll never get to do that. I’m as sorry that I’ll never get to hold your hand or kiss you in the rain as I am that I’ll never get to make fun of your hair or give you an awkward fist bump. You were my friend long before I ever fell for you and you’ll be my friend even when I’m gone. I’m running out of space to write. I love you.

Your friend,

D. Morgan

When he finished writing, he finally noticed the tears bleeding through the paper, mixed in with smudges of blood from his broken nose. He folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket. That letter would survive the sun and the elements. Even if he didn’t.

Hotch was writing his own letter. At first, he didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? I’m sorry I’m dead, I love you? But then again, that was probably better than saying nothing at all. So he started writing, really having no idea where he was going at all.

Dear Emily,

This isn’t an apology. I think I should say that first. Although I have a lot to apologize for, I only have a little room and I don’t want to take up your time with the things that won’t matter if you’re reading this. The long and the short of it is that I never told you how I felt about you. How I feel about you even now as I write this letter. I know I said this wasn’t going to be an apology, but I am sorry about not telling you sooner. There was just too much to think about. There’s less to think about now. All I can think of is Jack and you. If I ever get out of here, I swear to god I’ll tell you that myself. I didn’t tell you because you deserve so much more than me. You deserve the entire universe and then some, so much more than one tired old man who can’t even save himself. I have a few requests for you, if it’s not out of line for me to ask. First, don’t blame me, don’t blame yourself, and if Derek gets out of here and I don’t, don’t blame him. It’s no one’s fault. Second, Haley’s sister can and will take Jack in, but make sure he knows the team is as much his family as any of his blood relatives. I don’t worry about him forgetting me, but I don’t want him forgetting you either. My last request is my biggest. They’ll have to fill my position as soon as possible, and I want them to give the job to you. You’re the best suited to take over, and I trust you to keep the team on track. Strauss will put up a fight, but there’s a document in my desk that outlines all of my reasons and wishes for the team following my death. Your promotion is the first thing on that document. If you don’t want the job, I obviously can’t make you take it, but if your only reason is because you think I only want you to have it because of my feelings for you, it’s not. My faith in you as an agent, as a person, and as a friend is never-ending.

-Hotch

Before putting the letter in his pocket, Hotch turned to Derek, his face and tone stern.

“Derek. If anything happens to me, if you get out of here and I don’t, you make sure this gets to Emily. Promise me.”

“I promise, Hotch, of course. You’ll do the same for me?”

“Yes.” Hotch held his hand out for a shake, but Derek just took it and held it, his hand warm and firm against Hotch’s. “We should start thinking about a fire. It’s going to get cold out here before too long.”

“I don’t think so, Hotch. I can’t walk, and you’re not looking too good.” Hotch couldn’t see himself, but he didn’t feel good either. His heartbeat was thready, but fast, like a hummingbird’s. His vision spun, and his grip was weakening by the minute. If he had been a praying man, Hotch would have started praying about now. But he didn’t really believe in God, so who was there to pray to? He turned his head up towards the darkening sky and thought of Emily.

It was fully dark now. Stars unlike anything Derek had seen in Chicago or D.C. lit up the sky, and he would have marveled at their beauty if not for the cold that was beginning to dig deep into his bones. Between the two of them, they had three jackets that they had sort of formed into a patchwork blanket over them, but it wasn’t enough. Hotch shivered against him, and Derek felt more powerless than he had at any point since the crash. His friend was dying, like it or not, of blood loss and hypothermia and god knew what else, and there was nothing he could do except wait for them to be found. They were both still awake. That was good. But they hadn’t seen a single car pass by in five hours, at least. That was bad.

“Come on, buddy, stay awake.” Derek shook Hotch gently, careful not to touch his bad shoulder. Hotch blinked rapidly, but he looked more exhausted than ever. In the dark light, he was ghostly pale.

“I’m up.”

“Good.” Together, they watched the stars for a bit. “Spencer taught me some of the constellations.” He pointed as he recognized them. “That’s Gemini, the twins. And Columba, the dove.”

“I never knew anything about astronomy. I always had a plan to learn, but then…”

“Time gets away from you.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“I was going to learn how to bake.” Hotch didn’t respond. “Hotch?” When Derek glanced down at him, Hotch’s eyes were just fluttering shut, and his muscles relaxed. He looked like a rag doll. “Hotch, come on. Come on, buddy. Come on.” Derek shook him more aggressively now, caring less about whether he hurt the busted shoulder. Hotch could recover from a dislocated shoulder, but he wasn’t going to get the chance if they didn’t get some help, and soon. “Help!” Derek screamed, his voice ripping through the empty black fabric of the desert. “Someone help us, goddamnit!” Other than an echo off the side of the ravine, there was nothing. And then there was something. At first, he thought maybe he was imagining it, or that it was just the stars reflecting off the red rocks. Then it got closer, and he realized what it was.

Headlights.

If he could have stood up, he would have, but he settled for screaming. “Help us! We’re down here!” The headlights slowed, and Derek saw them glance off the shiny black finish of the Lincoln SUVs he recognized so well. Four silhouettes appeared in the lights, and one of them shone a flashlight down. Derek flinched at the brilliant light, but still, he smiled, tears pouring down his cheeks.

“Morgan?” Rossi’s voice bounced off the rocks to reach him.

“You gotta get us out of here!”

“We’re coming down!” Carefully, but as quickly as they could, the four silhouettes clambered down the side of the cliff, which wasn’t so much a cliff as it was a steep, rocky hill. JJ reached them first, her eyes wide.

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“There was a deer in the road, I swerved… you get the rest. Look, we have to get Hotch out of here, he’s lost a lot of blood and he just passed out.”

“Hotch!” Emily, who had just arrived, rushed to him. “Rossi, give me a hand.” Together, the two of them managed to secure Hotch’s arms over their shoulders and begin to carry him out. Spencer was the last to arrive, passing Emily and Rossi on their way out. He gave a short, pained cry when he saw Derek sitting on the ground.

“I’m okay, kid.”

“No, you’re not! I- your legs!” Derek ignored this momentarily.

“JJ, call 911. I’ll have to stay down here until the ambulance comes, there’s no way you can get me out without a stretcher.”

“I have to go back up to get service.” She looked between Derek and Spencer nervously.

“I’ll stay with him. Go.” She began the climb back up, and Spencer knelt in front of Derek. “Derek, follow my finger.” Spencer held up a finger and waved it back and forth in front of Derek’s eyes. “What’s the date today?”

“February… uh…”

“Derek.”

“I can’t remember.” Spencer paused, his brow furrowed in focus, but relaxed.

“You’re almost certainly concussed, but so far, it seems like you’ve avoided major brain damage.”

“Oh. Good.” Despite the pain that hadn’t subsided since the crash, Derek managed a smile. “It’s good to see you, kid.”

“What the hell happened?” Spencer asked, uncharacteristically tender. His face was weary and ten years older than he had been this morning.

“Deer jumped into the road, I swerved. The car held up better than I would have expected.”

“You could’ve died.”

“I’m aware.” Spencer hesitated, searching Derek’s face with those big hazel eyes, the eyes that saw everything, like he had some kind of superhuman x-ray vision. “Spencer, I-” He was cut off by the sound of sirens. “Christ, that didn’t take long.”

“Well, we’ve kinda had a whole search party going for the last couple of hours.”

“You found me.” Spencer squeezed his hand, and if Derek’s heart hadn’t already been pounding, it would have started.

“I found you.” They were joined by a series of EMTs with a stretcher, who carried Derek out of the ravine, noting as they went the cleverness of the splints Hotch had made. No one said anything about Hotch.

Hotch woke up in a quiet, empty hospital room with sunlight streaming in through the windows and an oxygen mask over his face. The first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t in pain. They must have loaded him up with painkillers for his shoulder. Also, he wasn’t dead. That was nice. The door opened, and Emily stepped in, holding a Starbucks cup and looking dead tired. She didn’t seem to notice he was awake at first, and she leaned against the door, breathing slowly and deeply.

“Come on, Aaron. Wake up. Please.” He cleared his throat as best he could, and she jumped. “Oh my god!” He smiled.

“Hi.”

“I- hi.” She sat down in the chair beside his bed. “We were worried about you for a while there.”

“Yeah? Last thing I remember was Morgan telling me about constellations, and then…” He gestured to the room around them.

“You lost a lot of blood. If we’d gotten there even a few minutes later, I don’t-”

“You didn’t. You got there in time. Don’t think about what didn’t happen.” She brightened at that, a brilliant smile spreading across her face.

“Oh!” She jumped again, this time in recollection. “Your clothes are kind of ruined, but they found this in your pocket.” She pressed the letter, the one he’d written to her in what he thought were his last moments, into his hand.

“Did you… did you read it?” She shook her head, completely innocent to the letter’s contents. Good. He had hoped she wouldn’t have to read it. He hoped she would never have to read it.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Just a contingency plan, I guess.” She nodded, as if that was enough explanation, although Hotch could tell it wasn’t.

“Listen, Hotch-”

“Emily, I-”

“You go first.”

“No, go ahead.” Emily folded her hands as if to steady them and stared at the spot just above Hotch’s head. Hotch recognized that well. She couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes.

“You flatlined in the ambulance. Twice. And I’ve never been as scared in my life as I was those two times I thought you were gone for good.”

“Em-”

“No, let me finish. I know… there’s a lot of things we’ll have to figure out, but Hotch…” Her pleading, earnest eyes bore into him. “I think maybe I love you. I think maybe I have for a long time. And it’s not worth it for me to stay quiet anymore. If you need to transfer me to a different unit, um, I-”

“Emily.” Despite his gentle tone, she still looked up at him, shocked. “You’re not getting transferred.”

“Hotch, I can’t ask you to-”

“No, Emily. You’re not getting transferred and I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.” Slowly but surely, he reached over to take her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

“...oh.”

“All I could think about out there was you and Jack. I’m not staying quiet anymore either.” Emily tried and failed to bite back a grin.

“We’re going to have to talk to HR.”

“Yep.”

“Strauss is going to flip her shit.”

“Strauss isn’t going to find out, and if she does, she’s going to have to take me down.”

“We’re doing this?”

“I’m up for it. Are you?” Emily didn’t hesitate. She just kissed him, careful to avoid his arm and stomach injuries. Hotch was honestly pretty sure it was the best kiss of his life. Almost made the near-death experience worth it.

Derek also woke up in a sunny hospital room, only his wasn’t empty and it was far from quiet. The first thing he heard was Spencer yelling.

“...I know you did an MRI, but you need to test his TBI and monitor his ICP! Christ, where did you get your medical degree, the internet?”

“Spencer.” His voice was low and raspy, but it got Spencer’s attention well enough. “Let the doctors do their jobs.”

“But they’re not, they’re not running all the tests they should be, and-”

“Spencer.” Like a petulant child, Spencer quieted, and the doctors took their chance to leave. He didn’t stay annoyed for long, he couldn’t help it.

“How are you feeling?” Derek sighed.

“Well, I’ve got one hell of a headache, but the painkillers seem like they’re doing their jobs.”

“You got lucky. Only one of your legs was a total fracture, and neither one caused much internal bleeding.”

“How about my nose? Is my face gonna be all fucked up?”

“It took a little plastic surgery, but your nose will be good as new.”

“Good. One of us has to be the pretty one, and we both know it’s supposed to be me.” Spencer tapped a nervous melody on his bony knee, which bounced like what Derek liked to call Restless Leg Syndrome On Steroids.

“You should have driven with us. I know you hate sitting in the backseat, but-”

“Spencer. It’s not your fault. Or mine.”

“Yeah. I got that.” Derek’s brows furrowed. What the hell did that mean? Spencer brushed his curls off his forehead, trying not to smile and failing desperately. He hugged Derek tightly, and Derek let him, despite his bruised ribs screaming.Derek unbaked deeply, taking in the scent of coffee and lemon soap he knew so well. He had nearly fallen into a trance when Spencer spoke. “So, French, huh?”

“What?” At first, Derek thought maybe he had gotten some severe brain damage. Then it clicked and he pulled out of Spencer’s arms, eyes wide and heart in his throat. “...you read it.”

“It fell out of your pocket in the ambulance. I thought…” Spencer laughed, a little bitterly. “I thought maybe it was your will.” Derek didn’t know what to say. He really was at a loss for words. Everything he had meant to say was in that letter, which Spencer had already read.

“Then you know how I feel about you.” Derek opted for confidence, with just a touch of defiance. He was daring Spencer to make the next move. Spencer, who had never been particularly daring in Derek’s eyes, made his move. He kissed Derek, so fast Derek didn’t register it until Spencer’s teeth grazed his lower lip, and his hands were already tangled in Spencer’s messy curls. When the kiss finally broke, Spencer flushed from his neck to his ears. “So. It’s probably a little late to ask if you feel the same way.”

“Sorry. I just… I thought I was being obvious for so long, and you just never noticed. I figured I couldn’t get more obvious than that.” Derek reached up to cup Spencer’s cheek, running his thumb over Spencer’s perfect pink lips.

“Je veux faire ça depuis longtemps,” he said, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Vous auriez dû le faire il y a des années,” Spencer replied.

“Yeah, I don’t know what that means.” They stared at each other in affectionate silence and then burst out laughing. It was the same easy warmth they had had between them for the last nine years, only now there was more. The love had not replaced the friendship, it was just another layer. Derek took Spencer’s hand and squeezed, smiling gratefully. “You saved my life, Spencer Reid. Not just because you got me out of that ravine. Not just because you bullied the doctors into giving me all the tests in the book. You saved me because I had something to fight for out in that Nevada desert, and I’ll always owe you for that.”

“You’ll never owe me anything.” Spencer shrugged. “Isn’t that kind of the point?”

“I’m sorry we won’t be able to go to that film festival.”

“Who says?”

“Uh, the plaster casts that’ll be on my legs for the next six to eight weeks?”

“So you’ll go in a wheelchair. You’re taking me out, man, just like you said you would.” Derek hesitated.

“Take me for a walk.”

“Huh?”

“Take me outside. Then we’ll talk.” Spencer shrugged.

“I’ll check with the doctors, but that should be fine. One second.”

Momentarily, they were outside. Across the street from the Nevada hospital, there was a decent park. Spencer pushes Derek in a wheelchair, tossing his hair in the cool winter breeze.

“Are you enjoying being home?” Derek asked.

“Alright, out with it,” Spencer said, ignoring the question. “What’s the deal? Why don’t you want to go?” Derek sighed.

“Come look at me.” Spencer circles around him and crouched so he was at eye level for Derek. “I don’t want to go because it’s in Baltimore.”

“And? What’s wrong with Baltimore? We go to Baltimore for drinks once a week.”

“Yeah. And how do we get to Baltimore?”

“Derek, whatever you’re trying to say, will you just say it?”

“I don’t want to get back in the car!” Derek shouted. “I don’t want to go to Baltimore because I don’t want to drive there.” Spencer stared at him analytically for a moment, then smiled softly and patted Derek’s knee.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll just watch action movies at your place.”

“And you’re… okay with that?”

“Yeah. I feel like I owe you that much, at least.”

“You’ll never owe me anything.” Derek pulled Spencer down to kiss him quickly, but sweetly. “Isn’t that kind of the point?”

#criminal minds #cm fanfic #cm fan fiction #cm fic #cm #cm angst #moreid #hotchniss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic

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virtueangel · 4 years ago

Text

limitless.

chapter seven.

wc: 2,313. original publish date: october 12, 2020.

Four-thirty-five looks like every other freeway exit in all of America. JFK pushes firmly down on the brake as the car rolls up to the white line of the intersection. There is a green sign next to the road, and oddly enough, Marshtown is marked in metallic white lettering at the bottom. Printed next to the town name is a right-turn arrow, and even smaller next to that is the number five.

"Five miles," John F. Kennedy says, grinning.

Vincent can't help smiling either. He can still feel JFK's arms wrapped around his torso and the way his chin rested on the taller boy's shoulder. "We're getting close."

"Think it'll be worth it?" John asks, glancing at his passenger.

Van Gogh shrugs. "I sure hope so."

"We've spent all this time romanticising it..." Kennedy starts.

Both boys turn to each other, giddy smiles still plastered across their faces. "Wanna do it some more?" They say in unison, breaking out into boyish giggles afterward.

"God..." Vincent mutters.

"Hm?" John hums as the light turns green. He accelerates.

"I feel like we're little kids again," he says in a sad voice, but the smile is still taught across his lips and Kennedy doesn't know which look to meet his gaze with.

"We were pretty fucking awesome as kids," he tries.

This earns him a grin from Van Gogh. Score. "Yeah. I was cool back then."

John knocks his best friend's arm playfully. "You're still cool, Minivan."

Van Gogh covers his eyes with his hand, mock repulsion surfing the waves of his voice. "God, don't remind me of that nickname!"

"Hey! I might've meant to antagonise you back then, but I promise you: I've changed."

Vincent shakes his head, but he can't help smiling. His cheeks are starting to ache, but his happiness is genuine. "Oh, I know you have. That little five-year-old didn't know how to -- how do you put it? -- 'bang the sweeties'."

Kennedy laughs. "Oh, believe me -- he did."

The car goes silent as the sky fills with fog. It's thick and grey and the windows of the shiny red convertible are already starting to precipitate. Vincent zips his letterman jacket all the way up and tucks his chin into the collar, the cold already starting to set in. Even John has to admit that his knuckles clamp up and go a little white against the steering wheel.

"We must be getting close," Vincent says. The sky hadn't been blue for the earlier part of their drive by any means, but even the clouds that hung in the sky let the faintest bit of sunlight filter through. Now there is a dense blanket of moisture blocking the rays from view.

John goes quiet, suddenly wishing they'd planned the trip. He worries that he'll get in another fight with Van Gogh over where to sleep or how they'll keep themselves entertained in this town that they know next to nothing about. They aren't even sure if it has a marsh or not. But most of all, he fears that Vincent will get cold in the fog or the air will be too wet for him to draw. Part of the reason Kennedy had even vouched for this trip was so that the boy would have a lot of inspiration to paint or sketch or read or write, because above all, John loves his best friend's poetry. But he doesn't know how to tell the boy any of that.

Van Gogh looks across the car as Kennedy starts to drive more defensively, and his brow furrows; not in disgust, but in worry. He notices the boy's white knuckles and the way he grips the steering wheel like he's trying to strangle it. He reaches out and places a hand on his best friend's forearm, rubbing him through the sleeve of his jacket slowly and comfortingly.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

John swallows. "Sorry. Nothing, sorry. Don't worry. I'm okay."

Van Gogh's worried gaze lingers. "Are you sure?"

Kennedy gives his best friend a smile and a nod, but the motion is only half convincing. Vincent sighs and turns away anyway, not sure if he's allowed to push.

A couple seconds of silence pass before Kennedy requests timidly, "Can you, uh, keep doing that? With your hand, on my arm? It feels kinda nice." He laughs at himself sheepishly.

Van Gogh smiles to himself and obliges, happy to keep touching the boy. Er, uh, that came out wrong! He thinks. I'm just doing a good thing for him. Just trying to calm him down. He banishes the first thought, convincing himself that this is an uncomplicated act of kindness that he's doing for his best friend. He'd do anything for Kennedy, right?

Vincent stops rubbing the boy's arm and squeezes instead. With a gasp, he points out the windshield. "John, look!"

In front of them is the Marshtown sign, a yellowish-beige rectangle with dark green trim and text. It's an ugly sign, Van Gogh has to admit; especially from an artist's perspective. It's dilapidated and sinking into the ground, parts of some of the letters missing and splintering. The population number has been knocked off but the word "population" itself is still intact. There is no "welcome" or cheesy slogan. The boys can barely see the road beyond the sign, because the fog seems to have thickened since entering the town.

"Vincent, it's-"

Both boys stare into the fog, jaws dropped and pupils dilated. They are at a loss for words and almost a loss for breath. The road turns into a bridge, and on either side is a marsh, wet and gooey with coarse grass shooting out of it in various locations. The cement is covered in puddles and John slows down the car to ten miles per hour, squinting to see through the fog.

Beyond the marsh is a town. Not much of one, but it's there nonetheless. Every building and house is falling apart -- some are burned down to the foundation, others are missing doors and windows and from what Van Gogh can see, some of them are without floors as well. There is a dense ring of pine trees around the houses and they seem to stretch forever, but then again, John and Vincent have limited vision due to the intrusive fog. Each house looks different, and not just the way they're destroyed; the floor plans are unique, with different finishes and dimensions.

To their left is a general store. It's more intact than most of the houses, but its door is hanging off the hinges and there's a gaping hole in the middle of the wooden stoop. There's a sign on the door, flipped to the "open" side. Van Gogh wonders if some teenager had come by to flip it in their day of mischief or if there's someone in this ghost town to manage the shop.

With all of its lichened and weathered wood, Marshtown looks like a summer camp location. Neither John nor Vincent had spent their summers shipped off into the arms of overenthusiastic counsellors to go swimming and hiking, but they've seen enough cliché coming-of-age movies to know what a good old fashioned American summer camp experience should look like.

"I love it," Van Gogh blurts, eyes fixed out the window.

Kennedy grins. "It's incredible."

Vincent turns away from the limited outside view to look at his best friend's side profile. "I want to live here."

John's smile widens. "Okay."

"No, I mean it."

"I know you do," he meets Vincent's glare. "I do too."

Both boys seem to realise at the same time that Van Gogh is still gripping the taller boy's arm, and he lowers his hand sheepishly without a word.

"Do you think anyone still lives here?"

JFK squints at the houses, looking for cars or intact doors. "No," he concludes.

Van Gogh smiles to himself. "So we've got the whole place to ourselves, huh?"

Kennedy's stomach somersaults and his breath catches in his throat, his jaw suddenly going slack. "It would appear so," he swallows.

Vincent doesn't seem to register the boy's off-kilter tone. "Ooh, you know what?"

"Hm?"

"We should locate the creepiest house and stay in it."

Kennedy chuckles. "Vincent, some of the houses don't even have roofs."

"Perfect for stargazing."

JFK laughs even harder. "We can barely see six feet ahead of us!"

"So we'll pretend. Make up our own constellations."

Kennedy and Van Gogh make eye contact, and the shorter boy's deep brown gaze burrows itself into JFK's soul. He feels it snaking around his heart and making its home in his stomach. His cheeks seem to smile themselves.

"Okay. I'll play along."

Van Gogh leans back in his seat, satisfied. His hands shake, and he can't tell if it's due to nervousness or excitement. They are, after all, the same emotion -- the only difference is how they're interpreted by the subconscious.

"Try that one," he says after a couple minutes, pointing to a two-story Spanish style house finished in yellow stucco. It stands out from all the other developments, and not just because of the material it's made out of. It's almost perfectly intact, complete with a bay window and a second-floor balcony. It has a few imperfections, probably due to lack of maintenance. There are deep cracks carved into the outer walls and the paint on the door is chipping. Some of the upstairs windows have shatters blossoming in them, fanning out across the glass like spiderwebs. Van Gogh knows this is the right place to stay.

Kennedy redirects the car off the road and into the driveway of the house. The lawn is splotchy and has more mud and puddles than grass. The plants that actually grow there are clearly invasive: coarse wheat-like sprouts and greying succulents. The succulents are definitely artificial -- Van Gogh knows nothing of the sort could prosper on marshland.

"Why this one?" Kennedy asks, just for the sake of conversation. He parks the car in the driveway and slides the keys out of the ignition. He unbuckles his seatbelt, but makes no move to exit the car. He sits back in his seat, moving his feet away from the pedals and turning his knees toward Van Gogh. The shorter boy unbuckles his seatbelt and turns his own knees toward the driver, his letterman jacket still zipped snugly up to his neck.

"Because it looks special."

"You can do better than that."

Vincent sighs and looks away from Kennedy, thinking about his answer and choosing words from his lexicon wisely. "It looks like a home and not just a house."

"But you don't know anything about it," JFK challenges, and he wonders if he's crossed the line into the asshole realm.

Van Gogh smiles, thankfully amused by the comment instead of annoyed. "Let me tell you something, John: when you're an artist, you start to look at everything like a piece of art. It kind of sucks sometimes. I can't read books without thinking about the edits I'd give to the author. It ruins the fun a little bit."

JFK reaches out, not quite sure what he's intending to do with his outstretched arm. He lays a palm on Vincent's shoulder awkwardly, guessing he's in too deep to retreat his arm without any contact at all. "But I like the way your artist brain works," he says, and it feels like an admission instead of a conversation volley.

Vincent smiles down at his lap, flattered. When he looks back up at Kennedy, he can see that his best friend's cheeks are pink. "I want to know this house's story," he adds.

Kennedy smiles affectionately, staring down at the boy with soft eyes. "So what are you waiting for?"

Vincent opens his car door, and immediately the thick fog wets his tongue. He opens his mouth, half expecting a snowflake to dance down from the sky and land in his mouth. But while it's dark and gloomy here in Marshtown, it isn't April winter like it is in Exclamation!. For a fraction of a second, he misses the city's name on his mind. He shoves the thought away, hoping it will dissolve on its own.

JFK and Van Gogh walk up the driveway to the house side by side. They climb the three brick steps to the porch in unison, John slowing down for Vincent the way he always does. He sneaks a glance at his best friend, still staring at him with the same cloudy eyes.

"Oh, shit, moment of truth," Van Gogh says, taking the door handle in his hand. He looks back at his best friend, who is standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis.

"What do we do if it's locked?" Kennedy asks, which he knows is a stupid question.

Vincent shrugs, but there's no disappointment or angst frozen behind his features. "We'll find out." He squeezes down on the handle and the mechanism clicks. He slowly pushes the door open, suddenly worried there will be someone inside.

The first room in the house is the kitchen, a beige tiled floor meeting his shoes as Vincent steps inside. To his pleasant surprise, there's no grime crusted into the tiling, no spider nests burrowed into the corners of the room. Grey, foggy light spills in from the bay window, washing the room a drowsy white. Everything seems to shine, even in the permanent dreariness of Marshtown.

"You were right, Vincent," Kennedy says, and he doesn't need to see the rest of the house to know it's true.

Vincent turns around to face the boy, a genuine smile sitting lazily across his lips. "Haven't you learned not to doubt me?"

John steps forward and wraps his best friend in a hug, resting his chin on Vincent's head without a second thought. "I'm still learning, Minivan."

Into his chest, Van Gogh mumbles, "I hate it when you call me that."

#clone high #clone high jfk #clone high van gogh #clone high reboot

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peggyrose19 · 4 years ago

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So I found this earlier. It’s a short story I wrote for my creative writing class two years ago. Posting for no other reason than I’m bored and feel like it? Also, apparently I’ve been writing angst for years, so @im-oknutzy-trash you really can’t blame @peanut-the-goalie for it. You can blame her for the O’Knutzy angst though, that’s fine.

A man strolled through the cemetery at midnight, the cool air brushing his face as he stared at the graves around him. There was a hint of smoke in the wind, as if coming from a distance. The man stopped walking suddenly and stared at the ground in front of him.

At his feet lay a simple gravestone. The moon appeared from behind the clouds for just a moment, shining a sliver of light on the man’s face. It was streaked with tears. He silently read the name on the grave as the moon disappeared back behind the clouds.

A loud crack startled him from his thoughts. He whipped around, searching frantically. Through the surrounding trees, he saw a bright flare illuminate the sky. The man started to run towards the light, heart pounding. The smell of smoke grew as he got closer, engulfing him, getting trapped in his lungs. He froze.

Flames had swallowed what used to be an elegant, Victorian-style house. Smoke and ash filled the air, but all the man could do was watch. He watched as glass shattered and wood burned. He watched as the roof collapsed and the structure burned. In what felt like seconds, his beloved house was in ashes at his feet, the last memories of his family destroyed.

“Daddy, Daddy, watch me!” the little girl called.

Her father turned and watched as his daughter swung higher and higher, her pigtails whipping in the breeze. She grinned toothily, then let go and jumped off the swing, landing lightly on her feet.

“What did I tell you about jumping off the swing?” her mother said sternly.

“To not do it,” the girl said guiltily.

“That’s right. You could get hurt.” The girl looked at her shoes, fighting a grin.

“Hey, how about some food?” her father offered.

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, jumping up.

“Why don’t we head home and I’ll make some mac and cheese. How does that sound?”

“Yay!” the girl cheered. Her mother just shook her head, but she was smiling.

The family piled into their car and started driving. The girl was asleep in minutes, lulled by the steady roar of the engine.

“I wish you’d go easier on her,” the father said quietly to his wife. “She’s just a kid.”

“Exactly,” the wife replied. “She’s going to hurt herself if she keeps doing that. She’s too young.”

“But she didn’t hurt herself,” he reasoned.

“But she will.”

“I just don’t see-”

Before the husband could finish, a large object hit the passenger side of the car, hard. He had just enough time to realize it was another car before everything blurred and he succumbed to the darkness.

The man woke with a start, unsure of where he was. Steady beeps registered at the edge of his consciousness. He slowly turned his head to see various machines that seemed to be connected to him, tracking his vitals. His vision was blurry and sound came in pulses. As he righted his head, a woman came in and began adjusting the machines. The man struggled to focus on her as she began talking to him, her voice coming in and out.

“Hello, Mr.…. ow are you… ling today?” she asked. He barely registered the choppy question.

“My wife, my daughter,” he choked out. “Where are they?”

The woman’s face fell. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “They’re gone.”

The man returned home two weeks later. The empty house was quiet and dark. No delighted shrieks, no soft footsteps, nothing. All the life had been drained out of the house. The man had recovered nicely, the doctors had said. He had been lucky, they said, only minimal injury and scarring. But they hadn’t seen the scars in his mind, the shattered pieces of his heart. There was no fixing that.

He soon fell into a routine. Wake, eat sleep. Over and over again, every day. He left the house once a week to get food. Besides that, the only time he left was to visit the cemetery. He went often, and always at night so as to avoid seeing others. He did this for years.

The night of the fire, he was at the cemetery. The police later said that he would have died had he been home, that he was lucky. But he didn’t feel lucky.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as a small crowd gathered at the cemetery. The same cemetery where the man had stood, all those years ago, as his house burned to dust. The people were all dressed in black, heads bowed. They watched solemnly as a simple wooden casket was lowered into the ground. It lay close to another grave, where two girls were buried; a mother and her young daughter. The crowd all hoped for the best, trying to put their sorrow behind them. They hoped that maybe, finally, after so many years of torment, the man would finally be at peace.

#short story #death tw #depression tw #read audrey's old school writing

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thefinalcinderella · 5 years ago

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Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 1-The Residents of Chikusei-sou (Part 2)

Whassup everyone who’s still keeping up with my translations? Here’s a longer chapter part! Since the next part is a lot shorter, I should probably have it up by the time this year ends lol

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Nightingale floors are floors that make a chirping sound when you step on them. They are used in some temples and palaces in Japan.

2. Ten tatami mats is about 16.5 square meters.

3. Nicotine is ニコチン or nicochin in Japanese, so Nico-chan’s nickname comes from that basically

4. Yuki calls Nico-chan a nirou (二浪), which is someone who failed their university entrance exams two times.

5. Yuki’s name has the character for “snow” (雪) in it

6. Nico-chan is referring to the classic anime Heidi, Girl of the Alps which was a World Masterpiece Theater anime. In Japanese, Heidi is ハイジ (Haiji), Clara is クララ (Kurara), and the goat is ヤギ (Yagi).

7. Six tatami mats is about 10 square meters.

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The apartment was older than he thought it was going to be.

“…Haiji-san, is this the place?”

“Yeah, this is Chikusei-sou. We call it ‘Aotake’.”

Kiyose proudly looked up at the building. Kakeru was just stunned. It was his first time seeing such an old wooden building that wasn’t even a cultural asset.

The cheaply built wooden two-story building looked like it was about to collapse at any moment. It was unbelievable that someone was living there. But what was particularly terrifying was that there were soft lights coming from several of the windows.

Chikusei-sou was right on the midpoint between the university and the public bath “Tsurunoyu”.

When one passed through the alley, one would come to a neighborhood where new condos that were beginning to be built and traditional fields existed alongside each other. Chikusei-sou was built in that area, surrounded by lush green hedges. There was no gate, and one could see into the lot from gaps in the hedges.

There was a large front yard covered in gravel, and to the back of the left side, there was a one-story house that seemed to be where the landlord lived. The roof must had been retiled, as it shone slightly from repelling the starlight. The building on the right side was the Chikusei-sou in question.

“There’re nine rooms altogether. Thanks to you, we’re all full.”

Kiyose led Kakeru to the front door of Chikusei-sou while stepping on the gravel. The door was a grated sliding door fitted with a thin pane of glass. The outside light was flickering restlessly within the long narrow door canopy where tiny insects were gathered. Relying on that sooty light, Kakeru tried to read the old wooden doorplate hanging next to the entrance somehow. There, written in manly cursive, seemed to be the characters for “Chikusei-sou.”

Kiyose carelessly stopped his bike, carried the two wash basins on top of each other under his arm, and put his hand on the sliding door.

“I’ll introduce the residents to you one-by-one. Everyone here’s a Kansei student.”

There’s a bit of a trick to this, Kiyose said as he opened the poorly-fitted sliding door as if he was lifting it.

Immediately after entering, the ground became a dirt floor hardened with concrete, and there was a shoe cupboard with doors installed nearby. It also seemed to play the role of a mailbox. There were horizontal slots that could be opened on the doors, and room numbers scribbled on paper with ballpoint pen were affixed with cellophane tape. Every piece of paper was browned from the sun. A quick look at the cupboard showed that there were four rooms on the first floor and five on the second floor.

The stairs that led to the second floor was to the right of the entrance. Even without trying to ascend them, one could see that it was crooked and warped. Kakeru thought that it was a wonder that the building still hadn’t collapsed yet.

Kiyose took off his orthopedic sandals on the dirt floor and prompted Kakeru, “Now, let’s go upstairs.” Kakeru put his sneakers into the cupboard labeled “103” as he was told.

“Haiji-san, welcome back!”

The voice came at that moment. Surprised, Kakeru looked around. There was no one there. Next to him, Kiyose was also knitting his brows together in suspicion.

“Up here!”

The overlapping voices called, and the two looked up at the ceiling. For some reason, there was a fist-sized hole on the ceiling of the entryway. It looked like there was someone trying to pressed their face through it. Someone’s eye was peeking down from the hole, and it looked like they were laughing mischievously.

“Jouji…” Kiyose said in a low voice. “What’s with the hole?”

“The floor got stepped through!”

“I’m going there now, so stay put.”

Kiyose was angry, but he went up the stairs without making any sounds. Kakeru was confused, but decided to follow after him. When he put his foot on the stairs, they creaked intensely, like they were nightingale floors. (1)

Kakeru climbed the dark and steep stairs and got a view of what the second floor was like. The ceiling was taller than he had expected. There were two doors that seemed to lead to the toilet and bathroom respectively next to the stairs, and next to them seemed to be two rooms. There were three more rooms on the other side of the corridor facing the stairs. All of the rooms were completely silent, but light was only leaking from the door with the plate that read “201” that was in the middle of the three rooms, directly opposite to the stairs.

Kiyose walked up to Room 201 without hesitating, then opened the door without knocking. Kakeru nervously peeked into the room from the doorway.

Room 201 was about ten tatami mats wide,(2) with a low tea table placed in the middle that served as the border between two sets of futons that were left out on the floor. It seemed that there were two people living in Room 201. Scattered messily around the futons were what seemed to be books and other junk that belonged to each person.

It was the residents of the room who caught one’s attention the most. They were two men with the exact same face, looking towards them like they were entreating them. They were twins who were extremely identical. Kakeru, feeling like he was doing a spot-the-difference game, compared the faces of the two residents of Room 201.

“I’m pretty sure I told you guys to be careful. Which one of you did it?”

Kiyose said bluntly, putting his hands on his hips. The twins, who made sure to huddle together, began to talk at the same time.

“Nii-chan did it!”

“Jouji did it!”

“That’s so mean, Nii-chan, pinning the blame on your little brother.”

“Weren’t you the one who made the hole bigger?”

“I only got stuck in the hole you made!”

Even the tones of their voices were exactly alike. Kiyose lightly raised his right hand and wordlessly commanded the twins to “Shut up.”

“Did you pay attention to the fact that the space between the boards near the entrance was weak?”

Room 201 was tatami-matted, but only the place that was right above the entryway had a wooden floor. The twins nodded with the same timing to Kiyose’s scolding.

“We were careful.”

“We were walking normally. Normally. Then suddenly, snap!”

Kiyose hmphed.

“The boards will come loose if you walk normally. From now on, walk with great care. Okay?”

The twins nodded again. Kiyose cautiously put his knee to the boards and inspected the hole.

“Um, Haiji-san?”

One of the twins shyly called out to Kiyose.

“What?”

“Who’s that?”

The twins’ gazes were fixed on Kakeru, who was idly standing at the door.

“Oh!” Kiyose said like he just remembered and looked back at Kakeru. “That’s Kurahara Kakeru. He’s a first-year going to Kansei this spring like you guys. He’ll be living here starting today.”

Kakeru stepped into the room and stood next to the tea table, then lightly bowed his head.

“Please treat me well.”

“Nice to meet you.”

The twins said in unison.

“Kakeru, these are the Jou twins. The older brother is Jou Tarou and the younger one is Jou Jirou.”

The twins nodded in the order they were introduced. If their positions were changed, one probably wouldn’t be able to tell them apart anymore.

“Call me Jouji, and Nii-chan’s Jouta.” The one who was Jirou told him amiably. “Everyone calls us that.”

“Wonder if that hole can be used for something, eh, Kakeru?”

The one was Tarou also brought up the topic in a familiar way. “Um…” Kakeru stammered. He was overwhelmed by the twins, who spoke in rapid succession.

Kiyose got up. “We gotta put magazines or something over it to cover it up.” He said, looking down at the hole. “Did you guys hurt your feet when you stepped through the floor?”

“Nope, not at all.”

The twins shook their heads at the same speed. Guessing that Kiyose wasn’t angry anymore, their expressions were clearly relieved.

He scared those twins that much, Kakeru thought. Haiji-san seems to be a big person in Chikusei-sou. Thinking about his future living in a group in this old apartment, he sighed heavily. No matter where he went, it didn’t seem like he could escape from cliques or pecking orders.

“I still haven’t even showed Kakeru to his room yet. I’m begging you, don’t destroy Aotake any more than this.”

Kiyose said before quickly leaving Room 201. Jouta and Jouji saw Kakeru off at the door.

“The truth that this place is run-down got out as soon as you came.”

“If you’re really gonna live here, it’s a nice and quiet place.”

Kakeru said “Good night” to the twins who both talked in turn, and chased after Kiyose, who was beginning to go down the stairs.

It was true that Chikusei-sou was engulfed in silence. Even though the twins had made such a fuss, he didn’t see any of the other residents. Were they not in their rooms? He could only hear the rustling of the thickets of trees scattered around the building and occasionally the sounds of cars driving in the distance. From the front door that was left open, the spring night wind that was beginning to be lukewarm sprang up gently, carrying in the scent of the soil from the fields.

Kakeru picked up his sports bag that he left on the dirt floor. The overhead hole that was just created was already closed up with a magazine that had a woman in a swimsuit on the cover. There was no longer light coming from the twins’ bedroom, so the entryway was dim.

Finally, Kakeru was able to get a good look at the first floor of Chikusei-sou. The layout wasn’t much different from the second floor. They went down the hallway, heading directly from the entrance to the back.

On the left side of the hallway, by order from closest to the entrance was the kitchen, Room 101, and Room 102. Room 201 where the twins lived from just now was directly above the entryway and kitchen. Because of that, the second floor had one more room. Kiyose lived in Room 101, which seemed to be below Room 202. Based on that, Room 203 would be above Room 102.

The right side of the first floor hallway had the exact same layout as the second floor. Next to the stairs was the doors to the toilet and bathroom, and Rooms 103 and 104 were towards the back. They were below Rooms 204 and 205 respectively.

Guided by Kiyose, Kakeru was about to go down hallway when he stopped, startled. At the end of the first floor hallway, thick white smoke that definitely did not look trivial was rising.

“Haiji-san, isn’t there a fire over there?”

But Kiyose, without looking perturbed, was about to explain something or other with an “Oh, that.” At that moment, the door to Room 102 at the back of the left side opened vigorously. A figure flew out from inside. Thinking that they came out because they noticed the fire, Kakeru braced himself, but that person did not go to the entryway where Kakeru and Kiyose were, but instead violently knocked on the door of Room 104 across from them immediately.

“Senpai! Hey, Nico-chan-senpai!”

They continued to knock ten times, violently enough to rattle all the doors on the first floor. At last, the door to Room 104 opened.

“Shut up, Yuki.”

It looked like a large figure lumbered out, but the smoke was so thick that Kakeru couldn’t them well. The two did not seem to be aware of Kakeru and Kiyose, who were near the kitchen, and began to get into a fierce argument.

“Your cigarette smoke is getting into my room.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy you can get a whiff of it without spend money?”

“I don’t smoke! Anyways, it’s bothering me, so please stop it!”

Look, it’s so smoky, the resident of Room 102 said, flapping their arm to clear the smoke. The white toxic substance drifted all the way to where Kakeru was. He agreed that it definitely was the smell of cigarettes. It was good that there wasn’t a fire, but the two’s argument was escalating.

“Your music is too loud too. Blasting that nonsense music all night long and making me listen to it. You’re giving me nightmares!”

“I use headphones at night.”

“Even so, I can still hear that awful nonsense!”

“This place is ancient, so there is no helping it.”

“I don’t want my smoke to leak out, you know. It’s cuz the door’s fit is bad…”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Kiyose clapped his hands and drew the attention of the arguing duo. “Perfect timing. Let me introduce our newest resident.”

When the sounds of the quarrel ceased, it became clear that the music from Room 102 that sounded like heavy bass and electronic noise entangled together, and the cigarette smoke from Room 104 that was pure white like dry ice, were both endlessly overflowing from the rooms. Kakeru did not want to go over there, but Kiyose walked to the back of the hallway where the two people were without minding it at all.

The residents of the back of the first floor, their momentum dampened with their fists raised and their mouths opened, waited for Kiyose and the newcomer Kakeru to approach.

“Senpai, Yuki, this is Kurahara Kakeru, who will be living in Room 103 from now on. He’s a first-year sociology student. Kakeru, this is the old-timer of Chikusei-sou, Hirata Akihiro of Room 104. Everyone calls him Nico-chan-senpai.”

“Cuz he’s the nicotine demon king.” (3)

The man called Yuki who was still not introduced yet, with his back to the loud music, said angrily.

Kiyose reined him in. “Nico-chan-senpai will be a third-year science and engineering student this spring. He was my senpai when I first arrived here, but before I knew it, he became a year lower than me.” He continued.

Nico-chan, who had a strong physique like a bear’s, nodded to Kakeru without smiling.

“So you’re gonna be my neighbor. Nice to meet you.”

Nico-chan, who had stubble growing on his impudent-looking face, really did not seem like a student. Kakeru secretly asked Kiyose, “Um, how many years can you stay in university for?”

“Eight years.”

Nico-chan added to Kiyose’s answer.

“This is still my fifth year.”

“By the way, he failed his entrance exams twice.” Yuki, whose real name was still unknown, impatiently interrupted. (4)

So that means he’s twenty-five years old this year? Kakeru quickly calculated and looked at Nico-chan, who was still dignified despite all of that. He did not cut in with any jokes or get angry, never breaking his composed demeanour. Part of him wanted to avoid damage from smoke pollution, but he didn’t seem like a person who was hard to deal with.

Kiyose finally introduced the other person.

“Kakeru, this is Iwakura Yukihiro. He’s a law student and a fourth-year like me. We call him Yuki. He may not look it, but he’s passed the bar.”

“Hello.”

Yuki curtly greeted him. Just like his name, his skin was an unhealthy-looking bluish-white. (5) He was lanky and wore glasses, and had a very high-strung, fussy-looking face. I should avoid anything that would make this person complain as much as possible, Kakeru thought.

Nico-chan took out a cigarette from his pocket. Acting like he didn’t feel Yuki’s condemning gaze, he lit it.

“Yo, Haiji. There seemed to be some kind of noise upstairs just now. What was that about?”

“The twins, as expected, stepped through a floorboard.”

“Did they do that right away?” Yuki-chan laughed.

“Those two are idiots.”

Yuki’s cheek spasmed. “Even though they were specially assigned the biggest room in Aotake, isn’t it meaningless if they stepped through that floorboard?”

“The upstairs room near the entryway had always been dangerous. I have to think of a way to reinforce it somehow.”

Kiyose said, and Yuki frowned.

“I think it’s Prince’s fault though.”

While Kiyose and Yuki were deep in talk, Kakeru was silently standing around with Nico-chan. Nico-chan had an astounding lung capacity, and his cigarette quickly turned to ash all the way close to the filter. He stubbed it out on the door to his room.

“Oi, Kakeru.”

As expected, Nico-chan also suddenly called him by his given name without honorifics. “I realized something incredible just now.”

“What is it?”

“You three have the same names as characters as that Masterpiece anime!”

“Hah…”

Kakeru knew little about anime, so he could only respond dully. Nico-chan, with his second cigarette between his fingers, pointed at Kiyose, Kakeru, and Yuki in that order.

“Haiji’s obvious. Kakeru is Kurahara, so he’s Clara. And finally, Yuki-chan’s the goat. See?” (6)

“Please do not arbitrarily make a person into a goat.”

“I’m Peter, and…”

Nico-chan said, ignoring him, and forcefully closed the door to Room 104 behind him. Yuki, burning with rage, spun on his heel and shut himself inside his room just like that. The door to Room 102 was also closed violently, and only the remnants of smoke and music drifted in the dark hallway.

“Umm…”

A bewildered Kakeru spoke up, but Kiyose lightly shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it. They’re always like that. They both seem to like you, so it’s all good.”

They like me? Really? Kakeru’s bewilderment deepened more and more, but he stayed silent and walked a short distance back up the hallway, and watched Kiyose opened the door to Room 103.

“Well then, this is your room, Kakeru. Here’s the key.”

Kiyose pointed to a brass key with a round head hanging from the interior side of the room’s door. “If you want to lock it from the inside, you have to put the key in the inside keyhole, and you do the same thing when you lock it from the outside. That’s too annoying, so almost everyone keeps it unlocked when they’re in their rooms.”

Kakeru took the dull gold key. It had a retro shape, like it was for opening a magic door. The plating was worn off in places, and it had a warm roundness due to being in the hands of generations of the room’s owners.

Kiyose took the lead and opened Room 103’s window, letting in the wind. The room was six tatami mats wide (7), and there was also a closet. Kakeru tried opening the closet’s sliding screen just to be sure. There were no bloodstains there like he was worried about, and the interior of the room was old but kept clean.

“Tomorrow, I’ll teach you where the rental futon place is. Bear with my blanket for tonight. I’ll bring it later.”

“I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“There’s a toilet and washroom on each floor. The job rotations for cleaning are posted in the kitchen every month. Since you just came, you can start in April. I make the meals in the morning and at night.”

“You are? By yourself?”

“Just simple stuff. Each person supplies their own lunch. If you don’t need breakfast or dinner, tell me the day before.”

Kiyose stated the rules of Chikusei-sou without faltering. “For baths, you can go to Tsurunoyu a little ways from here, or you can also borrow the bath in the landlord’s house. In that case, you have to do it between eight to eleven p.m. There is no need for advance reservations or cleaning the bath. Cleaning the bath is a hobby of the landlord’s.”

“Got it.”

In order to hammer it all into his head, Kakeru concentrated and listened carefully to Kiyose’s words.

“There’s no curfew whatsoever. If there’s anything unclear, just ask.”

“What about mealtimes?”

“The times are different depending on the lectures, so everyone eats warmly. Most of the time it’s around eight-thirty in the morning and seven-thirty at night.”

“Got it.”

Kakeru nodded and bowed his head again. “Please take care of me.”

Kiyose once again smiled. Kakeru had been suspicious that he had some sort of ulterior motive for taking him to Chikusei-sou, but now that he met half of the residents of this apartment, it was difficult to continue to hold such suspicions. Kiyose and the residents he came across up until now were a bit strange, but they had accepted Kakeru immediately. Kiyose’s smile was extremely modest and mild-mannered, without any hint of pushiness.

From the kitchen, the sound of the wall clock striking could be heard.

“Is it ten-thirty?”

As though he just recalled something, Kiyose’s eyes moved to the wash basins he had left at the entrance.

“You can still use the landlord’s bath. If you’re not tired, do you want to go greet the main house?”

The two went out the entrance again. Kiyose encouraged Kakeru to wear orthopedic sandals, as it would be a pain to get out the shoes one by one. It seemed that everyone at Chikusei-sou favored wearing sandals whenever they walked in the neighborhood. There were several pairs of sandals that were taken off at the edge of the entrance.

They stepped on the gravel, crossed the garden, and headed for the one-story wooden house, which was the main house. Although called a garden, there were only a few large trees suitable for making shade, and they grew naturally alongside the hedges, and the rest were short and blunt. The simple appearance was almost like it was a garden in progress, and there was a large white station wagon parked there. It felt like it was only parked where the driver felt like, not that it was a fixed parking space.

Even though this was within Tokyo, that was a way to use a very luxurious piece of land. Perhaps because he could afford to do it now from settling where he was going to live, but for the first time, Kakeru was able to feel an affection for the area where his university was.

He had thought Tokyo was just a squalid and restless place. Kakeru breathed in the night air deeply. Surprisingly, that was also not the case. Here as well, people were diligently living. It was no different than the town he was born and raised in. There was someone’s livelihood here, seeking comfort by planting hedges and creating a garden.

Perhaps because it heard the two’s footsteps, the breathing of a creature that was strangely excited was heard in the darkness. When he looked closely, he saw a light brown mixed breed dog come out from beneath the porch of the main house, coming towards them while energetically wagging its tail.

“I forgot about this important resident.”

Kiyose crouched down and stroked the dog’s head. “This is the landlord’s dog, Nira.”

“That’s a weird name.”

Kakeru crouched down besides him and looked into the dog’s deep black and wet eyes.

“A senpai who lived at Aotake before found him,” Kiyose said, while raising up Nira’s drooping ears by his fingers. “Apparently, in Okinawa, bliss is nira something…what was it? Anyways, it became his name after that.”

“Heh, bliss?”

He certainly was a dog with a charming face free of any worries. It seemed like the perfect name for him.

“He’s a dumb dog who loves everyone, but he’s cute.”

For a short while, Kiyose toyed with his ears and stretched his rounded tail, but Nira still showed his deep affection towards the two of them. Kakeru also stroked him on the head as substitute for a greeting. Nira was not chained and had a beautiful red leather collar around his neck. “It suits you,” Kakeru whispered to the dog.

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#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #run with the wind #kazetsuyo translations

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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years ago

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Modern AU, hurt/comfort, widomauk. Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3!

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Caleb had been quiet ever since they’d gotten into the car.

Not his usual kind of quiet, his gentle, observing kind of quiet that simply came from having nothing he needed to say in the moment. The kind that meant there was very little he missed. The quiet he would sometimes punctuate by reaching over and entwining his fingers with Molly’s, no words needing to pass between them. His present, contented kind of quiet.

This quiet gave the impression that Caleb was somewhere else. He sat with his forehead pressed to the window, not seeming to care that it was rattling a deep rooted headache into skull, eyes fixed past the blurs of green trees and grey road. Seeing what, Molly didn’t know, but he was willing to guess.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, only once, though he’d been thinking it the whole trip.

They were pulled up in a gas station with a clashing sense of familiarity and complete alienation, with all the usual adverts and logos and brands you would see in Dwendalia but all in a foreign language. Molly’s poorly tuned, one man band suit of a car couldn’t get far without needing a refill and he’d already pushed it way past it’s comfort zone. He could hear de Rolo, who’d dragged said car back from death’s door numerous times, moaning in exasperated agony in the back of his mind.

Face bathed in neon, gas prices tattooed in light across his cheeks, Caleb sighed softly and nodded.

“I promise, I am. It’s just…harder than I thought.”

Molly reached over, closing the gap between them with a hand on his shoulder, just lightly, “We can turn back any time…if it gets too much, I mean…”

Caleb’s left hand snaked up from inside his coat and settled on Molly’s, managing a tired little smile, a smile like someone partway through a long journey, still with far to go.

“I don’t think I can. But thank you.”

It had been Caleb’s idea to honeymoon in the Zemni Fields. Home, though Molly didn’t know if that was how he still thought about it.

Whatever he called it, the Zemni fields would always mean something to him, not entirely good and not entirely bad. A weird, dizzy mix of both. Which was why Molly was surprised when he’d suggested it as somewhere to have the vacation that would mark them starting their lives together.

Caleb had blushed and fidgeted under Molly’s startled gaze when he’d first said it, when they’d been sat at their usual table in the Blooming Grove, amongst the lists Molly had been keeping in his notebook clearly labelled ‘Wedding Shit’.

“I mean, it’s nice, it’s got forests, it would be cheap…” he mumbled, his expression one of ‘I know I just said something significant but I’m going to try and pretend I didn’t’.

“And it’s where you grew up,” Molly pointed out carefully, holding himself ready in case he needed to rocket across the table and hold Caleb, “And you’ve not been back in…well, since you left?”

“No…” Caleb sized his cookie like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, though he didn’t actually eat any of it, he just crumbled it between anxious fingers, “No, I’ve not been back since I left…uh, the school.”

Molly swallowed tightly. The school. The school that had been a front for an archmage to torture and abuse him, to take the dreams of magic he’d always harboured and turn them against him, to destroy his family. An archmage that was still in power.

An archmage Molly had daydreamed often about assassinating but he couldn’t think of a fool proof way to not get caught yet. One day.

“But you want to go back?” Molly promoted gently after a deep, steadying breath. He’d learned over time how to help Caleb through conversations like this. Building a path for him to follow, constructing a scaffolding and beckoning from the top.

“I do,” Caleb let the golden brown crumbs fall through the gaps in his fingers, “I don’t think I can go anywhere near Blumenthal…not yet. But somewhere in the fields, somewhere everyone speaks the language I do. Somewhere that feels a little like how I remember.”

“As long as you’re sure, we can do that,” Molly gently swept the crumbs into a little mountain and onto his saucer, licking off the ones that stuck to his fingertips, “I’d love to see it with you.”

Caleb gave him a little smile, one of those smiles that reminded Molly why he was marrying this man even when the planning drove him nuts. One of those smiles that would prompt him, in just a few short weeks, to decide he couldn’t stand not being his husband a moment longer, planning be damned.

“I guess…it’s where I want my new life to start too?”

Honeymooning when neither of them had two gold pieces to rub together had been an interesting concept, even after they blew off their actual wedding and settled for a civil ceremony and a group trip to Waffle House that didn’t end until 2am. Hence why they were driving the twenty hour trip to the Zemni Fields, taking turns sleeping fitfully in the passenger seat while the other drove and knocked back off brand energy drinks.

When they’d found themselves a cabin for rent online at a price comfortably within their budget, they hadn’t asked questions. But as Molly looked at it now, noting the strange way the roof sagged and the way the door didn’t seem to sit right in its frame, he wondered if maybe they should have at least asked somequestions.

“Well it…” Caleb paused, hoisting their bag further up his shoulder, “It reminds me of home?”

Molly chuckled, giving his arms a final stretch before marching up the porch, fumbling for the key. Even after he procured it, it took a good few shoves with his shoulder to actually get the door open.

Grinning, he opened up his arms, “Come on then.”

Caleb tilted his head adorably, “What?”

“I’m meant to carry you over the threshold, right?” Molly flashed him a wider smile, “Not like we’re five weeks late or anything…”

“Better late than never,” Caleb awkwardly clambered into his arms, hanging from his neck like a sloth who was terrified of being dropped. Molly had to snicker, his husband weighed about as much as a large handful of grapes, he needn’t have worried.

“Well then,” he put on a grand voice, one of announcement, “Welcome to your first and hopefully only honeymoon, Caleb Widogast!”

He reached over and flicked on the light with a flourish to complete his grand proclamation. For a split second, they were shown the dusty interior of a very cramped cabin, all oaken furniture with motheaten upholstery, a corner where some kind of moss was growing in, a huge swathe of wallpaper that had come away from the wall.

For a split second. Then there was a large pop and a shower of sparks and all of the lights went out.

Caleb clicked his fingers sharply, the sound much louder than it had any right to be. The noise called a leaping flame into being, immediately nestling in the carefully arranged crown of balled up road map, spreading and strengthening into a considerable blaze.

“Well done,” Molly applauded softly behind him as Caleb hurried back to the warmth of their blanket pile.

“We might never find our way home but at least we’ll be warm,” Caleb laughed, winding his arms around Molly, bringing him into his lap.

Molly chuckled, “I think I might be okay with never leaving…”

Caleb looked hopeful, like a worry he’d been nursing had finally fled, “So this wasn’t a horrible idea for a honeymoon? Even if we are freezing cold with no hot water and beds full of bugs?”

Molly grinned and gently reached up and pressed a finger to Caleb’s nose, “Look, I could be anywhere in the world and I’d be happy as long as I was with you.”

Caleb felt something hard in his throat and his bottom lip suddenly had a mind of its own, “Liebling, you know you can’t just say things like that to me…”

Molly laughed and cooed softly, reaching up to hiss him deeply. The firelight played off the two of them, sending a shadow version of them dancing up the wall. Smoothly, easily, Caleb pressed his back against the floor and Molly threw a leg over him.

Before it became inevitable and they forgot everything else, Molly gently stroked a strand of hair away from his husband’s light blue eyes and murmured, “Was it everything you wanted? Coming home?”

Caleb returned a gentle smile, the kind of smile he never would have worn back then, “Home? I brought it with me.”

#widomauk #critical role #cr: caleb #cr: mollymauk #critical role fic #modern au

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abacys · 5 years ago

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7 Days to Die - Play Conditioning

I’ve been thinking about 7 Days to Die a fair amount recently. I got the game in mid-to-late 2016, shortly before the Alpha 15 build was released. I enjoyed it for a while, but after a couple of days, I moved on to other games, as I am wont to do. However, last year, I decided to revisit it and try out surviving on my own again. While I was wandering around the world, my father happened to ask what the game was like. He used to play his fair share of video games, but hadn’t stuck to anything much in recent years. He had tried out some games here and there, Civilization VI comes to mind, but never played for very long. I mentioned a few aspects of the game I thought he would find interesting and recommended that he try it out. Now I have over one hundred and fifty hours in the game, he has banked almost nine hundred, and various family members and friends have spent hundreds or even thousands of hours playing. This has left me wondering what exactly it was that had pulled them so far into this experience that other games had lacked.

The first time you play a new game plays a large role in how you will interact with it as you get further in. The experience at the beginning of the game will contextualize the rest of your time playing. This concept is an element of game design known as Play Conditioning, invented by Harris Brewis, also known as HBomberguy.

First, I should explain what 7 Days to Die is. 7DtD is a post-apocalyptic, open-world survival horror game published by The Fun Pimps, released in 2013. From some statements made by the developers, it is revealed that the third world war has devastated the earth, with nuclear weapons destroying most traces of civilization. In the fallout, a virus of unknown origin has spread, bringing the dead back to life as zombies. Your task is to survive in this increasingly hostile environment. The game takes place in Navezgane, a fictitious county in Arizona, known as “one of the last true Edens on Earth.”

Now, let’s take a look a way that the first hour of gameplay might play out.

You wake up in a forest near a road that has a frame of a car and various pieces of trash strewn about. you are greeted with a note with a threat written on it, a few basic supplies, and a short set of tutorial quests to get you started. You get to work on completing the quests.

The sun is now higher in the sky, and the tweets of the of the birds has quieted down.

After you complete the quests, you're pointed in the direction of the nearest trading post, but are otherwise left to your own devices, free to do what you want in the world. Unfortunately, that feeling doesn’t last.

You quickly notice that you only have one can of food and water, which do not seem to recover much. As it is the first day of the game, there are two options to to get more. They are to try to make it to the trading post or scavenge for supplies in various locations throughout the land. You take the second option, as you have nothing to purchase food with.

The sun is now directly overhead, and you can now hear wind whistling through the trees.

Upon finding a house, you enter and try to find food to prepare for the coming days. Encountering a few zombies, you to take damage and start bleeding. After beating them back, you use the only bandage you have. This recovers some of your lost health, brings the maximum back up from where it had fallen, and stops your bleeding. Now there is no way of recovering lost health other than waiting, and nothing that can help you if you start bleeding again. You gather some of the supplies now that the area is clear, and obtain some food, water, a cooking pot, and a painkiller in case you have to get into another fight. You set out to find some weaponry in order to be able to manage future encounters more safely.

The bright sunlight has given way to the dimmer yellows and oranges, and you can now hear crickets start to chirp.

You come across a new house, and spot a few boxes on the roof. You go through the building, dispatching the zombies inside with caution. Recovering lost health with the painkillers generates a lot of thirst, requiring you to drink more of your water. After making your way through the building, you end up on top with the stockpile of goods, and a large group of enemies protecting it. Fighting proves difficult, causing an infection and more wounds that you will have to deal with when you get more medicine. Luckily, you can now loot the containers they are guarding, providing you with a better club and bow, and a little more food to tide you over.

While you walk to the trader, an ominous noise plays, and the clock at the top of the screen strikes 22:00.

It’s now night, and you spent the whole day focusing on gathering supplies. This is when you find out the consequence of not staying indoors. Zombies now are faster and stronger, and you don’t have shelter to deal with them. Running away from the nearby zombies that have picked up on you existing takes a lot of time and stamina, increasing your hunger and thirst, making it harder to continue running. Trying to fight them is punishing, causing you to lose a significant portion of health. Now crouching around, trying to sneak past all of the enemies that are around you, there is little that you can do to avoid the feeling that you are powerless until the next day. Any sound you make can draw zombies to you. Trying to go to a new house will just put you in close quarters with more enemies. The only thing now is to sit and wait in the darkness, preparing to run at any time that something notices you. Besides that, you just watch the clock.

After a painfully long amount of time, you hear a tune play, marking 4:00 and the end of the night. You survived though the first full day. However, now you are infected, wounded, starving, thirsty, and without shelter.

Not only does this set a mood for the game, but it also trains the player on how they should play the game by punishing prioritizing the wrong things. The game gives them the base concepts of what they need to survive in the quests, such as getting weapons, clothing, a place to stay, and a way to make food, but don’t enforce those concepts too strongly, allowing for more player freedom. That doesn’t mean that every option the player can take is a good one. Many things they can do, like going into places they are not prepared to enter or engaging in too many fights, will kill them. If they don’t find shelter, they will be in a very dangerous position come nightfall. If they don’t get ample amounts of food an water, they will be less equipped to deal with the tasks they need to handle, or they will just die of starvation or dehydration. The game teaches the player to strike a balance of their needs by making it tangibly more difficult to play and showing what is needed to fix that added difficulty. Every time that the player starts over, or continues past a difficult period of survival provides more knowledge on what they should do to survive, but the first steps give them a baseline of get food, water, and shelter, while avoiding many of the unnecessary risks that you can take. Making the game more difficult or killing the player work as great deterrents to careless play, and showing the steps on how to avoid that help to train the player on what they should do to survive, while not just stating it outright, giving them more of a feeling of actual personal growth and learning to survive in a harsh world.

Even if this is only one aspect of how someone comes to interact with a game, I still think it is very important to how people come to interact with it. There are other things I may come to talk about in the future regarding this, as there are many other things that I believe contribute to the interest this game pulled to those I know. If you can, I would check out the game yourself to see what I mean, and I hope that this admittedly long piece of writing provided some food for thought about these concepts.

#game analysis #7 days to die #play conditioning #7dtd #analysis #game tone #tone #mood #zombies #survival horror #survival #open world #post-apocalyptic

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drmedicsgamesurgery · 5 years ago

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Danganronpa Togami Volume 3 Part 8 (Summary)

[0] See endnotes for a revelation about Haruki Murakami's relation to this novel I had while at the bookstore.

Thanks to @enoshima-pyon @shockersalvage @jinjojess @hopeymchope and the girl I met at the bookstore who recommended me ‘Kafka on the Shore’ out of sheer coincidence, for helping out!

"My kettle!"

"Get down! Be careful not to get hit by that rifle!"

"That’s a submachine gun. It’s not good to just think there is only one weapon type"

"Whatever, lay down!"

However instead of going prone, he stood up and went to the coat rack to take his hat. At the moment, K reached out, the hat was reduced to Swiss cheese "Why destroy the hat like a surrealist!?"

"Please, let's lie down!"

"Samsa, who transformed into a bug, moved around the room somewhat like this," K finally listened to me. He’s down. "Nevertheless, I do not want to sleep forever here. That guy with the submachine gun will want to play close combat. He should soon be in the hut."

"Just what can we do?"

“Unfortunately, I can’t help you aside from wishing for the good times that I hope will find you.” says K “If you’re expecting me to say something like, ‘I knew something like this would happen so I developed ‘Borges Mark II’ which fixed all the weaknesses that the previous model had’...forget it! Don’t expect a development like that!”

With more bullets flying into the house and destroying items like paintings and tableware, K loses his temper and orders Shinobu to follow him. He then opens a hidden door in the kitchen that goes into an underground staircase that leads to the garage. An experience that caused Shinobu to remember when she read the Diary of Anne Frank [1], which left her speechless. Once they get to the garage there is an old Skoda car. K asks Shinobu if she can drive. She asks if he isn’t going with her and he answers that he’s living incognito, so he can’t go with her. Shinobu tells him not to die.K says they are going after her, so they won’t bother killing him. Thus, Shinobu gets in the car and prepares to leave.

I opened the window of the driver's seat.

"Thank you for creating Borges." she says gratefully to K’s surprise.

"Don't you hate me?" he asks.

"There are, of course, hundreds of complaints I would make, but...the world that Borges made me see was very beautiful."

"I hope the world you will see with your left eye will not be so bad either."

"One more thing……"

"What else?"

"I always wanted to know...the writer who you started to tell me about that got angry in the interview. Who is he?"

"Milan Kundera." replied K and I realized one thing.

Kundera.

That initial letter is also K.

Kundera is still alive, an old man. After the war, he fled to France, but he was born in the Czech Republic…

No, no. It couldn’t be- Could it? Was that really possible? I am eager to find out if K is also part of the false reality that Borges has shown me, or not.

"Kundera has written a very good sentence. I will quote it until the end." K said. "’Betrayal is to get out of your position. Betrayal is to get rid of the original position and cast it to the unknown’."

"I’m leaving."

I stepped on the gas pedal and the car suddenly slammed into the garage door, breaking it. I saw through the rearview mirror that K was calling, but from his previous words and deeds, he should not blame me for this little thing.

I drove all the way and rushed down the mountain road. Back when I walked up on my own two legs, I was walking pretty hard.

Now I’m leaving this road at the speed of sound! I was extremely happy! Every time I was too unskilled to shift gears properly, the car squeaked and shaked.

However, the vintage engine kept running like it has been operating for years now.

All this means, I just had to keep at it with a smile...until those bullets finally enter my brain!

"I have finally arrived!"

I tried to say something that was not my usual style. As for the reason as to why, well, maybe it’s because I actually didn't have a ‘style�� at all.

The sound of the air smashed and tore open and with it a helicopter appeared. Since I no longer had Borges, I didn't know the name of the model. But even if I did know it, I couldn't stop it.

The helicopter flew in the sky and followed closely behind the car. I came out from the window and looked at it. I saw Yuika Ketouin. Her face expressionless like a noh mask, and she was holding the joystick. That octopus was also attached to her head.

“Yuika Ketouin!"

I called out, but she did not respond. Yuika, was still being controlled by the octopus that Kasamori put on her. It’s her that probably killed Hiroyuki, too. I don’t know how to feel about a sister who killed her own brother, although perhaps she simply doesn’t have free will. Having said that, maybe they aren’t siblings at all. I don't know, I don't know anything, but this kind of thing is not important to me at all. I don't need to drink Bufferin anymore. I stepped on the gas pedal and thought about going down the mountain. No matter how destroyed the roof and the mirror were from the bullets, I still continued to drive forward.

Shinobu decides that in order to make sure a bullet doesn’t hit one of her wheels, that she would jump out of the car and escape into the forest, with the helicopter shooting indiscriminately into the leaves that covered her body.

I held my breath and stayed in the same place. The sound of the propeller and the rain of the machine gun fire gradually drifted away from me. The opportunity came, I walked out of the forest and went back to where the car was.

It’s a trap!

The helicopter is indeed in the air at a distance, but its body is facing me.

If Yuika Ketouin were to be holding a sniper rifle and waiting for me to come out of the forest, the dot should now be aligned right in the space between my eyebrows.

I am going to get hit.

I am going to die.

At that moment, however, I suddenly saw something fly towards the helicopter. The thing flew up with a tail-like white smoke, hit the side of the helicopter, and, at the same time, caused an explosion.

Fireworks bloomed in the blue sky. The helicopter lost its balance and fell toward the mountains. I heard the sound of the spiral wing sweeping the trees...

Then the explosion.

The sleeping birds that were in the shade of the forest flew away together.

"It's over..."

I heard the voice, but I didn't see anyone. I looked to the right and then looked to the left again. When I turned to the right again, before there was no one there when I looked that way.

Now there is a girl standing in front of me. She wore the uniform of Hope's Peak Academy and there were tight muscles on her limbs that protruded from her uniform. She gave off the impression of a female athlete. She had a pair of squinting eyes which were filled with tension.

From the 78th Class of Hope’s Peak Academy.

Mukuro Ikusaba.

Super High School Level Soldier.

Shinobu asks her what is she doing in the Czech Republic and, after a bit of banter where she reads the wrong script in front of Shinobu (which leads Shinobu to comment on how she’s cute, yet rather useless) she answers that she was hired to escort one of the Council of Global Controllers members a day or so before the World Domination proclamation. She blames herself for not being able to protect him. Having failed her mission she tried to head back to the airport but since it was blocked, and she had no money, she was forced to camp out in the forest…

“It couldn’t be helped...so I camped out here,” admitted Mukuro, “While I was here, I also hunted down a live bear and ate it...slowly.”

“Yep...that’s...good.”

“It was indeed.”

“...”

Trying to keep the conversation going, Shinobu remarks that Japan or, to be precise, the world is in rough shape at the moment. Mukuro asks how Junko is doing and Shinobu reports about her being in Hope’s Peak and her food request, to which Mukuro takes note she’ll buy before she leaves Czech.

Shinobu asks her help to save Byakuya, but she apologies saying that she isn’t very good with improvised plans, though notes she is supposed to help her, but the plan never says to what extent (she really wishes she had her script now). To make it up to Shinobu, she fixes a tire of the car that got damaged during the machine gun attack. They then part ways, and Shinobu gets out of the mountain with the old Skoda car.

I drove forward again in the car and finally got out of the mountain. There is no problem with the tires, and it was very light to drive. After driving for a while along the river, I was able to see the restaurants in the mountains.

Mr. Hiroyuki Ketouin.

Who is that guy?

From his tone, he seems to know me, but I still can't remember. Thus, the emotions of anger, sadness, and compassion, I can't fathom these.

I am empty, and I blame the K2K system that drives Borges for that. My existence is extremely ambiguous and there is no difference to that of a newborn baby.

Yes, I am a baby. I know nothing about the world, and I don’t know anything about myself. But, because of this, I can update all of them and move forward.

Yeah!

I tried to make a scream that was not like my usual style. Maybe it was because I never really had my own ‘style’ at all?

But now things have changed!

I must rely on my own strength to create my own style!

As Shinbou glances at the hotel she and Hiroyuki were at, she whispers that Yuika should be dead as a result of Mukuro.

It feels a bit funny, the world around me is so crazy, but the craziest is myself. I can't believe in any experience of my own. It’s only now that I feel this certain type of happiness. That no matter who is accumulating the past, with this recent freedom only I can create the present.

In the whole wide world, only I have no original. Happiness that pushes forward like a beast or a bird without being noticed by anybody and with no need to worry about anyone's evaluations.

"Yeah!"

Even if it is not like my usual style of yelling, no one will ever say again that I am not acting out of my usual style. Yes, I have been reborn!

Even still, I must still keep going towards the place where Byakuya is kept!

I will move towards the freedom that will aid Byakuya!

Oh, let the engine roar loudly...and may it run all the way towards happiness!

Translation Notes:

[0] So as it turns out Haruki Murakami has also written a book called “Kafka on the Shore” which is just another connection to the ‘K’ theme. However here is a conspiracy. So in Volume one of DRT the JDC and ER3 system get mentioned as you probably don’t recall. ER3 system form Zaregoto written by Nisio Isin (which in itself heavily inspired danganronpa) and the JDC primarily written by Ryūsui Seiryōin, but also many many spin offs written by Nisio Isin and Maijo Otaro. Now the writers isin, Otaro and Sato (DRTs author) are commonly compared to each other in the japanese fiction world as there style of writing and intricate details that only work in japanese (Pure Literature as the genre is called there), we can see they share a lot of similar ideas. In fact DRT and Otaro’s Jorge Joestar are commonly compared also, (which is a JDC book with a jojo’s Bizarre Adventure spin on it). Now in “Kafka on the Shore” one of the main characters is called Johnnie Walker and in Otaro’s new anime ID: Invaded the villain is called John Walker. What has this got to do with DRT? No idea but all im saying is that if Tsukumo Juku shows up in DRT at this point I wouldn't be surprised. These writers all share a common theme of some sort of force controlling the actions of the main character and the deceptive nature of the world around them. It’s very interesting to compare and contrast all these things.

[1] The Diary of a Young Girl, also known as The Diary of Anne Frank, is a book of the writings from the Dutch language diary kept by Anne Frank while she was in hiding for two years with her family during the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands. The family was apprehended in 1944, and Anne Frank died of typhus in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in 1945. The diary was retrieved by Miep Gies, who gave it to Anne's father, Otto Frank, the family's only known survivor, just after the war was over. The diary has since been published in more than 60 languages.

To be continued.

https://drmedicsgamesurgery.tumblr.com/GameSurgeryDRTranslations

#Danganronpa #ID:Invaded #JDC #Jorge Joestar #Danganronpa:Togami #Danganronpa: Togami #Danganronpa Togami #DRT #DRT3 #part 8 #DRT3 Summary

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sugakookie · 5 years ago

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hey guys! sorry I haven't been on much but I thought I'd give you a little life update

On Saturday, 3 tornadoes hit the county I live in, one extremely close to where I live. The damage is terrible throughout wi from not only the tornadoes (6 more confirmed throughout the state) but from 84 mph straightline winds. trees are uprooted and snapped, cars and campers are destroyed and ppl have lost barns and the roofs off of buildings. Power poles have also snapped and power lines are down everywhere (one even setting a tree on fire) and there was flooding. electrical companies are saying it's the worst outage they've seen in like twenty years. I've been without power like many others and have no idea when it will come back on. It's been a few days. places all over are setting up charging and cooling stations and companies are letting people use showers and whatnot for free. Workers are on overtime trying to fix the power issue. I was at work when this happened, not knowing that it was even supposed to storm let alone get 3 tornadoes by me. We were under two tornado warnings, stuck in the back of the store with a bunch of other team members and customers while the lights flickered and we heard crashes of thunder and rain hit the ceiling. I couldn't see outside. When I checked to see where the tornado hit I didn't even realize one also hit close to my home and driving back seeing the destruction on my street and ppl hugging each other and cleaning up was absolutely terrifying. I also had my dog at home by herself I felt so bad. Thankfully, my place was probably the only house on the street with zero trees and branches down. My family is also safe so I'm grateful. The most they got was a tree on their trampoline. I was kind of glad I was at work and not at home though bc seeing the winds and trees falling left and right around my house would have been absolutely horrifying.

So now I'm just waiting for power to come back on, drove back to my parent's house to take advantage of their generator, and used my gym membership for showering lol. but yeah, that's what's been going on, how was everyone else's weekend lmao

#That was kind of long #but i wanted to explain the whole thing #the whole state is dealing with it too it's insane

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sheisrecovering · 6 years ago

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Exhausted & Overwhelmed

Hey angels 💕

I’m going to try and keep this post somewhat brief as I’m beyond tired at this point. On Friday September 21st at around 6pm, multiple tornadoes hit Ottawa and surrounding areas. One tornado tore through my neighbourhood and touched my home. My boyfriend and I ran outside and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. We are extremely lucky to have only minimal damage to our house, but most of my neighbours were unlucky. They lost roofs, walls, windows, and some of their cars were crushed or damaged by trees and other debris. Houses in Dunrobin, about 30 minutes outside of Ottawa, are completely destroyed.

Power was immediately knocked out city-wide and it was already getting dark outside. We were all working hard to help each other out, and firefighters came by a few hours later to check that everyone was accounted for. There were no deaths, thank goodness— but several people were injured and in critical condition. Power was restored to our neighbourhood early on Monday. We didn’t end up seeing any emergency crews, but roofers finally made it out later that morning to start repairing the houses that were badly damaged and they have been working every day since.

In the midst of the tornado madness, my boyfriend and I met with my sister and her childhood friend for dinner on Saturday, downtown, where they had power. We went to a tapas restaurant called Sidedoor and it was absolutely incredible. It was my first time trying tapas and I fell in love. It was really nice seeing our good friend too, especially through such a stressful time.

It was an exhausting weekend to say the very least. Being hit by the tornado itself was probably one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced. I’m thankful to be okay, but I’m also feeling heartbroken because my boyfriend got the news that his dog passed away back home in Michigan. That was completely unexpected and made the tornado seem like almost nothing. He really is the most innocent and sweetest dog I’ve ever met, and I’m really happy that I was able to spend time with him.

I’m also babysitting my next-door neighbour’s kitten, Nova, until their roof is fixed! So that’s been nice. I’m going to be resting and concentrating on taking care of us this week. I wasn’t able to maintain my routine during the blackout so I’m feeling really off. I do have a ton of new posts I need to upload and I have some free resources in the works so check back in a few days.

I hope you’re all doing well, staying strong and being good to yourselves!!! What did you guys do this weekend?

redbubble • twitter & instagram

#blog post #ottawa tornado #ottstorm #ottawa #tornado

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ashencreature · 6 years ago

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Important Update for partners across the board

This is long, and I’m sorry, but I just wanted everyone to know what’s going on. Honestly, I’m not expecting anyone to actually waste time reading through all this, but it’s just so I can try to ease my own anxiety in case the worst case scenario does come and I left some sort of explanation.

Ok, so, some of you know there’s been a lot going on for me at home in the last 3 or 4 years. But everything’s kind of getting worse by day and at this point, I’m not sure what to do anymore.

When I was 14, I moved in with my dad. We moved quite a few times in the first few years I was with him. Hell, that first year alone, I was in 3 different schools. All for Freshman year. And the last house we were in that year, we stayed in for maybe 2?

But when I was 16, the factory my dad worked at closed and he lost his job. That’s kind of where all this starts. Instead of getting a new job, he decided he wanted to spend all day drinking with his new friends and occasionally doing odd jobs for them or things with them. We had to move out of that house, take my dog to the shelter, and move into a trailer. It was only supposed to be for a year. But nearly 14 years later, and we’re still here.

Now the landlord here is a real prick. More like a slumlord if you ask me. He jacks the rent up for the dumbest reasons and acts like he’s god’s gift to humanity or some shit. He told us himself, and had the park manager tell us, that we couldn’t fix our roof to stop the leaking because the walls would collapse of we tried to move it. So literally the entire 14 years we’ve been here, the roof has been leaking. My dad tried everything he could think of, short of tearing it out and redoing it, to fix it. Nothing worked.

And in that time, the entire back half of the house got destroyed by mold. My bedroom, being the very last room, was the first to go. I think I slept in it for a year? And ever since, I’ve had to sleep in the living room because the walls had to be torn out due to the mold. It’s right down to the studs and the scant insulation. It’s been like that for over 10 years. Well, now the mold is spreading and getting worse. The bathroom is destroyed pretty much. The back hallway is the same. The floor’s rotting away, and the toilet is falling through the floor; again.

Now, I think my dad went to the garage he was at for the first time when I was maybe 18? I don’t remember exactly. I do remember being in junior year and my friends either having to buy me lunch, share theirs with me, or pray that we actually were cooking in cooking class; which happened a lot less than you’d think. Other than that, I didn’t eat. Senior year was a little better because I at least would get money dropped off to eat. Not that the cafeteria had a lot of choices for me to pick from. I pretty much ate nothing but gross excuse for pizza and occasionally pretzels, fries, or Belgian waffles.

Anyway, so senior year rolls around and we’re all prepping for college. At the time, I wanted to go to AMDA for musical theater, and managed to get an audition there for that March. I had to force my dad to go to the meeting about FAFSA and to fill out the paperwork. Which he said he did, but I don’t believe it because he says they denied me. And I’ve never heard of FAFSA being denied. Not that it mattered anyway, because I bombed the audition and didn’t get in. So graduation rolls around and all my friends go off to college. I haven’t seen or spoken to most of them since. They never stop to visit when they come home and they never try to reach out on Facebook. Eventually, I got sick of being the one to initiate and maintain all conversations, so I just gave up.

The 2 friends I still had at that time helped me to get jobs when I was 20/21 and living with them, in 2011/2012. This was because 2 of us and their mom were in a car accident on the way to my friend’s college at the time. We all nearly died. My friend had a concussion, their mom needed surgery, and I nearly got impaled by a fake Christmas tree. I ended up going to the hospital a lot later than they did with a copy of the report in the doctor’s hand and got told I wasn’t in an accident I had the flu, go home. Anyway, so after my friend’s mom’s surgery, I moved in to help around the house and look after my friend’s youngest sister. These jobs weren’t the best; Wendy’s and the deli department of one of the local grocery stores. But it was money.

For all the good it did. Because by that time, my dad had quit working at the garage. So here I was, paying for rent, bills, gas, food, and child support for my brother. All on $200 a week. My anxiety was driving me insane. And I came to find out that my dad was going in and threatening one of the store managers, which was probably why the guy was such a scumbag to me. But I digress. So I was in the store for a month shy of 2 years. I started at maybe $7.45 or $7.50. an hour when I started. It was slightly over the minimum wage at the time. By the time I left, 2 years later mind you, I wasn’t even making $8, and I was working full time hours while only being part time. Everything that went wrong got blamed on me, even when it was my day off and I wasn’t anywhere near the store. I liked most of the people that I worked with, even if I hated the job, and the assistant department manager became a really good friend. She was 2 years older than me, and we hung out a lot. I’d spend the night at her house, I was at her wedding, I’ve been to her daughter’s birthday parties and so on.

At one point, I was supposed to get training to be an assistant specialty cheese shop lead. They sent me to one class, told me about another, but never gave me any more details about it, even when I asked. Then they said they were going to train me over there, but never did. That was just the first of a long list of grievances. The culmination of which was on a Sunday night, our busiest day of the week. There was just me and 1 other guy in the department. Then 1 lady in the hot food section, 1 lady in the beer store, and no one in the bakery. But they expected me to take care of all 4 departments and still wait on the 20+ people that were at the counter the whole night. And I had an order to make and put away for the assistant department manager. Needless to said, I had a panic attack. I told my partner, and both of the other people nearby. They told the assistant store manager, and he didn’t care. They made me work for 3 and a half hours, through a panic attack, without a break. I couldn’t breathe and was on the verge of fainting. I finally had enough and told one of the ladies that I didn’t care what the store manager said, I was going to get my inhaler in the break room and get a drink at the water fountain, or I was going to faint.

A few days later, I got called to the main office to speak to the store manager, who I usually didn’t have a problem with. And unfortunately, since my anger receptors are evidently attached to my tear ducts, I broke down in tears when I wanted to be furious. He basically told me that I was going to the bakery or I was getting fired. So the next day, I quit. There was a lot of other stuff too but that doesn’t really matter. Including being so sick that I couldn’t eat for over a week, fainting in the back room because they wouldn’t let me take a day off, and not being able to talk for over a month. The assistant department manager almost called the ambulance when I fainted, but you know, I’m clearly the problem here.

So there we were, I didn’t have a job. My dad didn’t have a job. I was 23, and feeling just as helpless as I did at 16. I spent a year filling out job applications for a bunch of different things from craft stores to fast food to jewelry stores, but never heard back from any of them. The only interview I got was for Chipotle. But they wouldn’t even hire me. Naturally, cue the anxiety and depression getting worse. And around this time, our electric got shut off. This was in May I believe because it was just before my birthday.

At that time I started thinking about going back to school. So I looked at schools and degrees you could do all online, because I knew I could never afford to go on campus. And, as most of you know, I started at CTU in July of that year. Now the program I did was an accelerated one, which meant I could finish gen ed classes faster, be done faster, and lower my tuition. I did as many as I could, but only my admission adviser was any help. My actual student adviser was never around, never responded to my emails, never called me back. But whatever.

So for 3 years I spent pretty much all day, every god damn day doing schoolwork. I’d be at my local Dunkin from 3 in the afternoon until they closed at 11. Sometimes I’d be working even later next door because I still had stuff to do. The first year and a half I was fine. It didn’t bother mine, just like working didn’t bother me at first. But then, a year and a half after I started, I got sick. I couldn’t eat anything without my stomach cramping up and getting the worst migraines. It got so bad that one day at Dunkin, I felt like I was going to puke, and got up to go to the bathroom and almost fainted. Personally, I think it’s a combination of anxiety, depression, Celiac/gluten intolerance, anemia, and asthma. But I don’t know for sure because I haven’t had a doctor since I was going to the pediatrician. And even if I did, can’t afford it.

So I’ve just been getting sicker and sicker. I was 125 pounds in January of this year. 11 months later, and I’m down to 108.5 the last time I checked. I think the lowest I hit was 107, and that was all 6 months after the weight loss started. There’s times it’ll go back up, but I can’t get past 110 or 111 tops. Neighbors who used to live down the road came to visit earlier this week, and all the lady could say was how skinny I got. I’m like yeah, malnourishment’ll do that to you.

And to make things worse, my dad at some point went back to the garage and was working again, so things were slightly better. I say slightly in the loosest way possible. But, just after Christmas last year, my dad quit again. I’ve seen him apply to 1 job and go to 1 interview in the year since. Other than that, he’s been collecting scrap and doing shit for people who refuse to pay, including the landlord. In the last 7 or 8 months, despite how many times I’ve told him that my refund checks from the school aren’t free money I can spend however I want, my dad’s made me spend it. The $5,000 I had that was supposed to set me ahead for my student loans are gone. And I’m $5,000 deeper in the hole than I should be. Which means instead of being like $45 or 50 grand in debt I’m about $55 grand.

Then, because we haven’t had electricity in almost 4 years, and with the mold problem, everything in the house is ruined. We had only cold water, and I took cold showers for as long as I could. But last winter, the shower pipes froze and burst. So even if I wanted to, I can’t do that. Plus, because we can’t use the washer and dryer, or hook up a generator thanks to the scumbag landlord, or afford a laundromat, our clothes have gone unwashed for over a year. Most of mine were sitting in the tub, which got filled with mold and bugs. I have practically no clothes left, with no way to wash them, and no way to shower unless I go to someone else’s house. And even when I do, I still don’t feel clean. Even after washing my hair 4 times or more.

We were supposed to move into the place next door and tear this one down. But the landlord and my dad made a deal that he’d give it to us for the cost of the title transfer. Then suddenly, he wanted $600, then like $800 or $1,000. But he won’t stop asking about it, no matter how many times we tell him no. Him and his wife keep trying to say we’re $5,000 behind on rent which isn’t possible because with what rent is now, you can’t even get $5,000 as a total for a whole year, and this last year is the only time we fell behind because everything else was caught up. He gave us a bill full or errors. Payments that were made aren’t marked. Payments that weren’t made are. There’s random charges after the monthly rent cycle. Which I think are from when he was bitching about us paying the taxes for a place we didn’t even own and was still in his name. He told us we can’t run the generator for power because it was too loud. Though the noise ordinance here is 11, and it was always off by then. And when one of the neighbors asked how we were supposed to live, he told them it “Wasn’t his problem”.

So when I started getting really sick, and unable to leave the house to go to Dunkin for school because I was too gross, the neighbors next door let us run an extension cord over to their place. Not a lot. Just enough for the light in the living room, the fan, a mini fridge, and to plug in my phone and computer. OH WANNA HEAR A GOOD ONE. THE LANDLORD TOLD MY DAD 3 SEPARATE TIMES IF I NEED TO PLUG IN MY COMPUTER TO GET A LANTERN. YES THE OLD FASHIONED OIL OR CANDLE TYPE LANTERN. WHICH YOU CAN TOTALLY PLUG AN ELECTRONIC COMPUTER INTO. So because of that, I was able to finish school and graduate in June.

But, because I still can’t bathe or do laundry and have no clothes, I still can’t go to interviews. If I walked in with my arms, face, neck, and legs literally black from dirt, and reeking to high heaven, I’d fucking get laughed out of the place. My dad still refuses to get a real job and insists on hauling scrap or doing shit for people who won’t pay at all, or want to pay less than it’s worth. And guess what’s due this week? You got it, my first loan payment.

I can’t figure out how much I have to pay, work on getting it lowered or delayed, or even access my account info because there’s an issue with my birthday apparently, and they can’t find it even though they have my name and social and keep emailing me. I’ve been telling him this for months, and he still won’t come with me to try and sort it out. Because what he needs has to taken care of then and there and everything else can fuck all. He blew up at me the other day about it, blaming me for going, leaving him with payments, for my mother walking out 20 years ago even though they hated each other, and pretty much for being born. Because he resents having to take care of kids he made the choice to have. Not like I asked to be born, and I’ve been wishing I was dead since I was 9, but whatever.

Anyway.

So, the neighbor’s dad was diagnosed with lung cancer over the summer. Like 2 weeks later, he was dead. And she’s struggling just as much. We’ve been trying to help her and she’s been trying to help us. But her ex was paying her rent and some of the other bills until she found a job because they have a young son. But he started refusing to do that, which I honestly wouldn’t be surprised it if was the landlord’s doing cause they were talking. And he was telling her to “pull the plug” on us. And his wife started harassing her about rent like 2 weeks after her father died. Then, she went to Domestic relations earlier this week and then like the day after she goes, her ex somehow gets an emergency custody on the little guy. They came for him yesterday.

She’s most likely going to have to move, which means that we’ll be losing power and internet unless we can figure something out to get our power back on. But even then, the bill’s supposedly at least $1300, and that won’t fix the internet problem.

So... Needless to say, if I disappear suddenly in the near future, that’s why. I don’t want to go. I’ve spent too much time here, made too many friends, and put too much work into my muses. But everything is going to shit all at once. It’s just been building and building for the last 3 years, especially the last year, but my dad refuses to see and do anything about it. Instead, he’d rather blame everything on me and expect me to fix it. As if my mental health wasn’t bad enough from childhood abuse and being sick and stressed all the time. Now I’m too fucking scared to leave the house. I haven’t been outside since the midterms when I went to vote. But I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen now. And I just wanted everyone to know that I love them. And even if I do disappear, I still plan on keeping my muses and coming back when I can. Granted Tumblr doesn’t die before then. In which case the only blog i’m worried about losing is Elizabeth’s because of all the worldbuilding, metas, and headcanons I’ve done.

#Outofbelief

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forestwater87 · 7 years ago

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Camp Camp Secret Santa 2017

Happy Holidays to @conky-in-action! It was so much fun to participate in this year’s @campcamp-secretsanta, and I hope you enjoy this little fic!

(Credit for the brilliant Christmas tree idea goes to @hopefullypessimistic84, who helped me out of a serious rut, writing-wise.)

“For Christ’s sake, let me g --”

“Your scarf is dragging, Max! Just -- stop -- for a second --”

“It’s a thousand degrees!”

Gwen glanced up from her phone, abandoning the “I’m here” text she’d been about to send David. She’d been worrying about how she would be able to find them in the crush of people thronging the train station, but of course she should’ve realized they wouldn’t be hard to find. “Guys?” she called, pocketing her phone and tightening her grip on her bag.

David’s head popped up over the crowd -- a second’s flash of a robin’s egg blue pompom bouncing into the air -- and then he was pushing through the throng, nearly tripping over his own feet and several others’ before stumbling to a halt in front of her. “Gwen!” he cried, flinging one arm around her with the other awkwardly held out behind him. “It’s so good to see you! Max!” His body twisted in the direction of his outstretched arm, gently tugging Max forward. “Look who’s here!”

Max rolled his eyes, shuffling his feet but letting himself be drawn into the hug by David’s mittened hand in his. “So? She’s here all the time.”

David had cajoled his young houseguest into full winter gear this month, Gwen noticed; last time it had been a constant battle of shed clothing and loud arguments. And judging by the way Max’s scarf was only loosely draped around his neck, both ends soaked and filthy and threatening to trip him with every step, it was a fight David had only barely won. She resisted the urge to kneel down as he approached, knowing it’d only make his mood more sour. “Nice to see you too, asshole.”

David frowned, but Max’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and she could’ve sworn she saw the ghost of a smirk cross his face for a second.

“Come on, guys, it’s Christmas! We’ve never all been together for Christmas like this! Isn’t that special?”

“Maybe if you stopped shoving holiday bullshit down our throats,” Max muttered, yanking his hand free and shoving them in his coat pockets.

She glanced over at David, watching the sunshine in his face fight with worry and plain sullen disappointment. They’d talked about Max’s increasing bad mood as Christmas drew closer, over text and phone and Facebook and email (and even the occasional concerned snap; she was pretty sure he would’ve sent his fears of being a good guardian by carrier pigeon if he’d known how). She was of the opinion that Max was a kid and kids were assholes, but David was convinced there was something deeper going on.

Judging by the frustration that drew his eyebrows together and thinned his lips, he hadn’t hunted down that “something” just yet.

Gwen bumped his shoulder with her own. “You okay, David?”

He started, shaking his head with a small laugh. The lines on his face smoothed away and he fixed her with a bright smile. “Of course I am!” he replied, picking up her bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “I have my favorite people in the world with me --”

“I can take that, you don’t have to carry it --”

“-- and it’s the best time of the year! Besides summer, of course!” Ignoring her halfhearted protests, he stared Max down until the boy sighed and accepted his proffered hand -- then extended the stare to Gwen, who was familiar enough with this routine to snag Max’s other hand -- then led the way off the train platform. “I’ve never been happier!”

“Has he been like this the whole time?” she asked Max quietly, letting David bounce along without noticing they weren’t listening.

Max glared up at her from under his hat; bright red with a white puffball on the end, it perched on his curls like a big floppy pancake. (She wondered idly if he or David had made it, and which of them was the better knitter by now.) “What the fuck do you think?”

Gwen was a little proud of herself for not taking his irritation personally. Besides, David’s behavior was a bit more worrying at the moment. He’d always been a bit manic, but . . . “How’re you holding up?”

He shrugged as well as he could, considering both his hands were captive. “Fine, I guess? I don’t --”

“Okay, gang!” David cut in, “let me go get the car so you don’t have to walk through the snow! Wait right here! Don’t go anywhere!”

They both watched him bound away, nearly slipping on a section of poorly-salted ice before catching himself and running to the parking lot. Finally Max said, “Listen, I get this ‘how are you feeling?’ shit from him all the time. Can you give it a rest for a couple days?”

“I meant, how are you doing with him? I . . . know he can be kinda hard to take.”

Max glanced over at her, face scrunching in surprise. “Oh,” he said. “I mean, he’s okay I guess. Could be worse.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Gwen looked out at the traffic, feigning disinterest. “I can’t believe you haven’t killed him yet over this ‘festive cheer’ stuff. I would’ve.”

“No, seriously, he’s fine.” He scuffed at the salty sidewalk. “It’s nice not being the only house without Christmas lights. At least he gives a shit.”

His voice was quiet, shy but also prickly with defensiveness, and she decided she’d pushed hard enough. “Can’t wait to get to see the place. Knowing him, you’d probably notice it from orbit.”

Max snorted. “We got letters from the neighbors threatening to call the cops because they couldn’t sleep. Took all weekend to convince David to take some of the lights down.” He smirked up at her with the see-what-I’m-dealing-with? expression that’d become their primary mode of communication over the past few months, and the tension between them dissolved.

As David’s beaten-up car rumbled to a stop in front of them -- spraying everyone waiting at the curb with slush -- she ducked into the front seat with a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment.

Satisfaction, because she might not have used her degree much since graduation, but she could still pull a mean reverse psychology when she had to.

Disappointment, because it seemed like maybe there was something deeper than general kid dickishness going on here.

And Max of all kids didn’t need another reason to wake up scowling.

“So how should we start?” David clapped his hands between his knees and leaned forward so far he nearly tipped his chair over. His leg was bouncing hard enough to make the furniture shake. “We need a tree, or we can bake cookies -- ooh, or we can make a big Christmas dinner -- or go to the movies -- what about ice skating?” Sitting up straight, he covered his mouth with both hands. “There’s so much to do! I’m so excited!”

Max groaned, but didn’t look up from his phone. Gwen was inclined to agree -- after the train ride up here she wanted nothing more than to collapse on the couch and not move for at least five hours -- but she saw the way David’s hair was sticking up a bit too much (a symptom of combing his fingers through it obsessively) and the slightly manic glint to his smile. After years of working together in unnecessarily stressful situations, too many of them involving grenades, she was pretty familiar with his “I’m hanging onto the end of my rope with my fingernails” look. So she scraped a bit more enthusiasm from deep in her stomach and said, “I mean, this place looks basically perfect, but it’s a little weird without a tree. And it’d be nice to get outside while it’s still light.”

Max’s head shot up, a look resembling betrayal flashing across his face. Then he shrugged and glanced back down at his phone. “Whatever. I mean it’s not like we don’t have enough decorations.”

“But a tree is the most important one!” David sprang to his feet, taking Gwen’s hands and tugging her up as well. “What a great idea, Gwen!”

“Why don’t you guys already have a tree?” she asked quietly as he held the door open for her, Max stomping ahead with his hood pulled over his face and his hands in his pockets.

He frowned, his gaze miles away and his face lined with worry. “The last couple months have been . . . hard. He was so happy on Halloween, and I thought things were looking up, but . . .” David sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair and wincing at the way his fringe crackled with static and clung to his forehead. “I just don’t know anymore.”

“Maybe you’re too close to it?” she suggested, and his eyes finally snapped to hers. “I mean, I know he’s a little shit, but he seems a lot better than he was in August. And it’s a hell of an improvement over Thanksgiving, right?”

“I guess so,” he said, shaking his head with a small chuckle. They’d invited Gwen down for the holiday that year, and she’d made the mistake of thinking the two of them and David’s mother would be less hectic than her own family. The evening had ended with Max sulking on the roof after having thrown the entire turkey at David’s head -- David’s mom, working with middle schoolers for a living, had been the only one able to eventually coax him in out of the cold -- and his legal guardian crying on the living-room floor surrounded by destroyed poultry while Gwen tried to scrub gravy out of the carpet and occasionally brought him napkins. (She wasn’t great at comforting people, and had been immeasurably relieved when the others had returned from the roof, so she could snag Max for cleanup duty and leave the emotional support to David’s mom.) From what she could tell, things had been much smoother since then. “Maybe I’m expecting too much of him.”

“Yeah, probably,” she said with a snort, then cringed at the hurt look on his face. “I mean, he’s . . . like, no amount of love is going to stop him from being an asshole. That’s kinda how he is. I know you think I’m too hard on him --” she added quickly as he opened his mouth; he obediently shut it and looked down. “-- but you can’t explain away his entire personality with ‘his parents are fuckups,’ David. Some of that is just how he is, and he has to know you’re gonna like him anyway. I mean . . . right? You know?”

She stuttered to a halt, suddenly aware of how long she’d been talking. Christ, she hadn’t given a speech like that since Nurf’s day back at camp. But that time she’d been asked how to make Nurf open up, instead of just spouting her unwanted opinions at a struggling father.

She opened her mouth to apologize, because David certainly didn’t need two jerks in his life and it wasn’t like she really knew the situation anyway and they were barely even friends, really -- but before she could she was smacked in the face with a blue pom-pom, inhaling wool in the split second before David’s arms tightened around her hard enough to cut off her ability to breathe at all.

“Thank you, Gwen,” he mumbled into her shoulder, his voice muffled by the puffy coat he’d insisted she put on (because hers was apparently not good enough). “You always know what to say.”

That . . . seemed like a generous interpretation -- she would’ve gone with “you always put your foot in your mouth” -- but she wasn’t going to complain. Her mobility was limited somewhat by the dense down jacket, but she managed to hook an arm around his skinny frame and awkwardly pat his back. “Hey,” she began, then realized she didn’t know how to finish that and just let it dangle in the air: “Heyyy . . .”

David laughed quietly, turning his head toward her so he could breathe more easily. “Hi.”

He didn’t let go, and after a couple moments she said, “Max doesn’t hug much, huh?”

“How could you tell?”

She rolled her eyes. “Call it a hunch.” She let him cling like that for another few seconds -- she hadn’t been hugged in a while either, and she had to admit it was kinda nice -- then shrugged him off. “Come on, moron. He’s probably freezing to death out there.”

His eyes widened in alarm, looking much more teal than green thanks to the blue wool hat that framed his face. “Golly, you’re right! Let’s go!” He snagged her hand without thinking, turning and rushing down the hall with the pom-poms dangling from his hat’s ear-flaps trailing behind him (and nearly hitting her, again, with each step).

“Slow down, David!” she shouted, but the irritation in her voice was entirely fake.

She’d tolerate a lot, she was slowly learning, to keep a smile on that idiot’s face.

“What kind of tree do you want, Max?” After almost an hour of trying and failing to get Max to show any sort of enthusiasm, David’s cheer was definitely strained. He kept opening and closing his hands, like he was trying to keep the blood circulating in the cold weather . . . or like he was trying very very hard not to let them clench into fists.

Max didn’t look up from his phone, deftly bystepping a gooey-eyed couple. “I dunno. Maybe a fake one, so we don’t kill a perfectly healthy tree for no good reason.”

“But . . .” David trailed off, closing his eyes and opening his mittened hands again. His nostrils flared slightly as he took a deep, calming breath, then said, “Well, buddy, it would’ve been good to know that before we got here! But since we’re already in out here surrounded by all this beautiful nature --” he gestured grandly at the neat rows of trees that spread out like the spokes of a wheel from where they were standing -- “why don’t we bring some of it home, what do you say?”

Max just shrugged, smirked at something on his phone, and kept walking. His small boots cut through the powdery snow without really picking up off the ground, leaving two lines that trailed behind him as he wandered through the lot.

David took another deep breath -- she was starting to wonder if that was doing him any good -- and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I forgot how he gets when we have company,” he finally muttered to Gwen, most of the golly-gee! quality of his voice gone. “It’s like he needs to prove he’s still . . .”

“Satan?” she offered helpfully.

“Difficult,” he finished, and for a moment they watched the mop of black hair weave through the trees. “But it’s okay! We’ll just have to help him.”

“Help him what --” She was interrupted by a wheeze as he grabbed her hand and tugged her forward, plowing through the snow at a half-jog that sprayed glittering white over everyone they ran past.

“Max, Max! What about that one?”

“Still don’t care.”

They were getting along better, Gwen thought, watching David attempt to rescue the trailing ends of Max’s scarf and wrap them around their supremely disinterested owner. The tension between them felt brittler, always on the verge of crackling and falling away; when Max told his guardian to go to hell, it lacked the bite of sincerity.

She wouldn’t call their dynamic playful, and David certainly didn’t seem amused by his attitude, but it was . . . softer, somehow. Like the malice was a little less genuine, and the underlying affection a little closer to the surface.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little shitstain. And she was getting cold.

“David, they’re literally all the exact same, so just pick one and --”

“What about that one?” she interrupted, pointing at a tree at the very corner of the lot. It was thin and brown, a carpet of shed needles lying in a circle around its base. It listed to one side, the tip drooping toward the ground like a sad dog.

David frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Gwen, I don’t think --”

“Trust me,” she hissed, stepping close enough to whisper and taking his elbow. Making sure Max wasn’t looking, she pinched his upper arm for good measure (not that he could feel it through his absurdly thick wool coat).

He frowned, but laid one hand overtop hers, stepping closer to the tree. “Well, it does have personality,” he began doubtfully. Then something lit up behind his eyes and he beamed. “It’s so unique!”

Max looked up, his eyes widening incredulously as Gwen tugged away from David’s arm and walked around the zombie tree in a large circle. She deliberately ignored him. “It’ll probably be pretty cheap, so maybe we could get a couple of ‘em.”

“What a great idea! Let’s go see if there are any others like this!”

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

They both turned to Max, Gwen biting the inside of her cheek to keep her expression neutral.

“You’re not seriously thinking of bringing that thing into our house, right? It’s probably got termites or something!”

“I don’t think termites are around much in winter --” she began, but Max cut her off with an exasperated scoff.

“Thirty-fucking-thousand trees here, and you had to pick out the worst one!”

David put his hands on his hips, cocking his head to the side and giving Max a stern look. “It’s cost-effective! And every tree deserves a home!”

“Jesus, what is it with you and always wanting shit no one . . . else does.” His voice dropped and so did his eyes. He scuffed his toe through the fluffy snow, kicking up a mist of sparkles.

David and Gwen’s eyes met, and she nodded with a weak shrug.

They’d found “something.”

“Listen.” Max broke them out of a silence that had crossed into “uncomfortable” territory. He still wasn’t looking at them, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stood on tiptoe and tried to peer around at the entire lot. “If you guys wanna turn our house into the Island of Misfit Trees, whatever, I don’t care. But if Neil and Nikki are coming over, I want one that doesn’t look like it needs somebody to pull the plug. I figured even you guys would be smart enough to pick out a Christmas tree, but apparently none of those useless degrees of Gwen’s were in common sense . . .” Continuing to mutter to himself, Max began prowling around the lot again, but this time when he pulled out his phone, it was to several pictures of various trees before . . . well, she wasn’t going to look over his shoulder, but the upward twitch of his lips made her think she was texting his best friends.

They lagged behind, letting him scurry from one tree to another -- pausing at a prospect, snapping a photo, and then turning his attention to his phone screen. “Not bad,” she said, bending down to pick up one of Max’s knitted gloves (which he’d tossed in frustration after a few fruitless attempts to take photographs with them on). “He’s involved, at least.”

“That was a good idea, Gwen!” David rocked back on his heels, smiling as he watched Max continue the tree hunt. “Now, can you keep an eye on him while I . . .”

She glanced over and he was pulling an axe from behind his back; like his ever-handy guitar, she wondered where on earth he’d kept it. “Wait, are you seriously gonna cut down that piece of garbage?”

“The more I think about it, the more I like it! Maybe just one, but . . .” His voice softened, like he was self-conscious. “I mean, every tree does deserve a home, right?”

She rolled her eyes, but as he knocked down the tree -- it only took one swing of his axe, and the sound was like cracking knuckles; she refused to be impressed -- she couldn’t help thinking about what Max had said. “What is it with you and losers, anyway?” He glanced up at her with a puzzled frown, hoisting the dying tree over one shoulder, and she added, “like you just seem to . . . collect lame shit no one cares about. Like Camp Campbell, and Max and me --”

“Well for starters I’d never call Camp Campbell lame,” David chided. “And neither are you and Max! He’s not a dying tree, he’s . . . a sapling! He’s full of potential and just needs some guidance and growth!” Looking absurdly proud of this analogy, he followed the twin lines of shuffling footsteps and Max’s loud voice (apparently the tree selection process had progressed beyond texts and he needed real-time feedback).

Gwen hurried to keep up, nearly tripping in the thickening snow. “I think this girl and I have a lot in common,” she teased, gently patting their tree and wincing as a small cascade of dead needles crackled to the ground. “Old, dried-up, practically dead . . .”

“That’s not fair.”

She snorted. “True. At least someone wants this thing.”

“I’m serious, Gwen.” His voice was earnest, painfully so, and they’d both sort of awkwardly stumbled to a halt as he hooked his axe onto his belt and fumbled for her hand. “You’re green and you don’t even know it.”

It was embarrassing, his sincerity, so she shrugged his hand away and gave him a self-conscious laugh. “Come on, CBFL. Let’s go find your camper.”

The rest of the evening went smoother. Max, having decided they couldn’t be trusted with any aesthetic decisions, had forced David to house the “ugly tree” in the kitchen and took over decorating the monstrously huge fir he’d picked out. Unfortunately, his height made it difficult to reach more than half of the tree, so he’d constructed a series of shaky towers out of chairs, couch cushions, and wishes. Gwen curled up on the couch with a mug of eggnog, watching him scramble from one platform to another.

David probably wouldn’t be happy that she was letting Max do something so dangerous, but hell, she wasn’t his mother. Besides, she knew enough first and second aid that she could deal with it if the kid split his head open.

Until that happened, she wasn’t planning on moving a muscle.

David came bouncing out of the kitchen, his arms loaded down with food. “I didn’t have much time to prepare something really special, but we have -- Max! That’s dangerous!” (Gwen carefully avoided the glare she could feel being shot at her from his direction. “Why didn’t you ask one of us to lift you?”

“Touch me and die, Camp Man.”

She set her drink on the table and stretched out along the couch.

Once you got used to it, their arguing made a hell of a lullaby.

#campcamp #camp camp #dadvid #gwenvid #cc max #cc david #cc gwen #man is this . . . not good #but it's long #so yay?#forestwriting #campcamp secret santa #cc secret santa

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unchartedterritoria · 7 years ago

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Dangerous (Sam Drake x OC) Chapter 11

This is probably my favorite chapter so far I’ve written.

Trying to get all of my chapters up here on Tumblr so everything is up to date. If you would rather read it on A03, here is the link:

AO3 Link for Dangerous Chapter 11

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 * Chapter 5* Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 * Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 * Chapter 10

Sam turned down the gravel covered side road off the rural highway. Remy sat next to him, acting as navigator while Faith watched the journey from the back seat.

“How come this isn’t developed?” Faith asked as she stared out the window at the overgrown fields and packs of maple trees that passed by.

"Not 100% sure. I'm pretty sure it was some sort of like, land deal that went wrong. I remember hearing on the news a couple of developers were going to court about it. Guess it got stuck in arbitration. Turn off here and park it.”

Sam pulled the car over into the small dirt recess. Indentations in the ground showed evidence of what could have been an old road, but thick overgrown weeds showed its lack of use for years. The hidden path ran through an easily ten-acre sized patch of woodland, which gave them at least a direction to follow through the trees.

Sam piloted the car off-road and parked between the large maples that made an entrance into the wood to give the car at least some cover, the last thing they wanted or needed was to deal with a bored cop. Remy slid out of the car with his face fixed on the screen of his phone. Faith got out and stood next to him along with Sam, who was already digging into the pocket of his coat for his cigarettes.

"Alright, so if this is right, we just follow this old trail for a couple of hundred meters, and we should be able to see it," Remy said, tapping at the face of his phone before he stuffed it into the front pouch of his hoodie.

“I’m surprised you’ve never been out here before, Rem,” Sam said out of the corner of his mouth as he brought up his lighter to light the smoke that hung between his lips.

“The Edwards were a bunch of snotty, stuck up, douchebags, and that's really all I needed to know about them for my research. Dude, do you know you smoke like a chimney? Seriously, is it like you just don’t care or what?” Remy asked as he stared at Sam. Sam scowled, the smoke from his cigarette drifting lazily up into the air in front of Sam’s face.

“Look, this is one of life’s simple, little pleasures I happen to enjoy. Just let me smoke myself to death in peace if I want to, alright?” Sam said as he turned on his heel and started to head through the brush.

“Just remember Smokey-“ Faith piped up from next to Remy, “Only you can prevent forest fires!” She said in a full, bear-like grumble. Sam shot her a look over his shoulder.

“Strange girl. Strange fuckin’ girl,” Sam muttered to himself under his breath, a hint of a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he ducked under a low branch.

Faith and Remy kept pace a couple of feet behind Sam as the three trekked through the woods. The mid-morning sun cut through the trees, shining bright spots on the ground ferns that covered their path. Though warm in the sun, the shade of the full treetops and the accompanying west wind that weaved its way through the woods made it seem much colder. Remy flipped the hood of his sweatshirt up over his neon hair and tugged it into place.

“So do we have any idea what were looking for?” Faith asked Remy as she maneuvered over a fallen tree.

"Well, I'd say some sort of metal box judging by what the diary said. Probably on the small side too so Mary could hide it," Remy answered as he vaulted over the log.

“Alright, what do you think our chances of finding it are?” She asked, not really sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

"Seriously, I think not bad. Everyone thought everything was destroyed, so no one is gonna come out here looking for anything. I think we have a shot. Gummy worm?” He held out a bright orange gummy to Faith.

“Sure,” She chuckled as she took the lint covered worm from him. Faith admired his youthful enthusiasm but kept the hope she had inside in check. She always felt hope was good to have but a dangerous thing to have too much of. Faith spotted a decaying structure not too far in the distance and felt her heart beat a little faster with excitement. She hadn’t completely believed Remy when he said the building was still standing.

Faith tapped Remy on the shoulder and pointed to the building between the trees.

“Holy shit, that’s it!” Remy shouted and took off like a shot through the underbrush. Sam and Faith picked up their speed, zig zagging through the woods as quick as they could without ending up with a twisted ankle.

The house, what was left of it, stood toward the back of a clearing full of tall grass. The structure still stood its original two stories high, on the right side at least. The right portion still had most of its wood attached, helped by the stone chimney that ran up the back right corner of the house. The paint had weathered away mostly, the few chips of paint that were originally a light yellow were now sun-bleached to a dull white. The left side, which looked like took the brunt of the Illinois rainfall, had decayed away many pieces of the outer wall and caused the whole left side of the building to sag, making it look almost as if the house had had a stroke. The framing of the few windows had remained intact, although the glass from them was long gone. What Faith assumed what was once the front porch and porch roof sat in front of the house, now nothing more than a pile of rubble.

The three of them stood in front of the house, each feeling a different emotion at that moment. Sam stubbed out his smoke under his boot, careful to grind it down enough into the ground.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Sam said, exhaling his last stream of smoke, “You guys check out the ground floor, I’m gonna head upstairs. Check out the bedrooms, see if there’s anything up there.”

Faith glanced through the doorless entryway into the house and saw the rickety condition of the central staircase.

“And how exactly do you plan on getting up there? Because I don’t think those stairs are gonna do it,” She said, gesturing towards the stairs inside the house.

“Never planned on using them anyway,” Sam replied and headed around the edge of the house where a large, rusty clothesline pole stood in its original shape of a giant letter T. Sam grabbed the center pole and tried to give it a shake, testing its stability. It’s lack of movement satisfied Sam well enough. Sam reached up, grabbed the crossbar and pulled himself up in one smooth, fluid motion. He swung his legs up onto the bar and positioned himself in a deep squat as he hung onto the crossbar that held him.

Faith and Remy came around the edge of the house to see Sam squatting on top of the bar, intently eyeing the blown out window on the house ten feet away from him and just as high in the air, probably higher. Faith’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"You have got to be shitting me. You're kidding, right? There is no way this is safer than the stairs!" Faith yelled at him.

"It's fine! Watch," Sam shifted his stance a touch wider, and after a moment to ready himself, he sprang forward and up like a jumping frog. His long body shot forward, and he outstretched hands grabbed the upper frame of the window with ease.

CRACK!

“Oh shit!”

The wood in Sam’s hands suddenly gave way from the building. Sam dropped, his arms landing hard on the bottom of the window. The piece of timber from the upper frame still in his hands cracked and splintered into a dozen pieces that rained down the side of the house as Sam clumsily held on to the bottom of the windowsill. Kicking his toes into the side of the house, he pushed himself up and through the opening with an awkward tumble. Sam stood up and leaned out the window.

"See? Nothin' to it," Sam said as he brushed bits of splintered wood off his gray long sleeve shirt.

Remy, who had watched the quick sequence unfold with the excitement of a ten-year-old watching a blow ‘em up action movie, complete with gummy candy, nodded with a smirk of impressed approval. Faith, whose stomach had dropped when Sam had, stared at him and shook her head, holding her forehead in her hand.

"You're fucking nuts; you know that?" Faith scolded him, even though a part of her thought the whole move was pretty impressive and kind of hot if she was being completely honest.

“I’m nuts?” Sam scoffed at her, “I got two words for you sweetheart; frying pan. I’ll meet you guys downstairs.”

Remy and Faith headed back around the front of the house and climbed carefully over the debris that was once the porch and through the front door. They stood in what was once the small foyer and took in what remained of the interior.

The inside hadn't faired much better than the outside. Parts of the roof and the top floor were obviously missing from the left side. Pieces of old shingles and plywood lay atop the floorboards of the main floor which were mostly twisted and warped from the rain that had come in over the years. The wallpaper had long since peeled away. Only dusty scraps clung to the bottom of the walls. The exposed plaster gave the inside a hazy look, and despite the gaping hole in the ceiling, the inside of the house seemed dark.

"This place looks like the Blair Witch used to live here," Remy said as he pushed his hood back down and gave his green hair a quick scratch. Faith shot a look at Remy; his observation caused dread and trepidation to run through her suddenly like a cold river.

“What? C’mon! Seriously! Put handprints on the wall and a dude in the corner and it’s some straight up Blair Witch shit!” Remy concluded as he fished another gummy out of the seemly never ending supply in his hoodie. Faith took the squiggly red worm out of his hand and roughly ripped a piece off with her teeth.

"I'll take the front rooms, you take the back ones," Faith decided, and the two began to head in their designated directions.

"Oh, Remy?" Faith said, stopping suddenly and turning to him.

“Yeah?”

“If you try to sneak up on me or startle me or anything like that, teenager or not, I will kick you in the nards. Fair warning,” She said calm and directly, emphasizing her words with the decapitated candy in her hand. She popped the rest of it in her mouth and stalked off towards what was once the parlor room. Remy shrugged and headed down the hallway towards the back.

All three hunters scoured the rooms of the house. Floorboards were pulled at, bricks of the chimney checked and rotted cupboards torn apart to find nothing but cobwebs and a rat nest. Squatting down in her jeans, Faith checked the foundation of the chimney last, finding nothing but old soot and remnants of broken beer bottles, probably from partying kids. She let out a defeated sigh and stood up. Wiping her hands on the legs of her dark green pants, she headed back towards the front foyer of the house.

"How's it going, Sam?" Faith yelled, brushing her hands on her denim jacket. Several seconds of silence passed. Faith moved to the bottom of the stairs.

“Sam!”

Nothing.

A small sense of worry crept into her brain. She didn't like this. Faith inspected the decrepit staircase in front of her; there had to be a couple of solid spots. She made her way up the stairs carefully, testing her weight with each step she took. After a dozen delicate steps, she was finally on the first floor. A long hallway ran the width of the house. She turned to follow the stairway again to find the rest of the staircase that leads up to the second floor a twisted, broken mess. There was no way she was getting up there.

“Sam!” She called again.

Again, nothing.

Fuck, Faith thought, I don’t like this. Her sense of worry started to build. Faith checked the right, more intact side of the house. The rooms were devoid of furniture, thanks to incoming clouds devoid of light and devoid of Sam. Leaving the last room on that side of the house, she stalked back down towards the crumbling left side. The hallway ended abruptly with a large hole in the ceiling down to the main rooms below. Faith inched her way to the edge. When she looked above her, she could see the second-floor hallway was rotted away even more, which left an open cloudy sky directly above her head. And still no sign of Sam.

Anxiety began to build in the base of Faith's spine. She had checked everywhere… Except down the hole in front of her.

Please don't let him be dead. Please, I can't deal with another dead body. I can't deal with any more death.

Faith stood at the hole's edge; her eyes fixed straight ahead while her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. An image flickered in her brain. Sam laying on the rubble at the bottom, body twisted and neck broken.

Her heart began to beat faster. Another image joined. Sam’s lifeless body impaled on a twisted piece of rebar. His jacket stained a dark red and clotted blood in the corner of his mouth.

A layer of sweat bloomed over Faith's body, her breaths now coming quicker and shallower. Another picture joined the party in her brain. This one was simply of just Sam's head. His already unkempt hair was now ratty and speckled with plaster. His hazel eyes, those dark, mischevious and lively hazel eyes, now bloodshot and lifeless. The eyes from his severed head stared directly into hers.

The anxiety crashed over Faith like a tidal wave, and her body began to tremble. Her imagination had one more picture to show her. One more trick up its sleeve. Faith suddenly saw her mother, laying in her hospital bed. Her eyes were half open, her mouth slightly ajar. The final gasp and her chest was still. Her mother was dead.

Faith slammed her eyes shut and backed away drunkenly from the edge of the pit. Full blown panic had set in.

“SAM!” She called his name with everything she had, one last effort.

Thunk.

Sam landed in front of Faith from the floor above as she opened her eyes.

“What didya find?!” He asked excitedly.

“You fucker!” She spat, shoving him hard in the chest with her clammy hands.

“Whoa!”

“Asshole! You scared the shit out of me! I thought you were dead!” Faith yelled, each word accompanied by a blow of an angry fist to the chest.

“Hey! Hey!” He said, grabbing her fist to stop her attack.

“Don’t touch me,” Faith hissed as she pulled out of his grasp quickly, backing up to put space between the two of them. Sam backed up a step as well, his hands raised in defense and confusion. Mostly confusion.

“Jesus Christ! Faith, what the hell?”

Her fear and frustration had converted to white hot rage. She took a deep breath to center herself and bring herself back to Earth. He's ok. No one is dead, Faith thought repeatedly.

“I’ve been calling your name. I couldn’t find you,” She said stoically, the waves of anger and fear starting to subside just a tad.

"I've been digging through a pile of shit and shingles that used to be the attic; it’s the first time I’ve come up for air in a good twenty minutes, I didn’t hear a damn thing!”

“Did you find anything?” Faith asked. She wanted to sidestep any questions about her outburst.

“Nothin’. You?”

“No,” She replied, shaking her head. “I wonder if Remy’s had any luck.” Faith turned quickly and headed towards the staircase. She bounded down them as if they were as sturdy as boulders, running away from the possibility of a conversation.

Sam yelled her name but not in enough time. She had managed to hit the fourth stair before the wood gave out from under her. Her right leg fell through, her left knee slamming into the back edge of the next step down, causing the wood to splinter and break apart. Faith yelped and grasped the remnants of the railing, her feet flailing, searching for ground under them that wasn’t there. Sam skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs as Faith kept trying to hook a foot up over the edge of the staircase. He stepped down the first two stairs, as far as he was sure the wood would hold him.

“Faith.”

"I'm ok. I got this. Shit!" She exclaimed. The spindle on the railing she had managed to hook her leg around let go. Her legs kicked up and found nothing to latch on to, leaving her only to grasp the edge of the staircase.

“Faith look at me, look at me!” Sam urged. She managed to look up. Her usually calm, collected face now filled with a quiet panic.

"Gimme your hand. I'm gonna pull you up, alright?" He positioned himself as close as he could to where Faith had latched herself. Her legs still danced in the air, trying in vain to stay on any stable part of the staircase.

“Faith, gimme your hand. You don’t wanna fall through the stairs and land on some shit the wrong way. I got you, you just gotta gimme your hand,” He stretched his arm out to her. He could see in her face that her stubbornness, the independent streak in her was trying to win out with the help of physical ability, but that physical ability was starting to fade fast.

“Look, you don’t gotta trust me until the end of time, just for the next ten seconds, think you can do that? Can you trust me?”

“Don’t drop me ok?” Her voice wavered.

“Never in a million years. You just hang on to me and let me pull you up here,” Sam said as he positioned himself, anchoring his left boot against the side wall, his other hooked under a solid piece of the stairs.

Faith nodded, reached out quickly, and grabbed Sam’s wrist. She could feel the strength Sam had in his arms and quickly grabbed his arm again with her other hand. Sam grabbed hold of her other wrist and heaved her up onto the firmer top steps, dragging her back until her hips were clear of the opening. He let go of her hands, and she clambered up to the landing. Her heart going a mile a minute, she leaned against the side of the hallway as sweat ran down the sides of her neck.

“See? Told ya I had you,” Sam said as he squatted down next to Faith and gave her a gentle poke in the shoulder. She slicked back the hairs that had come loose from her ponytail and wiped away the fear sweat and dirt on her cheeks with the heels of her hands.

“You alright?” He asked. The fresh rip in the leg of her jeans had already begun to turn a dark red while deep scratches bloomed on her arms and neck.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just…,” Faith heaved a heavy sigh and let her head fall back against the rotting wall behind her. Sam cleared his throat dramatically after a few seconds silence. Faith lifted her head, a puzzled look on her face.

"The appropriate response after a situation like that is ‘thank you,'" He chastised her jokingly. Faith rolled her eyes and snorted a chuckle.

“Thank you, Sam.” She said with a sincere but weary smile.

“No problem. C’mon.” He urged. Sam helped Faith up off the uneven floorboards. She took a couple of cautious steps. She hoped her knees hadn't been banged up too bad falling through the stairs. To her surprise and delight, besides the cuts and a little tenderness, her legs were in okay shape.

“I’m sorry I flipped out on you,” She started, trying to formulate not only an apology but also an explanation for her seemingly random actions, “It’s just-“ Faith began to explain awkwardly, causing Sam to hold up his hand.

"No, uh. No. Don't. We're, uh… We're good."

Faith stared cautiously into Sam’s hazel eyes. She didn’t want to have to explain to Sam about the improbable, doomsday like scenarios that had formed in her head, the panic that set in at the thought of losing another person in her life, even a temporary one like Sam and how that panic and fear had turned to anger. Somehow, the caring, the fear, the anger, the frustration, everything that Faith thought she would have to say had been said, heard, understood and forgiven with Sam's simple, ‘we're good.'

“We’re good?” Faith repeated, seeking verification that she had really understood him.

“We’re good,” Sam genially with a subtle nod of his head.

“Hey, guys! Come check this out!" Remy's voice echoed from the bottom of the empty house.

#sam drake fanfiction #sam drake x oc #samuel drake x oc #OC X Sam Drake #dangerous #my writing

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malecsecretsanta · 7 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @fandom-madnessess!

Merry christmas! I hope you enjoy this little winter themed Human AU, including snowball fights, cuddling and hot drinks. Apologies in advance for any grammatical errors, English is not my first language. I hope you’ll have a wonderful Christmas!

*****

Snowed in

“There we are”

Alec smiled as their car stopped in front of the rural looking cottage that was so typical for Southern Germany with its wooden front and the huge balcony. They had driven up the mountain on a small one-track road, so naturally there wasn’t much else around the cottage now. Just trees, the small road and snow, so much snow. The roof of the building was completely white and the ground was completely covered in snow too. They were pretty high up and had a beautiful view on the other mountains around them. It was such a beautiful and peaceful atmosphere and Alec couldn’t wait to spend Christmas here with his best friend Magnus, his sister Isabelle and her girlfriend Clary.

“It’s beautiful.” Magnus said, from the passenger seat as Alec parked the car in front of the cottage.

They got out of the car, took their luggage out of the trunk and made their way through the snow to the building. Alec was walking ahead a bit as he had got the keys they had gotten from a nice old man a bit further down in the village. He was searching for those in his jacket when he suddenly felt something hitting his back. He turned around to see a devilish grin on his best friend’s face.

“Ooh, just you wait.” Alec threatened, letting his luggage fall to the ground. He bent down to form a snowball himself and soon after targeted Magnus with it. But as soon as the ball met the other’s chest Alec felt another one hitting his own shoulder.

They continued throwing hands full of snow at each other, laughing when they struck the other, cursing when they felt another snowball landing on their backs, ice cold water running down their necks.

Somehow they ended up wrestling on the ground, rolling in the snow, until Alec finally prevailed and pinned Magnus to the ground, breathing heavily.

“Should I put another handful of snow in your face or do you finally give up?”, he threatened, half-jokingly, but with a challenging look upon his face.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me totally at your mercy?”

Magnus was only joking but Alec suddenly got aware of the position they were in. He was lying on top of the other man, their bodies touching nearly everywhere and their heads not far away from each other. Heat was spreading all through Alec’s body while he was staring at the beautiful face just inches in front of him. Magnus’s eyeliner was a bit smeared from all the snow he had gotten into his face, his cheeks red from the cold and his breathing flat out of exertion. He could just bend down and kiss those rosy lips now. Oh god, what was he thinking. He could not, Magnus would laugh at him, for ever thinking he could be interested in him like that and he would destroy everything. Alec had to get away now, and fast. He got up, leaving Magnus to get up on his own as he quickly made his way to the cottage now.

“I’m freezing, the snow has gotten all through my clothes. I need to take a shower immediately.”

Alec stammered, picked up his luggage, opened the door and made his way to the bathroom immediately. As soon as he had locked the door he put his head into his head and sighed heavily. Why didn’t he have himself under control at all around Magnus? It was worse enough he had a huge crush on his best friend but did he have to show that so obviously around him? Why couldn’t he just ignore these feelings and then they would fade after a while so they could go back to being normal best friends again? Instead it only got worse over the time and now every little smile or compliment from the other gave him butterflies.

Alec cursed himself for having fallen in love with his best friend. Magnus was so sparkly and confident, he didn’t care what others thought of him and was open about his bisexuality. He was the opposite of what Alec was, shy, insecure, boring and deep in the closet. Alec couldn’t even come up with one reason why Magnus could be interested in him, he could be glad the other liked him enough to stay his friend. Even the reason why Magnus had decided to befriend him in first place stayed a mystery to him.

***

Alec had always been a very shy kid. He had always sat alone at school, as he had been convinced no one wanted to do something with him, had felt like everyone hated him because he was different, felt different. At home he had had his brother Jace fortunately, but at school they were in different classes and so Alec had always been a loner. But then one day a new student had come in, Magnus, and he had fascinated Alec from the first look he took at him. This boy had seemed so confident, wearing makeup, not caring what anyone else thought of that, or him. He was just unapologetically himself. And that had impressed the whole class, everyone had gasped. Alec himself hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him either and to his full surprise Magnus had locked eyes with him then. He had smiled when he had seen the empty seat next to Alec and slowly had strolled towards him. And Alec couldn’t believe it, but the gorgeous boy had sat down next to him and introduced himself.

From then on, they had become friends - inseparable friends. Magnus slowly made Alec realise that he wasn’t strange, that no one hated him, that this had just been in his head and he had convinced himself of it. Magnus slowly made Alec lose his self-doubt, he showed his crazy, funny side more and more around him and he became more and more confident. Alec felt good, felt comfortable around Magnus, more comfortable than he had ever felt around a person - and then, over the time, it had slowly turned into more. Alec had started to feel lightheaded every time Magnus touched him, didn’t want to sleep in one bed anymore during sleepovers, fearing he could say something he didn’t want his best friend to hear during sleep. He despised every new crush Magnus swooned over and told him everything about. It hurt too much, Alec wanted to be happy for Magnus, he really tried, but all he could see was how that person wasn’t good enough for Magnus, how they didn’t deserve him. And although he felt bad about it, Alec had to admit he always felt relieved when one of Magnus’s crushes had dumped him, or a relationship of his had broken up. Of course, he never said something indicating any of these thoughts, he was there for his best friend, let him cry on his shoulder as much as he needed to after a break up, but still there was a part of him that was relieved, happy, and he always felt bad about it.

Then after school, they had started college together and after a few semesters they had gone on a semester abroad together - in Germany.

And that’s where they were now.

They had planned to stay at a cottage in the Alps over Christmas break, with Izzy, his sister and Clary her girlfriend, who would come visit from America to celebrate Christmas with them.

Alec and Magnus would get there first in the morning as they didn’t have such a long way to travel. In the afternoon Clary and Izzy would land in Munich and then take the train from there, to the village they were staying in and Magnus and Alec would get them from the train station.

***

So now they had arrived at the cottage and Alec was already taking way too long in the bathroom. He quickly took a shower and slipped into new clothes. When he got out of the bathroom Magnus was already waiting for him, already changed, his make up fixed. Together they planned on what to do next.

They ended up going into the next village to shop for some groceries. When they had found everything, they needed they went looking for the train station, so they wouldn’t have to search it later. After that they were just strolling a bit through the village, exploring the area.

When they were on the way back to the car it started to snow. At first it was just some light snowfall, but soon it turned into big snowflakes falling rapidly from the sky. Alec’s phone pinged then and he pulled it out to see he had gotten a new message:

“Hey brother!

We’ve landed safely.

Now we just have to check out

and then we’ll make our way to

Munich’s central station!

I’ll call you when we get there!

Love,

Izzy”

Alec smiled and informed Magnus about the message’s content. By then they had already reached the car. They made their way back to the cottage but on the way the snow got heavier and heavier and in the end they could hardly see the street anymore. Alec sighed out, relieved when they got back to their housing safely.

When they got inside they decided to light the fireplace, as it was their only source of warmth in the old building and it was still really cold inside. It wasn’t as easy as thought though, none of them had ever actually lit a fire and therefore the outcome was rather unsatisfactory: the whole room was full of smoke. In consequence they had to open the windows then, which of course made the cottage even colder for now. At least they managed to light the fire in the end, so it would hopefully get warmer soon.

For now, Alec was freezing though and when he saw Magnus taking his fluffy, warm blanket out of his luggage, he thought that was an excellent idea.

Before he could even start to look for his own blanket though, Magnus interrupted his thoughts.

“Do you want a part of my blanket? You know, I think it’s enough for two…” he suggested, a questioning look on his face, “also I think we could profit from each other’s body warmth.” He added with a wink and Alec could feel the familiar warmth spreading through his body again.

It wasn’t an unusual suggestion, they had shared a bed countless of times before, still it made Alec feel uncomfortable, especially after what had happened in the morning. He just couldn’t stand to be this close to Magnus, so close to what he wanted, and at the same time so far away from it.

“No… I think I’ll get my own… You know, I’m so tall, I’d just take the whole blanket from you… But thanks…”, Alec stammered and quickly got his own blanket, which wasn’t nearly as fluffy as Magnus’s, but he could deal with that.

“Well okay…” Magnus answered. Did he see a flicker of disappointment in the other’s face? No, he must have imagined that. “At least join me on the couch then, let’s see what’s on TV.”

Alec did as told and sat down on the couch next to Magnus, although he was careful not to create any body contact. Meanwhile his friend had turned on the TV, it showed a news program reporting that there was currently a huge snow storm over Germany, which would last the whole night and was already creating that much chaos, that all public transport wouldn’t be working until at least tomorrow morning.

“Izzy!”, Alec thought and grabbed his phone, dialling her number.

After a few seconds he heard her pick up.

“Hey Alec, I just wanted to call you!”

Alec sighed in relief.

“Thank god you’re fine, I was worried you took the last train and were stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

“No, no. We’re fine. We actually made it from the airport to the central station, but now we’re stuck. There’s no train leaving the station anymore, especially not those that drive into the Alps. And the people at the train station said that won’t change until tomorrow morning when the storm ends. So they told us to find a hotel in Munich to stay the night. I’m sorry, I guess we won’t get there today.”

“That’s okay Izzy, really. I’m just glad you are fine. Also it’s not even Christmas yet, so it doesn’t really matter if you arrive today or tomorrow!”

He heard Izzy sigh in relief, “Okay, good. Then we’ll search for a place to stay now, I hope we’ll still find something now…”

“Good Luck with that! And greet Clary from me!”

“Thanks, I will. You greet Magnus from me, enjoy the night alone.”

He still heard her laughing when she hung up. What was that supposed to mean?

Alec was pulled out of his thoughts by Magnus then.

“I guess they won’t arrive today anymore?” he asked.

“No, they won’t,” Alec answered, “the whole public transportation is put on ice for now. Looks like we need to spend the night on our own.”

Before Magnus could answer that, the TV made a strange noise and then everything went black.

“What the???” Alec exclaimed before it came into his mind that this was probably a blackout.

“Let’s check the light switch, if it isn’t working, it’s probably a blackout.” Magnus suggested then.

And so they did. It didn’t work, of course.

“And now?” Alec wondered, more to himself.

“Let’s make the best out of it” Magnus answered nevertheless, “fortunately we have the fire instead of an electric heating, so we won’t freeze. We could also look if there are any candles hidden somewhere in this building….”

They actually did find some used, half burned down candles in an old cupboard between some old German books. They were still working though, so they put them up all around the living room, which actually created a beautiful, cosy atmosphere.

“Should I make us some tea?”, Magnus suggested then.

“Sure!” Alec responded with a smile and Magnus disappeared into the kitchen.

A few seconds later he heard him cursing though, so Alec followed into the other room to check what happened.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, relieved as soon as he noticed nothing severe had happened.

“Argh, I just forgot the electric kettle needs electricity too.”

Alec chuckled in response, until he had an idea.

“Wait… Let me check something… Yes!”

“What?” Magnus regarded him with a questioning look.

“I was right! They still have a gas stove here instead of a new electric one, so we can heat the water over the stove and make some tea after all.”

Like that they made themselves some Christmas tea, which they had bought at the grocery store earlier. When they were finished, they took their mugs and seated themselves on the couch again.

“Now what?”, Alec asked, more to himself. It was just 6pm, although one wouldn’t believe it from the darkness outside. No time at all to go to sleep. What were they gonna do now without a tv and both of their phone batteries nearly dead?

“Let’s play a game!”, Magnus suddenly exclaimed.

Alec was a bit sceptical at first, but Magnus seemed so enthusiastic and they really didn’t have anything else to do.

“Okay… And what game?”

“Let’s ask each other some questions and the other has to answer truthfully!”

Now Alec really grew uncomfortable, there were things he couldn’t tell Magnus ever, without risking their friendship. But Magnus was looking at him with such gleaming eyes and such an enthusiastic look on his face now, that he just couldn’t say no. In the end he could still opt for not telling the whole truth to some questions, hide some facts like he had done for years.

“Okay… but don’t make me regret this!”, Alec gave in. “I won’t, promise… Okay, let me begin. Ice cream or cake?

Alec laughed, relieved, maybe he had just panicked for nothing, had overreacted.

With a grin he said "Ice cream”

Which prompted a gasp from Magnus: “Are you sure? What about that chocolate cake I made you for your last birthday, you told me that was the best thing you’ve ever eaten!”

Alec laughed back.

"Well yes, that one in particular was pretty good, but you didn’t ask “awesome chocolate cake from Magnus or ice cream”, just general cake or ice cream. And then my answer is ice cream.”

“Tss” Magnus pouted. “Your turn!”

“Okay,” Alec laughed and without much thinking responded: “Eyeliner or eyeshadow?”

“Now you’re just mean” Magnus groaned. Like that it continued for a while. Them asking each other harmless questions, mocking each other, digging up some inside jokes.

Until suddenly Magnus blurted out:

“Boys or girls?” Suddenly the whole atmosphere shifted. Alec felt adrenaline rushing through his whole body, until he felt like he was burning on the inside. He could feel his heart beating abnormally fast and he just asked himself why it was so hard. So hard to tell Magnus he liked boys. After all, the other was openly bisexual and would never judge him. Still it had always felt impossible to Alec to tell him the truth, he didn’t know how. It never felt right.

He had accepted this fact about himself a long time ago, still he couldn’t even imagine using the word “gay” when talking about himself, it was connected to too many stereotypes. He felt once he said it out loud the world would never look at him the same way as it had before. That suddenly all people would see when they looked at him was “he’s gay”. Alec didn’t want that, he didn’t want other people to look at him differently, or judge him because of this little aspect of himself.

And when it came to Magnus specifically Alec feared that once his friend knew this one fact about him, he’d immediately realise everything else too. That it would be obvious to him then, that Alec was in love with him, if it wasn’t already. And he couldn’t imagine anything worse than losing the best friend he had ever had because of this. Then he’d rather go through the hell that was pretending the other was also just a good friend to him. Although it destroyed him on the inside, it was still better than not having Magnus in his life anymore at all. Alec didn’t dare to look up, he couldn’t. And he knew he would have to make a decision soon, otherwise his silence would be answer enough. His throat tightened with fear, he felt sick in his stomach. But on the other hand, he knew that this was a chance, this was a moment that would probably not come anytime soon again. He could just tell him now, he knew he wouldn’t judge. Still it brought so many risks with it. In the end Alec didn’t know what gave him the courage to do so, but with a quiet, croaked out voice he answered.

“Boys”. He still didn’t dare to look up, he was too afraid of what he would see in Magnus face. So he kinda just fixed his gaze on the mug in his left hand. There was a stupid reindeer face on it, a way to huge, red nose in the middle of its face. What a dumb concept, as if reindeers could get red noses, not speaking of the fact they definitely didn’t have round shaped ones.

He was that lost in his thoughts about the false anatomy of the mug reindeer, Alec nearly didn’t notice the hand gripping his own, right one. But when he did he looked up in surprise and regretted it again the moment his eyes met Magnus’s. Alec didn’t have his mimic under control at all right now and he was scared of what Magnus would be able to read in his eyes. He tried to look down again, but suddenly he felt Magnus’s other hand keeping his chin in place. “Don’t”, the other whispered, “it’s okay Alec. More than okay. You should know that I would never judge you for that!” Alec felt tears swelling up in his eyes. A part of him was happy that Magnus accepted him but the rest just wanted to scream. Because he had gotten it all wrong, had thought that Alec’s reaction was because of him thinking he would judge him. Because right now Magnus was touching his hand and chin and it felt so good that he just wanted to lean in and kiss him.

It was all too much.

“I… I… have to…” he stammered and tried to get up, to the bathroom, the kitchen, it didn’t matter where, just away from here. Alec had to gather himself again before he did do something unbelievably stupid.

But before he could even get up he felt Magnus’s fingers closing around his wrist, pulling him back on the couch.

“No… don’t go now… stay.”

There was a desperate look in his eyes now and Alec couldn’t hold back anymore.

He put the mug down on the couch table, put Magnus’ head between his hands, closed his eyes and pushed their lips together.

It was messy, a desperate kiss and after a few seconds during which Magnus didn’t respond Alec pulled away. He opened his eyes in horror. God what had he done?

“Sor…” he began to stammer. But before he could even finish his apology, Alec was cut off by Magnus who had put a hand into his neck to pull him closer. And now Alec was the one who was getting kissed desperately. He remained completely still in shock for a few seconds, but then his brain finally registered what was happening and screamed at him to respond in some way if he didn’t want this to end soon. So he kissed back, trying to put all of his feelings in the kiss, not being able to believe this was really happening. They parted as they both had to gasp for air, putting their foreheads together, breathing in shallow breaths.

Alec didn’t dare to speak, fearing to break the moment, that it would all come crashing down then. He felt a hand slowly gliding to his cheeks while Magnus was moving away a few centimetres.

“Hey!”

Alec opened his eyes and what he saw took his breath away.

Magnus was blushing heavily, his hair was messy, but most importantly he smiled all over his face and his eyes were glimmering with joy.

“Hey!” Alec said back, grinning happily now too. “You don’t know for how long I’ve wanted this…. I wasn’t sure…” Magnus whispered. “Me neither…” Alec answered. Magnus let out a huffing, disbelieving but really happy laugh. “Will you join me under my fluffy blanket now? Yours looks so uncomfortable and I have to say I’m still not fully warmed up yet and could use a warm body to snuggle against.” He said that with confidence but Alec could hear the underlying question, the insecurity of what to do next. And instead of answering he just got closer to Magnus, grabbed the edge of the blanket and put it around himself and laid his head on the other’s chest. And like that they were staying for the rest of the evening until they nearly fell asleep and moved over to the bedroom, snuggling up under the thick blankets now and falling asleep arm in arm. … The next day when Izzy and Clary arrived the first thing the two girls noticed were the big smiles on the boys faces and their intertwined hands. “Finally,” they thought.

#fandom-madnessess #malecsanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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