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whimsi-clown · 6 months ago

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What's the Best Way to Start a Story? Ah, yes. Death.

Part 1 of the Reverse lsekai Disney Villains x Modern Reader AU

(That I made on a whim)

Warning: Lots of Curse Words and a bit OOC

In a series of unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on how you view things) events, your eccentric rich bitch of an employer had just died.

Sad, I know. But they had it coming. Sorta.

Nobody really liked them. They were, to put it bluntly, an asshole of the highest degree, and they didn't have any living relatives or descendants.

As such, with you being the only person in existence who still stuck by them, gave a shit about them, and had the balls to deal with all of their bullshit, they decided to leave you with their inheritance.

From their large plot of land to their unrealistically big ass mansion with a private beach close by, along with everything inside of it. Money included.

It was all yours for the taking, and you were all too eager to accept.

At this point, you had everything you needed to live the life of your dreams. A large plot of land, a mansion, a near infinite amount of money.

Now, all you needed left in this big and lonely mansion...

Was companionship...

...

Yea, no. We'll skip that for now.

So, with that in mind, after setting down the remaining boxes of your belongings that you had just brought in, you decided to stroll through the halls of the place, eager to familiarize yourself with your new home.

Your eyes perking in interest as you spot a door that you had never seen before, curiously entering it with a new wave of excitement as to what you could find (or possibly sell) on the other side.

Nothing could ruin this day for you!

Something has just ruined this day for you.

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face as 12 of the most iconic Disney Villains settled on the set of couches before you with crossed arms, disgruntled expressions, and glares aimed your way.

Maleficent sat on the lone couch to your left, while Grimhilde, the evil queen, sat on the other couch to your right, both looking at you with displeased glares.

On the main couch sat Ursula, Cruela De Vil, Dr. Facilier and Jafar. All sharing the same disgruntled expression, like they have better things to do than be in this predicament.

And those who decided to stand behind the couch were Hades, Captain Hook, Shan Yu, and Gaston. All of them with their arm crossed.

Finally, seated on the carpeted floor before the couches are Scar and Oogie Boogie. Who looked bored out of their minds.

You let out yet another groan.

How did you end up in this situation again??

Ah, right. The mysterious room.

For those of you who are wondering, here's what went down literal hours ago.

You had entered what looked like an old storage room, flicked the light switch on, and discovered that it was filled to the brim with various antiques and junk.

Looking around, you felt like a kid in a candy store, discovering the various curious objects that your former employer collected, lining each shelf.

Everything was so interesting (and sellable) to you.

But what stood out to you the most, though, was an assortment of random items set up on a row of pedestals.

A staff broken in half, a shattered mirror, an unlit greek looking torch lying on its side, a dusty lamp, a tarnished silver hook, a vintage hunting rifle, an old scattered deck of tarot cards, a weird wavy looking sword (a quick google search informed you that it was a serrated jagged jian), a lion skull (not even gonna question how your employer got their hands on these ethically), a gold nautilus shell necklace, an exotic black and white fur coat of some animal (again, not gonna question how they were ethically acquired), and finally a set of red hand carved dices.

With a wide shit eating grin and dollar signs in your eyes, you decided on the spot that these would definitely sell for a large amount of money and decided to take a picture of them to post online.

However, before you could take the shot, you realized something.

No one would buy any of this junk if you sell them as they looked now, like junk!

So, with a new goal in mind, you quickly set out to grab whatever cleaning materials you could find.

And when you came back, you glued together the two broken parts of the staff, put back the pieces of the shattered mirror back in place, set the unlit greek torch up, rubbed the dust off of the lamp, polished the silver hook, cleaned the vintage hunting rifle, stacked and rearanged the deck of tarot cards, sharpened the weird wavy sword, dusted the lion skull, washed the gold nautilus shell pendant in soapy water, and brushed the exotic fur coat.

When all was done, you stood back with your hands on your hips, a prideful grin stretching across your face at having cleaned all of the useless junk before you.

If only you had the same amount of energy and enthusiasm when it comes to cleaning the rest of your house.

You were about to take a picture again when you realized you weren't completely done. There was still one item left.

The pair of red dice.

You stared down at the dices in contemplation. For some reason, something about them didn't seem to sit right with you.

One dice had a six facing up, while the other had a five. Making it an eleven in total.

You grabbed the dices, shaking them around in the palm of your hand and without much of a thought, threw them onto its pedestal. Watching as it rolled on the surface before stopping, both dices landed on a one.

Snake eyes.

All of a sudden, the lights in the room started to flicker and turn off completely, leaving you in the dark.

You cursed under your breath as you were about to turn the flashlight on your phone when you noticed that the dices were glowing green, like one of those shitty glow in the dark star stickers you had as a kid.

Suddenly, the dices weren't the only thing glowing as the fur coat was glowing white, followed by the shell pendant glowing gold, the lion skull glowing green, the sword glowing a dull blue, the tarot deck glowing purple, the hunting rifle glowing red, the hook glowing gold as well, the lamp glowing red too, the torch glowing blue which also lit up in blue flames on it's own, the mirror glowing purple, and finally the staff glowing green.

Each of the items slowly hovered in the air, wind seeming to pick up around you despite the lack of windows, and then suddenly a burst of green smoke spread throughout the room, temporarily blinding you as you coughed into your fist.

You swatted your hands around to clear the smoke, rubbing your teary eyes when a sound caught your attention. Not just any sound, it was the sound of a person, no, people! It was the sound of people!

When the smoke finally cleared, you were greeted by the sight of a dogpile of people, all groaning and moaning in pain, some muttering curses under their breaths as they struggled to get up from their current positions.

"Get off of me, you fools!"

A comanding feminine voice exclaimed.

"Ugh, you first, I can feel you stepping on my tail."

Another masculine voice grumbled.

"Ugh, get your slimey apendeges off of me, woman!"

Another masculine voice exclaimed in disgust.

"For the last time. It's not slime, you narcissistic oaf, it's mucus!"

Yet another feminine voice retorted.

"She's actually right, ya know? It's mucus, not slime. Had to learn that the hard way."

Yet another masculine voice says, agreeing with the person who spoke before them.

Whilst they were still arguing with one another, you figured now would be a great time to escape, slowly backing away, careful not to make a sound when you flinch as your back hits something sturdy and warm.

With a nervous gulp, you slowly crained your neck up only to see a tall gray skinned man with shark like teeth and blue flames for hair, looking down at you with a wide toothy grin.

"Hey there, nice to meet cha', you goin' somewhere, babes?"

The gray man asked in a casual tone, a hint of a threat hidden beneath it. Before you could respond, you yelped in surprise as you were suddenly grabbed by the back collar of your shirt and lifted a few feet away from the ground.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?~"

You froze as you were suddenly face to face with a big talking sack, your face growing pale when you noticed a centipede crawling out of its open stitched mouth.

The thing before you seemed to notice this, grinning even wider as they brought you closer to its face.

"What's wrong, little one? You feeling ssscaareeddd?~"

A snake had just slithered out of its mouth like a tongue and hissed at you as it trailed off the word 'scared'. Which made you scream as you kicked at his face in response, causing the thing to drop you as it held its face in pain.

"UGH! YOU LITTLE-"

The commotion seemed to finally catch the others' attention, finally registering your presence.

Before you could run off and escape, though, a tendril of black smoke wrapped around you, restricting your movement as it pulled you closer to the blue flame headed guy who merely chuckled as you thrashed around in his grip, successfully getting your arms out before trying to tug and yank the rest of the smokey tendrils off of you.

"Hey, fellas, I think I found the culprit to our little... Heh, predicament..."

The blue flame haired guy announced as he pulled you closer to him and grabbed ahold of your cheeks with one hand, forcing you to face the rest of the group.

The rest of them then approached, crowding around and glaring down at you.

"So you're the reason why we're in this mess... Speak. Why have you brought us here?"

The beautiful woman before you asked, no, commanded. Her pose is regal and sophisticated even as she looks down on you. She wore a golden crown atop her head, with a purple velvet dress and a black cape.

Your face morphed in confusion as you stared up at her, practically scanning her features.

For some reason, you feel like you've met her before.

You turn to the others as well, scanning them from head to toe.

A tall mean looking lady with greenish skin and black horns, a grumpy arabian guy dressed in red and black, a big intimidating asian dude, a woman with melanie martinez's hair but if she were emo, a guy that looks like a himbo, a fat drag queen with tentacles and light purplish skin, twinkish looking man with a fancy hat dressed in all red, twinkish looking man with a fancy hat no. 2 dressed in all purple, and a literal fucking lion.

After staring at the crowd before you, you turned your head back to properly look at the other three you had just met. The fat sack of creepy crawlies, the shark teethed flame head, and the literal fucking queen.

Stupid. That's what you currently felt. Not scared, not happy. Stupid.

How could you not recognize the people before you?? They were your literal childhood before you grew out of them. Gods, you felt so dumb for not realizing it sooner!

They were all Disney Villains!

Noticing that you seemed disappointed about something rather than fearful of their presence, the villains turned to one another with looks of confusion. Not used to this kind of reaction.

Hades, who still held you hostage decided to shake you out of whatever it is you were so hung up about.

"Oy, kid. You still with us? Kinda rude to just space out on people ya know?"

He asked, successfully snapping you out of your momentary internal berating.

"I... I know you guys..."

You muttered out loud, still in disbelief of the situation.

This caused the villains to smirk and perk up a little smugly, their ego rising at the thought of being recognized by someone they deemed lesser than then. Especially a certain muscle head.

"Ah yes, of course you've heard about the great Gasto-"

"You're all disney villains!"

You unintentionally cut off him off, your eyes widening as you clamped your mouth shut with your hands in realization of your mistake.

The villains were also caught off guard, not by your interruption, but by your statement.

"Disney... Villains?..."

Shan Yu slowly repeated, confusion evident in his tone.

You kept your mouth clamped shut, refusing to respond until a silver hook was pressed against your neck.

"You better spill, little one, or I'll slice through that pretty little neck of yours, and you don't want that now, do you?"

Captain Hook threatened, pressing his hook closer to your neck, nearly breaking the skin.

That was what led to all of you gathered in the living room, after begging asking to be released so you could explain to them, glancing at each disney villain from Maleficent to Oogie Boogie.

When Oogie Boogie noticed that you had glanced down at him, he sent you an eerie grin that made shivers crawl down your spine.

Out of all the Disney Villains present, He unsettled you the most.

The other's existence was reasonable and made sense to you.

Evil human beings of higher power and capabilities? Fine. A literal dark fae, an octupus lady, and a greek god? Good. A talking lion? Amazing. But a literal walking, talking, sack of bugs?

Burn it to the ground.

You take in a deep breath, exhaling through your nose in an effort to stay calm (spoiler alert it is not working) as you face the group of animated evil doers come to life with an uneasy smile.

"So... What would you like to know first?"

End of Part 1

Next Part

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brudick-week · 29 days ago

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Prompt Announcement

The BruDick Week 2025 creation period starts now! 🥳

Join us, as we celebrate the different types of relationships between Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson through any kind of fanworks you can think of! 😍

BRUDICK WEEK 2025 PROMPTS

Let the prompts awaken your muse and inspire you!

Be aware that the sentence prompts give a bit of leeway to participants. Adding small words or changing the tense are welcome as long as the meaning of the sentence prompt doesn’t change. In the case of Fanart, what image the sentence evokes in you is what counts. Go wild!

As always the week will be held from January 25th to 31st, which leaves you — at the time of this post’s creation — a little over 3 months to create your works.

Any more questions? If you can’t find an answer in About or Rules, be sure to send an ask.

The week is also represented on the BruDick Discord Server. Here is an invite if you wish to join. 🥰

I wish you lots of fun! 💙🖤

#bruce wayne #dick grayson #brudick #dickbru #batman #nightwing #robin #brudickweek #brudickweek2025

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blueathn · 2 months ago

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Obligatory coffee shop au art

Close-ups and ramblings under the cut because I spent waaay too long on this

Welcome to my brain soup.

Disclaimer, I didn’t really plan this piece and just kept adding concepts as I went, so it’s kind of all over the place. It’s more a big patchwork of dumb ideas I got excited over, rather than a well thought-out drawing, but I like it as it is! It feels like my brain did when I was reading htn :]

1. The whole concept behind this is just "Vintage coffee ad but make it the griddlehark coffee shop au". I was aiming for cheerful but also not quite right, in a very stock photo kind of way if that makes sense. Gideon is smiling but she is not a willing participant in this. Also that coffee is cold.

I - very predictably - took inspiration from Leyendecker’s work, since his ads and posters are the first that come to my mind when I think "vintage ad", and also because I do feel like his painting technique is close to how I naturally paint. This is not meant to be a study of his style tho, I didn’t try to break it down on more than a very superficial level.

2. 3. Nothing special to say, just Gideon’s arms (her perfect biceps are hidden from view lest they cause a riot in the cafeteria). Also arm hair. I feel like it’s becoming a recurring feature in my art lol

4. I debated whether or not to add a foam skull on the coffee then ultimately decided against it. That’s one skull too many, and honestly Gideon neither has the skill nor the patience to attempt one. Let’s be real, if they let her have access to the pitcher she’d make tits. So here is your tits-free coffee, courtesy of the Cohort photoshop editors.

5. Isaac, sporting the Fourth’s blue not only in dress but also in his questionnable choice of eye makeup. They have matching haircut only so Jeanne can showcase how much better it looks on her.

6. This is where I finally have something clever-ish to say. Thoughts ! I have them ! Sometimes. So. Harrow. You can’t see it but she has a nose piercing as well - this is relevant to spreading my agenda that Harrow is full of bone (piercings, that is). Sue me, I forgot that they let her keep her face paint in this scene. Onto the actual thought process.

This is where Abigail interrupts the scene, before Harrow can catch a glimpse of barista!Gideon. Her interruption is shown by the unfinished look of this panel : the sketch lines peeking through (in a reddish hue, to mimic sanguine, the red chalk that artists used to draw sketches and studies - and also because the contrast of the colors makes it pop better against her skin) + the rendering is messier from the neck and down.

Abigail is blocking half of Harrow from view - I wanted to have her hide Harrow’s eyes and thus line of sight entirely, but I feared Harrow wouldn’t be as recognizable with more than half her face hidden, frowny eyebrows and all.

Abigail herself is meant to look out of place here, without taking too much attention away from Gideon. I drew her in a much simpler style, using a more monochromatic palette and cell shading, to contrast against the rest of the gang, where I used a lot more color variation and a more detailed & textured painting style.

That’s about all I have on this, if you got this far thank you! Your support is much appreciated. If you liked this drawing I’d be overjoyed if you reblogged it and left your thoughts in the tags/notes! I’m always happy when I read them, even just a "#nice" makes my day.

#my art #tlt #griddlehark #coffee shop au #you know the one #the locked tomb #harrow the ninth #htn #gideon nav #harrow nonagesimus #ft the terrible teens #isaac tettares #jeannemary chatur #and the woman the myth herself #abigail pent #artists on tumblr #tlt fanart

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emily-mooon · 14 days ago

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@jancyweeks Day 1: History + AU

Historical AU Jancy my beloved <33333

Ok maybe more like vintage vaguely 30’s (heck maybe even 40’s or 50’s) jancy

It’s a redraw of this Saturday Evening Post cover from 1930 by E.M. Jackson (it’s called Crescent Moon Couple). I found it while looking for a completely different piece by J.C. Leyendecker

I did add two things so now they are having a picnic on the moon :]

#out of the two drawings I made for the week this one is my favourite :]#I’m so glad I continued with the pose and went out of my comfort zone a bit cause it looks so pretty!!!#I really like the lighting here #that might be my favourite part #ngl this is my favourite prompt for very obvious reasons #cause I’m a history nerd and I love having excuses to draw historical fashion #stranger things #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #jancy #jancyweek2024

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silveryclear · 1 year ago

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STNAF Coraline AU

MDNI ALL CONTENT REGARDING STNAF IS 18+ AND SO IS THIS BLOG

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Pairings: Normal Friend/ GN Reader | Other Friend/ GN Reader | Carter/GN Reader

CW: NSFW, manipulation, kidnapping, torture, sexual content, obsessive behavior

A/N: Yes, this is what I’ve been working on for the whole month of October. This is my first long fic and I’ll be posting the chapters daily. I hope y’all enjoy! Happy Halloween!

Around 4-5 chapters, three different endings (for each love interest)

Friend, Carter, Scrim belongs to @stnaf-vn

Art belongs to me

Chapter 1

“So… what do you think?”

Your best friend asks as he looks at you with excitement. You look up at the looming old manor in front of you, trying to find the right words to match his enthusiasm. However, you end up blurting out the first thing that pops into your head. “Pink. Very pink.”

He snorts in amusement. “Is that all?”

“Old.” You add.

Friend rolls his eyes playfully and moves behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “Those are some amazing observation skills! Would our resident caveman like to tell us anything else?” He teases.

You laugh, feeling some of your initial uneasiness slowly reaching wash away with Friend’s humor. “Hungry.” You exclaim.

Friend smiles and you feel him gently push you into the large manor. “Then let us get settled in and we’ll order some pizza, my sweet Neanderthal~”

You let yourself get pushed into the manor whilst you do your best to keep your emotions in check, feeling your face heat up. The sweet tone he uses with you along with his soft touch and penchant for nicknames leave your heart beating in the tune of a bittersweet melody.

Friend goes to a lot of trips for his clothing line and sometimes you tag along. For a lot of the time, this is the only way you get to spend any time with your super busy friend. You put up with the long hours of traveling, jet lag and uncomfortable situations because not only is he your best friend since childhood, but you’re also very in love with him and have no way of telling him how you feel. Recently, though, it feels as if the gap between your two worlds has gotten bigger and you have no way of knowing how to close it. It seems like the more you try, the farther he slips from your grasp.

This time, you stay at an old manor called “The Pink Palace”, fairly near the city, but still hidden enough to feel like you have privacy. Friend was always a sucker for old fashioned houses and architecture so this was a way for him to keep his love alive while also doing his job.

You are currently sitting in a classy living room adorned by vintage decor with your best friend by your side, ready to watch a movie on the flat screen TV that looks very out of place.

You manage to take a peek of your best friend beside you and you begin to feel butterflies in your stomach. Moments like this when the two of you are alone are the ones you treasure the most. You feel as if you are the center of his world, with no distractions from his job and the modern world to come between the two of you. You hoped this would be the best time to admit your feelings for your best friend, but every time you tried, you’d get a wave of anxiety and mental images of your best friend rejecting you, making this trip awkward.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes, effectively snapping you out of your inner turmoil.

Carter: I could sense you chickening out from a mile away.

You roll your eyes at your college friend’s ability to know exactly what you are doing. How does he do that??

You: I’m just waiting for the right moment, okay?

Carter: No, you’re waiting for the last possible moment and torturing yourself. Drag this out, and you’ll be the “best man” on his wedding day.

You: …

The thought made your stomach churn and you write back quick.

You: It won’t come to that! I swear I’m telling him this time. No take backs.

Carter: Good. You can do this. 👍

You chuckle.

You: Thanks, Carter. I’ll let you know how it goes.

The movie keeps playing as you work up the courage to finally tell him how you feel. You take a deep breath and open your mouth… and his work phone rings. You sigh. Another confession thwarted.

Friend looks at you apologetically. “I’m sorry I’m doing this during movie night. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I’m done with work, okay?” He kisses the top of your head and leaves in a flash, right before you barely have time to register your own fluster.

You sigh. Alone again. You don’t want to get in between him and his work, but it feels like it gets in between the only time the two of you get together. Even now, the reason you both are staying in this palace is because of work. You don’t mean to be ungrateful, but when will you be a priority?

A bolt of lightning strikes near and shakes the manor slightly, making you jump. Rain starts to pour in buckets and you chuckle dryly as you think that even the universe knows what you’re going through.

“This sucks.” You mutter, before getting on your feet and walking around the palace, exploring the multiple rooms available. You try to push your feelings for Friend and your thoughts of loneliness away while you observe your surroundings, taking in the grand building in which you’re currently staying in.

This place would almost seem isolating and scary to you if it wasn’t for the fact that it was very… pink. Or at the very least, tried to include the color in every place that it could. No wonder Friend loved this place so much.

“I wonder if something like this is where he’d like to settle down and have a family.” You blush and shake your head.

You’re getting too ahead of yourself… you haven’t even confessed!

Not paying attention, you walk into a room that looks different from the rest of the house. For one, it doesn’t have an ounce of pink. And the color motif are the primary colors, along with the color black. It sounds strange, but in person, it actually looks cohesive. A jar of buttons sat on the dresser along with many sewing materials. The room seemed to reflect this craft as you noticed that buttons where everywhere around you. Your attention is quickly robbed by the most adorable bunny plushie you have ever seen! It has cute little button eyes and it’s so soft and fluffy to the touch, you can’t help but squeeze and nuzzle into it.

You giggle softly, feeling much better now than you were before. You decide to take the plushie just during this trip since you’re the only person in the palace. No one else will miss it.

You go back to the living room to finish the movie by yourself along with your little plushie. And maybe a bottle of vodka you found in the back of a cupboard. The two of you watch the movie while you drink who knows how much, before you feel yourself begin to drift off.

A loud clap of thunder wakes you up suddenly. Lifting your head off the couch and wiping away some of the drool on your chin, you groan and massage your temples gently, doing your best to ward off the hangover that is slowly creeping up to you. You notice the credits of the movie are playing so you grab the remote and turn it off. You had fallen asleep in the middle of it. You begin to snuggle back into the couch again only to realize your little fluffy friend is missing. You look everywhere around you but it’s nowhere to be found. Strange.

You go back into the strange room and you find the rabbit sticking out from underneath the bed. You must’ve imagined you took it with you and you actually dropped it. When you go to pick it up, you notice something weird on the other wall as you peek from under the bed. You stand up again and walk towards the wall where the wallpaper protruded in some areas, almost as if it was covering up something.

You take some scissors from the desk and you crouch down to cut along the dented areas of the wallpaper. You scoot back and look at what it’s revealed.

A tiny door. Just big enough for you to fit through. You try to pry it open but it’s locked. You rummage through the key drawer that Friend had showed You previously and one caught your eye. A black key with the shape of a button.

And with one flick of your wrist, the door is opened.

You debate whether you should go in alone in the middle of the night, but you’re too curious (and drunk) to ignore this great discovery.

“I hope I don’t find a rat’s nest at the end of this…”

You crawl through the surprisingly clean tunnel, lighting the way with your phone flashlight.

You reach the end and open the door to the other side to find…

The exact same room.

“What the hell? How did I end up in the same place?” You say out loud.

Suddenly, you noticed sounds coming from downstairs. You reach for the bunny plushie and the scissors and take them with you as you slowly stalk down the stairs.

You hear the muffled sounds of people talking and sound effects in the background and you figure the TV must be on. But you distinctly remember turning it off after the movie had ended…

You clutch the scissors tighter.

You walk into the living room, the lights and TV turned on, playing an old western movie. But you barely pay any attention to it as your gaze zeroes on the figure sitting on the couch, eating popcorn. You take a step forward, but to your luck, the wooden floor panel creaks oh so loudly.

The figure stiffens, most likely aware of your presence and you gulp, raising the scissors to attack the intruder. The figure cautiously turns around and every inch of hair on your body stands up.

Once he faces you, you freeze in shock. Is that..?

“Hey sweetheart~ I was just watching this while I waited for you. Ready for movie night~?” Friend smiles sweetly at you.

However, this Friend is dressed very differently from the one you’ve known your whole life. Also, he is blonde? And it looks good on him?? You curse his ability to look good in anything. But the thing that actually made you stop in your tracks and made your skin crawl were his eyes. Gone were the eyes full of life and wonder that often sucked you in when you gazed into them. In their place stood black buttons just like the ones on the plushie you’re clutching. They were piercing and unsettling to stare at. If it weren’t for the fact that the figure was moving and breathing right now, you’d most likely think he was a model made after your best friend. With some changes of course.

Your silence made this “Friend” tilt his head to the side and look at you with concern, or you figured it was. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I have no idea what I’m looking at right now…” You murmur, gaze unwavering from this doppelgänger.

“Friend” chuckles in amusement and grins at you. “I’m Friend, silly! You know, your best friend since forever?”

You raise an eyebrow, keeping the scissors clutched tightly in your hand. “I don’t know exactly what you’re playing at, but you are not Friend. Friend is not blonde, he doesn’t own clothes like yours and he definitely doesn’t have buttons for eyes.”

This so-called “Friend” grins wider, unsettling so, but quickly disappears into a charming expression. “What, can’t a person try out a new look without their best friend threatening them with a pair of scissors?” He teases.

You give him a deadpan stare.

He coughs. “What I mean to say is…” He stands up and walks around the couch, approaching you casually. You can only stare in slight fear into his soulless eyes as each step brings him closer to you. He stands in front of you and gives you a reassuring smile. “I’m your Other Friend!”

“My Other Friend? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like! I’m your friend from another world. A world filled with wonder where everyone has buttons for eyes!” He says with bright smile and a glint in his button eyes. His voice sounding like a cheery animated character.

You blink. “Oh man, I must’ve drunk more than I thought…”

He laughs in amusement. “Maybe so… but why not try to enjoy this while you can? I’ve got popcorn and your favorite snacks. Aaaand we can watch any movie you want~” He sweetens the deal.

You raise your eyebrow, intrigued. “Is the popcorn extra butter?”

His grin widens. “Of course! What kind of best friend would I be if it wasn’t?”

You narrow your eyes and give him a firm nod. Before he could even attempt to come closer you point a finger at him, your expression full of suspicion. “I’m staying because I’m not fully convinced this isn’t a dream—“ You let out a loud hiccup. “…And I’m too drunk to walk back up the stairs.”

Other Friend giggles. “I understand.”

“I’m keeping the scissors, so don’t try anything funny!” You exclaim, sluggishly making your way towards the couch, slumping down on it.

“Wouldn’t dream of it~” He chuckles before sitting on the couch next to you.

While watching the movie in your drunken haze, you fail to notice your Other Friend’s grin grow possessive as you clutch the plushie he had made just for your arrival~

Chapter 2

#yandere #fanfic #stnaf #yandere writing #yandere x reader #friend x reader #stnaf friend #stnafgame #yandere smut #carter x reader #coraline #coraline au

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lulublack90 · 7 months ago

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Prompt 24 - Modern AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 23, word count 937

Sirius gripped his coffee as though it were a lifeline. It was the biggest, strongest coffee he could find, watered down with copious amounts of milk. He took little sips as he logged into his computer at work, brought up his list of tasks for the day and slowly began muddling his way through.

He’d gone out last night with James, against his better judgement, not that it took much persuasion on James’s part. All he had to do was bat his hazels at him, and Sirius was putty in his hands.

He’d been having a great time, downing drinks, shaking his arse to the vintage jukebox and then woken up in some fit lad’s bed, hence the massive coffee and the mind-numbing hangover. He’d crept quietly out of the little flat and stumbled his way down the harsh concrete steps that smelled like weed, piss and, for some bizarre reason, hairspray. Sirius had rushed home, hopped in the shower, changed his clothes and hurried to the coffee shop on the corner. He couldn’t even remember the man’s name. He put it out of his mind, reasoning that he’d never see him again anyway.

It took an age for the little digital clock on his computer screen to blink to 12:00 and signal lunchtime.

Feeling the need for greasy food, he went to pull out his mobile to order a McDonald’s when he realised he didn’t have it. He checked all his pockets and his bag. It wasn’t there. The panic had just set in that it had been stolen at the bar last night when his computer alerted him to a new email on his personal account.

‘Hi, erm, I guess Sirius. Sorry, I didn’t get your name last night 😬.

So anyway, I have your phone. You must have left it here when you snuck out this morning. (You are not sneaky, by the way! Like an elephant in size nines!) But yeah, anytime you want to come by and get it is fine. I’ll be in all day. Crap, I hope you get this email, or I’ve just got myself a new phone. It’s actually a big upgrade to mine. On second thoughts, it’s mine now, mwahaha 😈!

Thanks

Remus Lupin.’

Sirius stared at the words for a few minutes, taking them in, before picking up the work phone from his desk and phoning himself.

“Hello?” A voice on the other end answered. “Hi, I’m not Sirius. He left his phone at mine last night.”

“Hi, Remus. It’s me. Sirius.” He added in case he hadn’t realised.

Well, I guessed when you used my name. I highly doubt anyone in your phone book knows who I am. Especially ginger toss pot number 1. There’s more than one ginger toss pot?” Remus snickered.

“Wait, how do you know that, and how did you get my email address? Have you hacked into my phone?!” He felt outraged. How had he even gotten in, though? It was password-protected.

“Sirius, 6969 is not a strong password. Plus, I could see where you’d jabbed at the screen to unlock it. You really need to clean your phone.” Remus went on.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” He paused for a second, trying to rein in the snarkiness. “I don’t finish work until 5. Is it alright to come over after that?”

“Sure,” Remus answered. “I’ll be in.”

“Great, thanks.” Sirius forced a smile on his face so Remus could hear his sincerity.

“Who’s Specky Dick Nuts? Because they’ve been blowing up your phone all morning before I woke up and found it. They seem to have stopped now, though.”

“Oh, that’s my best mate James. Oh shit, if he’s gone quiet, he’s probably tracking my phone. Er, be prepared. He probably thinks I need rescuing.” There was a loud thudding on the other end of the line.

“Er, I think your friend might be here,” Remus whispered into the phone.

“Put me on speaker so I can talk to him.” He heard the faint click as he was put on speaker and the sound of Remus unlocking the four locks on his door.

“Hi, you must be James,” Remus said.

“Where is he?!” James’s voice was stern and full of concern.

“James, mate. I’m fine. I’m at work. I just forgot to pick up my phone this morning. This is Remus, by the way. He kindly let me know he had it.” He prayed that was enough to call off the Potter inquisition.

“Oh, cool. Hi, Remus.”

“Hi, James.”

“Sorry, I thought you were some lunatic. And you were keeping him prisoner.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Happens all the time.” The phone line was filled with laughter, and Sirius had to hold his receiver away from his head.

“Hey, James, can you take my phone, seeing as you’re there?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks, Remus.” He managed to say before James hung him up. He felt oddly dejected for some reason but brushed it off.

When he came back from lunch, he found a new email, this time from Remus’s actual address.

‘Can I take you out on a date?’

It said. Sirius felt a surge of joy and so replied.

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Dinner? Movie? Massive shagathon?’

Sirius choked on his own spit at Remus’s reply. He coughed as he typed back.

‘Jesus, Remus. Are you always so forward?’

‘What can I say? You made an impression 😉.’

‘Yeah, go on then.’

And that was how Sirius found himself for the second morning in a row in Remus Lupin’s bed. But this time, he didn’t sneak out.

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femininenachos · 7 months ago

Note

Hello lovely. I’ve been thinking about vacation au. Please tell me Clarke runs into Lexa swimming in some crystal clear Grecian water and wells has to close her mouth for her.

(Not quite, but close!)

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

By mid-morning the narrow streets near the harbour are already swarming with island hoppers fresh off the ferry. More line the quayside, waiting to board the day cruise that takes in the larger, more populous archipelago further down the coast. So-called ‘jewels of the Aegean’, they’re feted for being playgrounds of the rich and famous, boasting a slew of luxury resort hotels, designer boutiques and staggeringly expensive seafront restaurants.

For all its charm and scenic vistas, at least Polis has one foot in the real world. Here, craggy-faced fishermen and dock hands in scruffy overalls are hard at work unloading the morning’s catch, doing their best to ignore the clusters of tourists floating around, or at least tolerating their presence with stoic indifference.

And—it’s possible Clarke might be biased—Polis has Lexa, currently leading the charge like a woman on a mission. Clarke sticks close, her hand in Lexa’s sure grip, hurrying to match her loping strides as they make a beeline for the marina. Along the way they pass an assortment of small motorboats in all shapes and sizes, from dinghies and jet skis to skiffs and cabin cruisers and everything in between, until a gleaming white single-masted sailboat comes into view at last.

Clarke stops dead in her tracks on the cobblestones, fingers slipping from Lexa’s.

Her jaw drops.

“Is this yours?”

Lexa glances over and laughs at Clarke’s expression. “I make good tips, but not that much.”

She points to the modest vessel moored next to it, an open-top vintage deck boat with a walnut veneer interior and burnt orange leather upholstery that’s bleached from exposure to the sun and the salty sea air. ‘Spirit of Polis’ is written in blue cursive script on the hull.

“I mean, this one’s great too,” Clarke is quick to respond. She styles it out. “Not so flashy. Compact. Classic. Nice, uh, sleek lines.”

Lexa peers over the top of her sunglasses, lips subtly twisting to the side. “It belongs to my uncle, so you don’t have to worry about offending me or the boat.”

She puts down the cooler containing their provisions of cold drinks and extends a hand to help Clarke aboard. A little unsteady on her feet at first, Clarke holds on tightly for support while she finds her balance, shifting her weight to counteract the bobbing motion of the boat as water sloshes against the sides. Once she’s confident she isn’t going to fall flat on her face or, worse, into the harbour, she takes a few cautious steps to reach the small seating area at the rear. She shrugs off her tote bag to stow under the bench and situates herself, the sun-scorched leather burning hot against the backs of her thighs.

From this safe perch (and prime ogling spot), she watches Lexa collect the thick rope that tethers the boat, tossing it onto the deck before she gracefully hops across with the cooler and gets behind the controls. Full of poise at the helm, like it’s second nature to assume command, the signature pout in place as Lexa lifts her chin like she’s surveying her nautical domain.

It goes without saying that the whole preppy, boat-captain vibe is one hundred percent working in her favour.

Shades on. Hair spilling down her back in glossy chestnut waves, the ends getting whipped around by the wind. Appealing in her pale pink button-down worn over a snug white tank. Shirt open and catching the light breeze, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a hint of muscle definition and the ink that encircles her bicep. Tight little navy blue shorts hug her hips and ass in ways that are about to cause a major international incident at sea, because Clarke is far from looking respectfully.

“Ready?”

When her eyes snap up, she spies the half-smile on Lexa’s side profile, as though she detects the unholy thirst emanating from mere feet away.

Clarke gives a slow, absentminded nod, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as her eyes make another involuntary sweep down Lexa’s form.

“Clarke.”

She gets a hold of herself, breathing in deeply, and with it the spell is broken.

“Mm? Oh, yeah,” she says, feeling a resurgent wiggle of anticipation about this mystery adventure they’re about to embark on together. All Lexa was willing to divulge when they met is that it’s Polis’s best-kept secret, a spot known only to locals, unreachable except by boat, and so far unspoiled by tourists. Clarke had feigned offense on the last point, but soon dropped the act when Lexa tilted in for a kiss that went on and on and made her stomach clench. Each time Clarke started to retreat, Lexa would chase her mouth and draw her back in for more.

Her lips are still tingling.

(Both sets.)

“At least give me a hint about where we’re going?”

The enigmatic smirk that plays around Lexa’s mouth widens a fraction. “I thought you liked surprises.”

“Oh, I do. But I’m also stubborn as hell and won’t take no for an answer, so jot that down.”

It earns a laugh, one Clarke is fast becoming enamoured with, and she can’t control the warm tingle that goes through her when she hears it or the rush of elation she gets from bringing a rare grin to Lexa’s face.

“Good to know,” Lexa says as she reaches for the ignition key. Her next words are almost lost to the splutter and chug of the engine before it roars to life. “I like a challenge.”

~*~

Within an hour, they reach a small, secluded cove surrounded by sheer limestone cliffs, the ancient rock sculpted by wind and waves, where sparse scatterings of tall, rugged pines sprout precariously from narrow ledges in defiance of the elements.

It appears like a mirage, shimmering into view: a bay of dreamy, pristine, white-gold sands and crystal clear turquoise waters, serene and inviting, and there isn’t a soul in sight. The closest thing they had to company was the pod of dolphins they spotted off the starboard (Clarke learned) side about twenty minutes ago. She’d gasped and clutched Lexa’s arm, bouncing on her heels in sheer delight. But it was the look they shared, brimming with joy and something unaccountably softer and fonder, that made it all the more magical, the moment already locked into Clarke’s memory.

“What do you think?” Lexa asks.

Lost for words, Clarke shakes her head in silent awe.

She turns to Lexa, and the smile Lexa directs at her, eyes bright and glowing in the sunlight, leaves her just as speechless. When Clarke finds her voice at last, it comes out thick, clogged with emotion; touched and amazed by the incredible beauty of what she sees—the place, and the woman who brought her here. So moved that she’s dangerously close to shedding a tear, her vision glazing over.

She blinks the moisture away.

“It’s…” She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. Lifts her eyebrows. “Wow.”

She doesn’t second guess the impulse to wrap an arm around Lexa’s waist, to plant a soft, grateful kiss on her jaw.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Full lips twitch at the corners. “My pleasure.”

With one hand resting on the wheel, Lexa drapes her free arm around Clarke’s shoulders. They remain like that, Clarke hugging Lexa’s side and taking in the spectacular scenery as Lexa guides the boat in at a steady rate of knots.

“I can’t believe this place has stayed under the radar. You’d think tour operators would be running excursions out here every hour until sunset.”

“Clarke.” Lexa grows serious all of a sudden, and that only makes Clarke want to kiss her again. Coax another smile. “You must promise not to tell anyone. It’s how we preserve it for future generations.”

Clarke schools her features, pretending to match Lexa’s gravity.

“Well… it’ll cost you. My silence doesn’t come cheap.”

The slight frown Lexa wears smooths out as soon as she catches on. A quizzical eyebrow flexes in a way that’s rudely attractive.

“Name your price, but don’t forget I work in hospitality.”

“I’m not interested in your money, Lexa. What I want” - Clarke trails her hand over Lexa’s hip and the perfect curve of her backside to give it a slow, purposeful squeeze, relishing Lexa’s intake of breath and the darkening of her gaze as she glances at Clarke’s lips - “is you.”

She meant to say “your body” but she doesn’t correct the verbal slip. Because, yeah, she does want to bend Lexa into all kinds of shapes like a pretzel, but she also has a deep desire to learn more about Lexa as a person, to find out what makes her tick, beyond what she likes to do in bed.

Lexa takes it in stride regardless, easing back into the confidence she has in spades.

Something about the slope of her smile signals she’s about to gain the upper hand.

She shrugs.

“Okay, deal.”

The enduring gleam in Lexa’s eyes before she turns her attention back to the sea gives Clarke palpitations. Her pulse thunders in her ears, drowning out the engine noise and the crash of the boat breaking the waves.

~*~

They drop anchor a short distance from the shore, an easy swim from the dazzling white sands. Not yet ready to take a dip, preferring to bake in the heat for a while first, Clarke spreads a large beach towel on the deck for sunbathing. She senses Lexa’s attention on her as she shimmies out of her shorts and shucks her loose tee to reveal the red halter neck two-piece that Octavia helped pick out after breakfast.

(“Hellooo, mama,” Octavia had drawled after Clarke emerged from the en suite and gave a reluctant twirl. She’d let out a low whistle as she ran her eyes up and down. “Almost wish I was tagging along just to watch Sexy Lexy’s head spin 360-degrees before it explodes. The twins ain’t playing.”)

At the time, Clarke had rolled her eyes and fought a blush but she’s glad she went with O’s suggestion.

Aware of her present captive audience, she proceeds to get comfortable on her back. One knee bent, an arm tucked behind her head as a pillow, showing off her best assets like a 1950s calendar pinup girl. Even behind the dark tinted lenses of her sunglasses, she sees Lexa’s eyes hungrily trace the shape of her body. Clarke basks in it, a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, secure in the knowledge that she’s not just a snack, she’s the whole damn meal, and Lexa looks like she wants to devour every last crumb.

But Clarke’s smugness is short-lived, because in the next moment she’s the one left gawking when Lexa wordlessly strips down to the skimpiest pair of bikini bottoms and not a stitch else, brow quirking up as she peers over her shoulder then dives off the deck, slicing through the water with barely a splash.

Clarke quickly levers up onto her elbows to watch Lexa surface seconds later, hair slicked back and plastered to her skull, a sly little tilt to her lips as she treads water.

“Come on in. The temperature is perfect,” she calls out, looking every inch the siren that lures thirsty sapphic sailors to their deaths.

Clarke tries to cling on to the last vestiges of composure she has remaining.

“Gonna work on my tan for a little bit.”

The pout returns and she laughs, “Soon!”

Grabbing the tube of sunscreen from her nearby tote, she squeezes a large dollop into her palm. While Lexa does slow laps around the boat, Clarke liberally reapplies the lotion, slathering it on until all the exposed skin within reach is covered.

Before long, she hears Lexa climb the ladder onto the swim platform, accompanied by the rush of water cascading off her body as she rises out of the sea.

The soft slap of wet footfalls draws nearer.

“Lex?” Clarke twists around. “Could you do my—”

She stalls mid-sentence, only cognizant of her fingers closing hard around the tube in her hand when a spurt of lotion shoots out, splattering across her thigh and the towel.

She doesn’t even flinch.

All Clarke can do is gape and stare, watching rivulets of water run down the slope of Lexa’s bare chest. Eyes drawn inexorably to taut nipples and golden skin that glistens under the sun, to the long, lean lines of Lexa and the scrap of luminous orange fabric that sits low on her hips.

Clarke’s belly tightens, arousal flaring hot between her legs.

(A voice in her head that sounds disturbingly like Wells tells her to close her mouth.)

She has to remind herself to breathe.

Is thankful for the oversized shades that partially mask her expression, because she isn’t in control of what her face is doing right now. But if Lexa’s lip-bitten smile is any indication, it’s a lost cause anyway.

Casually wringing the water out of her hair as she approaches, Lexa glances at the milky white streak on Clarke’s inner thigh.

“Not the first time I’ve made a girl squirt.”

Clarke mutters a sarcastic “ha ha”, rubs the lotion into her skin, then wipes her hands on the edge of the towel before she reclines again. She fakes nonchalance when Lexa sinks down beside her, but it’s impossible to ignore the butterflies.

She rolls her shoulders and stares at the sky above, fixating on the solitary vapour trail that cuts across the endless blue.

“Speaking of previous liaisons... do you bring all your conquests here?” She’s mostly kidding, but there’s an undercurrent of needing to know too. She peers at Lexa. “Or am I one of the lucky few?”

A slow shake of Lexa’s head before she leans over on her elbow, closing in and partially blocking the sun, and Clarke’s skepticism must be plain to see, because Lexa looks so intensely sincere now, no trace of a smile or any disingenuousness when she says: “It’s the truth, I swear.”

Still, Clarke has her doubts. There’s no way Lexa isn’t tripping over hot women throwing themselves at her feet and this boat trip is too well-orchestrated not to be a tried and tested seduction technique.

Clarke peels off her shades to look Lexa square in the eye, and that frank, steady gaze pierces straight through her.

“I mean it, Clarke.”

The space between them shrinks.

Lexa’s pupils dilate as her focus shifts to parted lips. “You’re special.”

Water drips off the ends of Lexa’s hair onto Clarke’s shoulder and chest, and whatever rebuttal she had dies in her throat. She’s the one to reach out, gripping Lexa by the neck to tug her the rest of the way and kiss her like Clarke’s been dreaming of all morning.

As soon as Lexa throws a long leg over Clarke to straddle her, knees bracketing her hips, she needs no further convincing.

It’s on.

She dips her tongue inside Lexa’s mouth and slides both hands up Lexa’s rib cage to cup her breasts, a shiver running through Clarke when she feels the hard poke of nipples against her palms. She kneads, and the low, throaty noise it earns her sets her nerves alight, warm tingles suffusing her body.

They kiss deeply, greedily.

They kiss until Clarke has to drag her mouth away to gulp down some air, only to have the oxygen punched out of her lungs once again when Lexa uses the opportunity to shove her bikini bottoms off, scoop her mane of wet hair to one side and resettle against Clarke’s thigh. With her hands planted on either side of Clarke’s shoulders, Lexa holds herself up as she starts to work along the tensed muscle.

The slick, molten feel of Lexa, sliding against her skin, riding Clarke, makes her burn. She lurches up into the next kiss, hungrily reclaiming Lexa’s mouth, urging her on with a grip on her ass, and that shaky little hitch of breath in the back of Lexa’s throat whenever the friction gets her just right succeeds in getting Clarke wetter and wetter too. At this rate, she might come before Lexa does, and the odds only increase when Lexa takes Clarke’s hand and guides it between her legs.

“Use your fingers.”

Another surge of heat floods through Clarke at the instruction, hearing the normally smooth, modulated tone of Lexa’s voice roughed by need.

Clarke studies Lexa’s face, watching for the tiny flickers of reaction as she runs her fingers lower, fascinated by each and every twitch and jolt and slight gasp as she explores. She dips in and drags the wetness up to swirl around Lexa’s clit and is rewarded by the sharp jerk of Lexa’s hips and quite possibly the dirtiest kiss of Clarke’s entire life. She needs no prompting to slide through slick heat to tease at Lexa’s entrance again, fingertips doing a couple of slow swirls before she pauses.

For a beat they remain suspended in a freeze frame of anticipation. Each holding still, a breath caught in their throats.

On the exhale Clarke pushes inside.

And fuck, she missed this. Touching yourself is great and all, empowering, fantastic for stress relief, et cetera. But nothing beats the sound another woman makes when you enter her for the first time, when you hear that shaky intake of breath and you feel her clench around your fingers.

“Good?” Clarke asks.

Lexa nods, bottom lip held between her teeth as she looks down at Clarke with hooded eyes, the green of her irises nearly eclipsed by black.

Part of Clarke can’t quite believe this is her reality. That she’s buried to the knuckles and Lexa is moving on her, rolling to meet the steady pump of her wrist.

She glances between their bodies and a groan escapes, another sharp twist of lust coiling in the pit of her stomach once her eyes fasten on her own two fingers coated with Lexa’s arousal, fucking into her. But Clarke pries her eyes away, roving over tight abdominals, taking in the curves of Lexa’s tits and the jut of her nipples, torn between wanting them in her mouth and watching her fingers disappear inside again.

It’s Lexa’s half-stifled whimper when Clarke’s thumb finds her clit that sharpens her focus.

Winding her arm around Lexa’s lower back, Clarke sits them upright and swiftly brings their lips together. The abrupt change of angle has Lexa gasping hotly into her mouth. Again, louder, when Clarke’s palm rubs in. Lexa grips her by the shoulder and the back of her neck, blunt nails digging in as Lexa grinds down harder, faster, speeding towards the climax—the first of many, if Clarke has her way—sucking in short, sharp gasps while Clarke keeps pace, despite it being hell on her wrist.

They’re hardly kissing at all now, mouths hanging slack and sharing the same air, noses pressing into cheeks as they pant against one another’s lips.

She soon feels the first flutters, the growing tension in Lexa’s form, the choppy motion of Lexa’s hips and the careless scratch of her nails at Clarke’s nape. She curls the tips of her fingers on each partial drag out then slams back in, lifting Lexa an inch off her lap with each thrust. Clarke keeps the heel of her palm tight against Lexa’s clit, the pressure firm and constant, and in the next collection of halting, rapid breaths, Lexa’s whole frame pulls taut. A ragged cry is torn from her throat and she clenches hard, coming in a hot spill around Clarke’s fingers. Lexa shudders through it, a tremble in her jaw when she catches Clarke’s mouth in a fierce, bruising kiss, licking into her with a groan that makes Clarke gush in turn.

They remain in a heavy lip lock long after the tremors subside, neither inclined to separate. Restless hands weave through Clarke’s hair then seek out her curves, roaming down her chest with purpose, pushing under the top half of her swimsuit. She gives a low hum of approval when Lexa’s thumbs roll over the tight tips of her nipples, the ache mirrored in the dull, pulsing emptiness between her legs.

She feels close to orgasm already, like if she got even the tiniest bit of friction she’d go off like a rocket. Just a small shift of her hand to grind against her own knuckles would do it. But the way Lexa is touching her breasts, palms running all over, teasing her nipples into stiff, hypersensitive points, might be enough to get Clarke there.

And all the while, she’s still inside Lexa. Fucking her lazily with slow presses of her fingers, incapable of much more vigour when her wrist is screaming. She’s debating what to do next, whether to withdraw and flip Lexa onto her back for round two or continue like this, when a distant droning noise intrudes, faintly audible above the gentle lap of water, the thick, wet squelch of Clarke’s hand working between Lexa’s thighs, and their combined heavy breathing.

Growing more distracted by the second, Clarke draws her mouth away. She squints at the horizon beneath the shade of her free hand while warm lips meander along her jaw and down her neck.

She ceases her movements, despite Lexa’s meaningful buck of her hips and the subsequent small growl of complaint when Clarke fails to take the hint.

“What’s—” Teeth nip at the fading hickey on her throat and she gasps, hand flying to tangle in Lexa’s damp, curling hair. But as the object begins to resolve itself, Clarke tenses for a different reason. “Is that a boat?”

Lexa abandons her sulk to look too.

A white shape is rapidly approaching, throwing up sea spray, sunlight glinting off the surface and the waves and making it difficult to discern from this distance until… oh. Oh, yeah.

Letting out a string of (presumably) expletives in her native tongue, Lexa scrambles off Clarke to scoop up the clothes strewn across the deck. She pulls on her tank top, yanks the shorts up her legs, and has just enough time to arrange herself into a casual pose beside Clarke before the other boat reaches them. The occupants are obnoxiously young; late teens or early twenties, as far as Clarke can tell from a distance; a bunch of bikini-clad girls and lanky guys in board shorts hanging off one another as music blasts.

She sighs inwardly. Grits her teeth and refrains from giving them the middle finger while they whoop and cheer in passing, beer bottles held aloft as they thunder towards the wooden jetty.

So much for the sexy beach idyll. Clearly, not everyone has such reverence for the tranquility of this spot.

“Shall we stay a while or…?” Clarke hedges.

Lexa purses her lips and casts her stormy gaze around, jaw working side to side in rotation, but a gentle touch on her leg pulls her focus back to Clarke.

Consternation softens into regret.

“You didn’t even get a chance to swim or feel the sand between your toes.”

“I’ll cope. Besides…” Clarke wets her lips and drops into a huskier register. “It wasn’t a total bust.”

Lexa’s mouth twitches, clearly fighting a smile, and to Clarke that’s a win.

“Come on, don’t let these pesky teens ruin our hot date,” she continues in a playful tone. “I bet you have a few aces up your sleeve; other favourite haunts to wow the ladies with.”

One shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “We do have the boat for the rest of the day. I could take you somewhere else. For lunch, if you’re hungry yet?”

Clarke gives a noncommittal hum, lightly trailing her wet fingers along the soft skin of Lexa’s inner thigh. “I could eat.”

The suggestive undertone isn’t lost in translation. Their eyes meet and Clarke dares to make it explicit.

“But lunch wasn’t what I had in mind… unless we’re counting pussy as a food group.”

Lexa loses the battle against keeping her smile under control. The tips of her ears are tinged pink. “Are Americans always so forward?”

“Um, I don’t recall any shyness on your part two nights ago.”

Dainty little ears burn brightly while Lexa’s smile grows, becoming toothier, and Clarke just wants to smooch that perfect face all day long.

“Anyway, I prefer the term ‘go-getter.’ As in, I see someone I want and I go get her.”

A pained groan. “I should leave you stranded on the beach for that.”

“Hey!” Clarke swats at Lexa’s knee in retaliation, but Lexa catches her hand, holding it captive. Clarke sniffs for dramatic effect. “I was going to let you strip me out of this bathing suit later, but now I’m strongly reconsidering.”

“If it helps sway your decision, I’d definitely appreciate seeing you naked again.”

“And how would you show your gratitude?”

“Mm. At least three times, and maybe twice more with the strap if you’re into toys.”

God.

“Okay. Alright. Well, lucky for you, I’m kind of dying for you to fuck me so I guess that clinches it.”

It’s about as far from playing it cool as could be, but Clarke doesn’t care. The truth is she’s soaked, aching for relief, and she isn’t picky about whichever method Lexa might use to get her off, as long as it happens soon.

Eyes flashing dark, Lexa cups a hand behind Clarke’s neck and pulls her mouth to hers. Clarke reacts without thought, already opening up to accept the slide of Lexa’s tongue before her brain catches up and she remembers they’re not alone.

Cracking an eye open, she’s relieved to see nobody on the other boat appears to be paying them any attention. She attempts to evade the next kiss, only for Lexa to pursue it more doggedly, and that makes Clarke smile even as she lays a palm on Lexa’s chest to gently hold off her advance. The mini pout on Lexa’s face when they pull apart is a treat, and Clarke can’t conceal her enjoyment of it. Unable to resist the lure, she steals one final peck.

For a few indulgent seconds, she luxuriates in the softness of Lexa’s full bottom lip, until it dawns on her that an hour-long return journey stands between them and more orgasms, and she sighs.

“Why isn’t teleportation a real thing yet? Having to wait a full 60 minutes to get you under me is so unfair.”

Slowly, with the greatest delicacy and patience, Lexa brushes their noses together, one side then the other, nudging the tip before she withdraws. Despite the sun beating down on her back, it gives Clarke chills, shivers running down her neck and arms. For the duration she just holds still and melts while her stomach flips, and the butterflies that had lain dormant return in full force.

When she opens her eyes, she’s greeted by the slight, sloping smile on Lexa’s lips and her stomach does another somersault.

“I’m starting to think you’re only interested in me for sex,” Lexa says lightly.

Clarke lets out a small scoff. “You’re the one with a one-track mind. I was minding my own business, soaking up the rays, until you pounced.”

“Can you blame me?”

Lexa’s heated stare roves over several inches of cleavage before she forcibly drags her eyes back up.

“Actually… I have a confession to make.” She draws that plush bottom lip, still slightly swollen and red from kissing, between her teeth. “I dropped a tray of drinks at work yesterday because I had a flashback to you sitting on my face. Anya yelled at me and I didn’t even give a fuck that she deducted it from my tips.”

Heat rises in Clarke’s cheeks, triggered by her own vivid recollection of events. She won’t forget it in a hurry and she’s flattered to hear it was just as memorable for Lexa too. But also, it feels like a point of pride that she made Lexa’s cool girl veneer slip, even if she wasn’t there to witness it in person.

“Now I feel partly responsible for this tragic loss of earnings and broken glassware.”

“I said you were trouble.”

They inch closer, eyes glued to lips, their breath hot on one another’s faces.

“How can I make it up to you?” Clarke asks.

“I have some ideas.”

Her mind can’t help going to the aforementioned strap.

All smiles, they surrender to the magnetic pull. The world around them recedes. There’s only Lexa’s mouth on hers, soft yet urgent, and the tingles that erupt all over, Clarke’s pulse accelerating when long fingers thread into her hair again.

And it’s sublime.

Close to perfection.

She can almost hear the swell of imaginary violins soundtracking the moment—until a smattering of shrill wolf whistles pierces through the bliss.

The kiss breaks on a huff of shared, quiet laughter. Clarke’s eyes slide across to the jetty, where they’re being enthusiastically toasted by their neighbours. She groans and drops her forehead to Lexa’s shoulder, breathing in the saltwater, sun-warmed scent of her before showing her face again.

“I believe that’s our cue to leave,” Clarke says.

The long, lidded look Lexa favours her with, eyes shaded darker by desire and the hint of some deeper emotion that feels altogether too big, too soon to acknowledge, has Clarke battling the urge to launch herself at Lexa’s lips again, regardless of the unwanted spectators nearby.

“Keep that up, Lex, and they might really have something to holler about—and possibly livestream on the internet.”

A faint smile reappears. “What am I doing, Clarke?”

“Looking. Giving me those” - she gestures vaguely - “eyes.”

It loosens a small laugh. Lexa lowers her gaze and Clarke regrets mentioning it now, because it feels like the sun momentarily disappearing behind the clouds when Lexa’s thrilling, singular focus isn’t on her.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Lexa looks up, and the restored eye contact makes Clarke’s blood pump faster.

She lets out the breath she was holding. “Maybe I like it more than I should, considering.”

“Considering…?”

“I won’t be here next week.”

Pragmatic; matter-of-fact. A reality check and a casual reminder they both need to hear before they throw themselves headlong into… whatever this thing is between them: it has an expiration date.

In the lull, Lexa scans every millimetre of Clarke’s face and she hopes the nerves don’t show through the front she’s putting on.

After a moment, the corner of Lexa’s mouth lifts into a smirk, but it seems slightly forced. Her eyes are more pebbly, neutral grey than green. “Then let’s make sure you have good memories to take home with you.”

#vacation au #cool for the summer #clexa fic #my fic

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butchcarmy · 7 months ago

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ALEXITHYMIA CH 5: detergent, thrifting, and cake

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Chapter Rating: T (11k)

ao3 link, ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

Chapter Summary: It’s his roommate’s birthday this week, and Carmy doesn’t find out until it’s a couple days away. Once he finds they’re unluckily spending their birthday alone, he makes it his mission to make their lonely day better. It’s the least he can do. Little does he know how much more he has to discover about them and about himself.

Tags: reader having trauma, carmy having trauma, toxic families, domesticity

A/N: It’s time… it’s time. I said last chapter was the longest…just kidding. THIS ONE is the longest, and it was hardest to write so far. The duo gets to have a lot of fun this chapter, though! arguably the most so far! A lot of domestic goodness and good food and shopping! Until… :)

also HUGE shoutout to @justaconsequence on tumblr for being my beta reader for this chapter! she was so kind and so helpful. this behemoth of a fic is too much for me to proofread on my own. anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy! can't wait to hear what y'all think!

Typically, by this time on Monday morning, Carmy's usually three cigarettes deep into paperwork, urgently (and poorly) calculating the sales the restaurant needs to make this week to stay afloat. Because even though it's a Sunday closing activity, he never seems to find the occasion to get around to it, and by 10 pm, he doesn't have the capacity to be crunching numbers.

Not that 8 am is much better. At least he's not dissecting the debt this morning—he's studying detergent prices.

“Why is this one, like, almost 20 dollars?” Carmy stops reading the price tags and glances over at his roommate, who's squinting at products on upper shelves. The lights are always too bright in this place. “And for such a small bottle…”

“Pre-mixed organic sulfate-free 100% vegan bleach,” Carmy reads dully.

“So stupid.” They shake their head. “Does grocery shopping ever depress you?”

“Usually,” he replies dryly. “Inflation is pretty depressing.”

“Don’t even get me started. Capitalism in general depresses me.”

“Hm, yeah. That too.” He sighs through his nose and tries to refocus. He's having a hard time processing all the numbers and letters today. “You see any unscented detergent? Somethin’ mild?”

“Um…” They crane their neck up and down, and then they crouch on the ground. They pick up a white bottle. “How's this? It's like, 8 dollars. It's not name-brand, but…”

“You know I don't care.” He kneels with them, huddling in close. They smell faintly of a sweet, yet musky perfume. He reminds himself to focus on the detergent, not the way they smell (even if it's far more interesting). “Yeah, this looks good. Thank you.”

“For your vintage denim, right?” They stand up to put the detergent in their shopping cart, which is barely separated with his stuff vs. theirs. He doesn't understand why his face grows warm at their comment, but it does.

“Uh, yeah. It is.” If the blush shows on his face, they graciously don't comment. “Although I'll admit I don't get around to washing them as much as I should.”

“You're not supposed to wash jeans that often anyway, right?” They lean their elbows onto the rickety cart as they push it, and he ambles along next to them, matching the slow, relaxed pace of their walk.

“Yeah, but I really…” The implications are clear. They fail in suppressing a laugh, and it makes him smile. “And I’m supposed to hand wash them, so.”

“Oh, so what you're saying is that you never wash them,” they tease.

“That is not at all what I'm saying.” They make an unimpressed face. “I do laundry, it's just…”

“Not often,” they supply helpfully. He tries to come up with something, but he's got nothing. “It's okay, I understand.”

“I promise I wash my clothes,” he mumbles, wilting.

“I know.” There's that new smile he's grown to recognize more clearly. It's this mischievous one they get when they’re teasing him, and it's so cute he doesn't have any room in him to get even a little irritable. “I've seen you do laundry maybe once or twice.”

“Hey,” he says, warning, and they laugh and run ahead of him, the squeaky wheels of the cart giggling alongside them.

After the night he almost burned down their apartment, he had felt different. It was like a switch being flipped, light abruptly filling up a dark room, and he's been squinting, struggling to adjust. But as he walks with them today, grocery shopping lit by blinding white fluorescents, he finds that he can see them rather clearly.

The connection between the two of them is tangible, palpable. It's workable pasta dough that's been kneaded to uniformity. The dough is malleable, clean, and when he touches it, sticky, glutenous residue doesn't cover his palms. When he catches at them peeking over their shoulder to make sure he's still following them, he chases away the urge to pull them into his arms. He throws the desire into boiling water in hopes that enough pressure will change those feelings into something more palatable. He's not sure if it's working.

Something happened when he hugged them that Saturday night. He doesn't dare name what that “something” is, but it's rising from where it's sitting at the bottom of the pot, just about to hit the surface—

“Hey, I gotta get some stuff in this aisle.” Carmy snaps out of it and follows them as they veer the cart to the left. He raises his eyes to read the categories on the sign.

“You bakin’ somethin’?” They both move out of the way for an oncoming cart.

“Yeah, was thinking about it.” They halt to a stop in front of the boxed cake mix and step back to fully peruse the shelves. He stands next to them, and they glance at him out of the corner of their eye. “You’re not judging me for getting box mix, are you?”

“Not at all,” he answers honestly. “Food is always better when made from scratch, but box mix has its uses. Besides, I’m not a baker.”

“That’s true, but I’m sure you still make an insane cake.” Carmy’s aware he can’t make them unsee his flash of a smile, but he still shrugs. “Sure, stay humble.”

“I try. What’s the occasion?”

“Ah, nothing much. It’s just my birthday.”

“Oh, okay.”

…And he's about to move on, just as casually as it came, but then the processing finishes.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” They ask confusedly.

“Is it your birthday today?”

“No, um, it’s this Thursday.” He exhales in palpable relief.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He hates at how worked up he sounds.

“Um…” Their face is twinged with guilt. “...There was never a good time to bring it up?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be getting upset.” He sighs, shakes his head. “I just feel like I should’ve known, I guess.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not your fault. I never brought it up. Um…” Their hands are fiddling with the edges of their sleeves. “I just have complicated feelings about my birthday.”

“Ah, I see. I get that.” That, he can understand. “Is it all the gifts and stuff?”

“Kinda. It’s a part of it.” They lean down to grab a box of devil’s food cake, and that makes him remember that they’re in a grocery store. Not quite the best place for a personal conversation like this. They’re being vague, but he won’t press. Not right now.

“You shouldn’t be baking for yourself on your birthday,” Carmy mutters. They smile at that, but it’s different. It’s heavy with melancholy.

“It’s alright. I’m gonna be celebrating with my friends this weekend, just not on my actual birthday.” His conflicted expression persists. “It’s okay, really. It’s just a day. It’ll be enough of a present to not have to go into work.”

“Put that back,” he blurts out. “I’ll make you a cake.”

“Don’t you work?” Their eyebrows are arched in surprise. “You really don’t—”

“I know I don’t. But I want to. I do work, yeah, but I’ll, I’ll get someone to cover me.” He’s never said those words before in his life, and now that they’re out, he can’t take them back. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t want to take them back. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” they reply quickly.

“Then let me do this. Please.” He has no idea where this courage is coming from. “I want to. I know I'm always working, but I really…” Their eyes are wide with wonder, yet watchful. It shouldn't make him falter, but it does. His heart stutters and whatever bravado briefly gripped him fades away. “I’m…probably being too pushy right now. Tell me to fuck off?”

“I’m not gonna tell you to fuck off for wanting to bake me a cake,” they laugh, easing his worries like they always do. “C’mon, Carm.”

“So, uh, is that a yes, or…?”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not trying to ask you to take off of work for my birthday,” they start carefully, “but I wouldn’t object to it. So, yeah. It’s a yes.”

“Okay.” He can’t help his giddy smile. There's someone saying you look stupid like this, but he’s with them, and it makes everything else silent. “Okay, good.”

“You’re…being super sweet about all this.” He doesn’t understand why—maybe it’s the way they say it—but hearing that makes his neck go hot.

“I mean…friends do stuff like this, don’t they?”

“Only the good ones.” They beam beautifully at him. He hasn’t done anything to warrant their affection, he thinks, but the feeling of their smile is so warm. He can’t resist soaking in it.

He's glad that lady luck blessed him just enough to stop their birthday from passing him by. He's been itching for an opportunity to repay them for all the bullshit they've had to take from him as of recent (although he knows if he brought it up, they would say it wasn't anything worth repaying). They deserve something good from him for once, not panic attacks and nightmares.

He just wishes he could figure out why they were going to spend their birthday alone. He knows them a lot better now, but there's still so much left shrouded. He wants to know them inside and out—he wants to learn what makes them tick, what keeps them up at night, what makes them happy. He wants to know all of it in its entirety, to fill in the gaps in the puzzle he doesn't have the pieces for.

He has some of the pieces. He understands that their relationship with their family to his—distant, strained, and difficult. Unfortunately, that’s about it. He doesn’t know any of the specifics. It’s not like he’s talked to them about his family outside of the off-handed bitter remarks, just as they have, but he finds that this fact leaves him dissatisfied.

He just hopes that they'll let him in. He's not sure if they will, but…he's gonna try. He has to. He's sick of not trying.

. . . . .

“You want to take off?” Richie’s staring at Carmy like he’s grown a second head. They're taking a smoke break in the back. “I don’t know what sort of doppelganger bullshit this is, but if you’re trying to pretend to be Carmen, you’re doing a shit job.”

“Very funny, jackass,” Carmy mutters. “I’m being serious. This Thursday.”

“All day?” Carmy grimaces, but he nods. Richie shakes his head. “You’re being weird. Really fuckin’ weird.”

“I know I shouldn’t. It’s a bad idea, but—”

“Cousin, no, that’s not at all what’s goin’ on here,” Richie interrupts, and Carmy’s at a loss for words. “This is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“What?” Carmy squints at him. “Are you being serious?”

“‘Course I’m serious. I’m always serious.” Carmy decides not to comment on that. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get you off this ship for just one fucking second?”

“As the owner of this place, you’ve tried way too many times,” he replies dryly.

“Uh, as the original co-owner of this place, you don’t listen to me enough.” Again, Carmy decides not to elaborate on that one. It’s not worth it. “Take the day off. I was running it fine before, and I’ll keep running it.”

“No, no, we’re not saying that, it was not fine,” Carmy starts, but Richie’s already flipping him off.

“Whatever, I already know, new fucking system and all that. Don’t get anxiety or whatever over it, that’s why you got Syd hustling shit your way, right?”

“Uh.” Carmy didn’t realize that Richie had even been paying attention to the new hierarchy in the restaurant, let alone respecting it in any capacity. “Yeah, she is.”

“Then it’s fine.” Richie blows smoke in his face, and Carmy swats it away with a glare. “It was fine when you came in an hour late today, wasn’t it?”

“You guys knew I wasn’t gonna come in until later,” Carmy argues, defensive (although he’s not sure if there’s actually anything to argue about).

“Exactly.” Richie sighs all of a sudden, a long one that sounds like it’s bone deep. “Carm. Let me be straight with you. You need to do this. Okay? No backing out of this one.”

“Why’re you sayin’ this? What are you sayin’?”

“It’s ‘cause of your roommate, right? This Thursday?”

“...Yeah.” Carmy pales. “How did you—?”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Richie says, grinning. “It was obvious.”

“No way. I didn’t say shit.”

“You didn’t need to.” Richie flicks the ash off his cigarette. “They’re changin’ you, man. We can all see it.”

“...” Carmy can’t deny that. He doesn't have time to ponder on that right now. “Is it really okay?”

“Yeah, you could stand to have an attitude adjustment.”

“I wasn’t talking about that, asshole. I was talking about Thursday.”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, it’s completely fine.” Richie claps a hand on his shoulder, solid in its grip. It makes Carmy’s eyes snap to him, mostly in confusion. “So what’s the occasion? Must be important.”

“It’s their birthday. I mean, I could just go home early that day, but—”

“Yo, if you’re gonna take off, don’t halfass it—”

“That’s not what I was gonna say. When I’m here, I can’t seem to find my way out. This place…it just has a way of trapping you in.” He doesn’t expect Richie to nod, but he does. “I know if I don’t take the whole day off, I’ll never get out of here in time. Not until it’s too late.”

For some reason, that makes Richie laugh.

“Yeah. That's it.” Richie shakes his head as smoke trails out of his mouth. “That’s just it, man. You have to make time for the things that’re important. Even the recitals where you have to listen to five year olds play twinkle twinkle little star 20 times. You can’t miss shit like this. Because once you miss it, it’s gone.”

“Rich.” Carmy wants to say something to make that haunted expression leave Richie's face, but he doesn't come up with anything in time.

“Don’t give me that look.” Richie’s hand falls from his shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to stop you from fucking shit up. They actually seem like a good person.”

“Y’think so?”

“I do. You?”

“Yeah.” Carmy doesn’t bother hiding his smile, even though he can already sense Richie’s teasing coming from a mile away. “They’re a really good friend.”

“Friend. Sure.” Richie snorts.

“Don’t push it,” and for some reason he adds, “they were gonna spend it alone.”

“Huh. Sociable guy like them spending it alone?”

“I know. I didn't ask. Maybe I should've.”

“Maybe. I dunno, cousin. Everyone's got their secrets. Especially the ones that try to act like they don't have any.”

“You're strangely full of wisdom today.”

“Fuck right off,” Richie responds in regular Richie fashion.

“I think they're like me. Like us.” Carmy's not sure why he's saying this on a Monday afternoon at work out of all times, but the truth bursts out of him beyond his will. Richie's expression shifts into something more solemn, something recognizable. “Y'know what I mean.”

“...Yeah.” Richie claps his hand on Carmy's back again. “Shitty parents club.”

As Carmy stands there in the back, feet sore and tobacco in the air, he sees his childhood in flashes. He's five years old again and is following Mike around with scuffed sneakers and untamed hair, although he supposes that unruliness never truly changed with time. There's warm sunlight filtering through green summer leaves. He hears his mother behind him, somewhere, but maybe he doesn't.

He thinks of home, of his bedroom, and it is cold. He has homework he’s failed to complete again. It's sitting on his desk, on top of all of the other shit he can't finish. There's screaming, and he's not listening.

He blinks. He’s 30, and he hasn’t talked to his mom since Michael died.

“Shitty parents club,” Carmy repeats hollowly.

. . . . .

When Thursday morning arrives, Carmy ends up greeting his roommate with flour in his hair and eggs sizzling on the pan.

“Um,” they say, just as Carmy goes “G'morning.” They both freeze, brief awkwardness circling between them before it dissipates with their breathless laugh.

“Good morning. I didn't think you'd actually take off,” they admit.

“I said I would,” he replies quietly, but it's not accusatory. How many times had he said he'd be home for dinner just for him to arrive when they're already asleep? He tries not to make empty promises anymore. Nonetheless, he understands their surprise. “Um, I'm almost done with breakfast. I didn't get to the coffee yet.”

“Am I supposed to be offended?” They laugh. “That's the least I can do, with you doing all of this.” They sluggishly shuffle behind him to reach down into some kitchen cabinets. “It's a special day, so I'll even make us pour overs.”

“That's true. It is special.” He peeks over his shoulder, pausing from basting the eggs in brown butter to see them setting up on the kitchen island. They gently place the hourglass-shaped glass onto the counter with a light clink. He silently switches the button on for the electric gooseneck kettle to his right. “Am I allowed to wish you a happy birthday, or should I not?”

“Hm, I don't mind. Just don't overdo it, which I doubt you will.” They pull out a bag of coarse ground coffee and a filter. As soon as they open the bag, he can smell the sweet scent of the light roast floating towards him.

“Okay. Then, happy birthday,” he says as casually as he can.

“Thanks, Carmy.” He studies their expression, searching for annoyance in their content expression, but he doesn't find any. “That's not even really what I meant by today being special, though.”

“How else did you mean it?” The eggs are done. He reaches over the hot pan to cut the heat.

“Well, y'know. I dunno if we’ve ever had a full day off together.” They're carefully scooping grounds into the filter fitted on top of the glass, creating a small hill. “I think I managed to catch you coming home early on my off days sometimes, but never a full day.”

“Huh.” Carmy has to take a minute to think about that one. “Yeah, I don't know either. I think you're right.”

“Then, like I said. It's special.” They seal up the bag of coffee grounds, and then they frown. “Shit. I forgot to turn on the kettle. Can you—”

“Already did it,” he reports, pleased, and his sense of accomplishment only doubles at their sigh of relief.

“Thank god.” There's the familiar clicking sound of the kettle reaching the perfect temperature. “Just in time, too. Can you hand it to me?”

“Yes, chef,” he says, because it always makes them laugh. Today is no exception. He slides the metallic kettle over to them.

“So what delights did you whip up over there?” They ask. They begin pouring the almost boiling water over their coffee grounds in a slow circle, gradually inching towards the middle. “It smells amazing. I want the full break-down.”

“The full break-down, got it.” On two circular plates, he's carefully placing a fried egg, thick cut bacon, and a slice of toast with jam and butter. “Uh…it's nothin’ special, just stuff we had in the fridge. We've got a, uh, brown-butter fried egg with a little paprika, sage, pepper, salt…”

“Oh, just an egg made with liquid gold, no big deal,” they imitate.

“Cut it out,” he snips back, but he's smiling and they know it. “There's honestly not much to it. This thick-cut bacon was in the back, so I cooked the rest of it. And the toast is just brioche with salted honey butter and blueberry jam.”

“Carmy. C'mon. That's nothing special to you?”

“I mean.” It's not quite nothing, he thinks. “I can make nicer breakfasts, is all.”

“That's what you said when you made me garlic bread, and that fucking blew my mind.” They set the kettle down with a thunk. The glass is full of dark coffee. Prepped next to them is their favorite glass mug alongside Carmy's. He's not sure how they knew that it was his favorite, but he doesn't question it.

“I'm just letting you know that you should wait to be really impressed.”

“Too fucking late, man.” He's turned around and placed the two breakfast platters on the kitchen island, and they gawk openly at it. “Holy fuck.”

“It's ready,” he says, surprisingly meek. He can't comprehend why anxiety's hitting him now of all times. He's served acclaimed food critics, top-security government officials, and celebrities more times than he can count. Before that audience, he never faltered, but in front of his roommate in their crumpled pajamas, his heart stutters.

“Oh, wow…” They regard the food with undeserved softness. Like a punctured balloon, his anxiety immediately begins deflating. They're staring at the food like it's a painting in a museum. “You seriously didn't have to do all of this.”

“I know. I just wanted to.” He feels heat on the back of his neck. “Is…is that okay?”

“It's more than okay.” Suddenly, he notices their eyes are puffy, like they were crying. “Goddamnit, get over here.”

He only registers what's about to happen for one second before they're hugging him. Their palms are on his back, and the top of their head tucks under his chin perfectly. He makes a small, surprised noise.

“I, I'm glad you like it.” He links his arms around them, allows himself to rest his chin on their head. With their face turned to the side, their ear's pressed up against his chest, and he's instantly struck with the paranoia that they're gonna hear his rapid heartbeat.

“I haven't even taken a bite yet, and I love it.” They lean back then, arms still wrapped around him and head craned upwards to look at him. It's far too intimate for what they are, and Carmy hates how his heart beats even harder. “Thank you for doing all this. Seriously. I…”

“The breakfast's just a side thing, I'm, um, still baking you a cake.”

“What? You're doing this and a cake?”

“Um,” Carmy repeats intelligently.

“Carmy. Carmy, Carmy, Carmy.” Their words ooze affection, but surely he's just imagining it. Their hands are crawling up his back. “God, I could just ki—”

“There's the timer,” Carmy blurts out, because his phone's ringing and so are his ears. At the sound, they let him go, and he grabs two towels to retrieve the two circular cake pans from the oven. A toothpick poked through the middle comes out clean, so he sets them on a wire rack to cool.

He needs to focus on the cakes. That's the most important thing.

“Oh my god.” They lean in close to the cake and take a deep breath. “Is this—”

“Devil's food cake, yeah.” The heat searing his face is surely from opening the oven.

“You—how did you—” Their smile is luminous with joy. “You really pay attention to every little thing, don't you?”

“Sometimes. When it counts.” He fidgets awkwardly, nails picking at the sides of his fingers. “Wanna eat by the window, or…?”

“Fuck yeah I do. Can you bring the plates over? I'll have the coffee over in just a second.”

Carmy sets up at their little table first, placing the plates just right across from one another. The morning sun casts a cozy glow through their speckled window, streaking planes of light across the floor. He patiently waits and watches them pace from the fridge to the counter, splashing cream into their mugs. Through the transparent glass, he watches the white fizzle into the dark coffee, blending into a warm brown.

“Just a tiny spoon of sugar for you, right?” They peek over their shoulder, catching his stare, and he nods. He's also not quite sure how they know that, either. They've had coffee in the morning maybe a handful of times before.

He supposes they also pay attention sometimes, when it counts.

“Alright, here we go.” They bring a mug in each hand and set them delicately down on the table. He notes that his coffee is the perfect color. “Oh, thanks for waiting. You didn't have to.”

“I, I guess so, yeah. It's just, uh, you always wait for me, so…”

“That's—that's true.” An odd tension sets in their face, but they laugh it off, and it disappears. “I guess I’m not used to it anymore.”

A part of him wants to ask further by what they meant by that, but they're already taking pictures of his food so dutifully. He doesn't want to ruin it, so he eats.

It's nice to have a solid breakfast for once. He had taken their advice from the other night and had been drinking milk with protein powder. It was nice not to feel like he was teetering the edge by lunch time, but truthfully, it was a bit unsavory. This breakfast platter is much more palatable. It also helps that his stomach pains aren't active today.

Time rolls by slowly this quiet morning, and Carmy recognizes the oddity of it immediately. It's clear to see when by this time, he's usually already done at least ten laps through the restaurant. An irritating signal in his brain is telling him that he needs to get up and do something, not sit around and eat, but for once, he doesn't want to listen.

A memory from roughly two weeks ago (or was it one week?) unearths all of sudden. He was up early, drinking shitty coffee and sinking into dissociation. Mornings were lonely, as he was usually the only one up, but not that day. His roommate came stumbling into the kitchen, awake from a restless night. They chatted before he had to head out, and he remembers wishing he had more time in the morning to spend with them.

He imagined a morning just like this one, with pajamas, food, and messy hair. He daydreamed about having all the time in the world, and he thought about getting to spend it all with them. Now he’s sitting in that moment he imagined, except that it’s real. They're across from him in their wrinkled pajamas and bedhead, contentedly mowing through their food. There's a smear of jam on the corner of their mouth. He takes a sip of his coffee, and it's perfect, just as they made it for him.

This amount of good should scare him, needs to scare him, but he just can't bring himself to care anymore. He wants more than nightmares, cigarettes, and floating just above the budget. He wants this.

He tastes his coffee and reminds himself that he’s still here. The moment hasn’t passed him by.

“Is it good?” He asks quietly. It’s a rhetorical question, it always is, but he can’t help himself. He wants to hear it from them.

“So. Fucking. Good.” They have to finish chewing before they answer. “You always knock it out of the park. If this is the prelude, I don’t know if I can handle what’s next,” they say, gesturing towards the cooling cake.

“It won’t be ready for a while yet. You have time to prepare yourself.” That makes them smile. All according to plan. “Got anything in mind for today?”

“Nothing glamorous. I was just gonna go out for a little. Go thrifting, maybe watch a movie later. Smoke a joint.” They shrug. “Just my usual sort of thing.”

“Mm.” He dusts off crumbs from the toast off his fingers on his pants. “Sounds like a good time. You still wanna go?”

“I do, yeah.” They stare at him for a moment, as if processing his words. Or just him. “Do you…wanna tag along, or…?”

Whenever they ask him if he wants to spend time together (whether it’s grocery shopping, smoking, or watching a show), they usually offer it with an air of nonchalance. Carmy’s assumed it’s been out of politeness, restraining their expression as to not put any pressure onto him. That’s the person he’s used to, not this uneasy anxiety, someone afraid to ask him to spend time with them.

It reminds him of himself in every way.

“I’d love to tag along,�� he answers easily, just as they’ve always done for him. “I’ve got the whole day off, after all.”

“Right. ‘Course.” He watches their little smile double in size. “I promise to not make you watch me try on clothes for too long.”

“I wouldn’t mind. I like thrifting, y’know.” And you, he thinks to himself.

“You do? Oh, of course—” They make a contemplative noise to themself. “Vintage denim. I always wondered how you managed to have so many pairs.”

“Once you know where to look, they’re pretty easy to find. I can help you find some, if you want.”

“I’d love that. I realized the other day that I don’t have any dark wash jeans, so—actually, the truth is that I do have a pair, but they’re so fucked up and old that I never wear them anymore. Anyway, I need new jeans. Think you could find some dark wash blue jeans for me?”

“If you’re willing to hit up more than one store, then definitely,” he replies, just a smidge cocky.

“I’m willing to hit up even two more stores.” He pretends to gasp, to which they nod confidently. “Yeah. That’s right. Maybe even three.”

“We won’t need three,” Carmy promises. “I’m better than that. Probably won’t even need two, but…” He shrugs. “We’ll see what they’ve got.”

“Okay, Mr. Confident over here,” they tease. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

They head out after they both clean the kitchen and freshen up. Carmy gets the flour out of his hair and rewets his hair to revive some of his curls. He silently thanks his past self for showering the night before. With the passage of the morning cold and the rising sun, the afternoon weather’s become brisk and pleasant. However, the weather’s barely a factor in how he’s dressing.

Is this too much? Is this not enough? He’s switching shirts and pants in the mirror like he’s about to go on a date. He knows he’s not, swears to himself that he’s not, but he’s put product in his hair and cologne on his wrists and temples. It’s not a date, but he can’t fucking decide what to wear.

He sucks it up and settles on a gray sweater, light wash blue jeans, and white sneakers. From under his collar and at the bottom of his sweater peeks out a brown button up. It’s probably too much, but this is his sixth outfit change. He’s fed up with it and himself.

After adjusting the gold chain that got hidden under his collar, he steps out.

He finds them already waiting by the door in this thick knit cardigan and fitted plaid pants that makes his heart stutter. When they hear him approaching, their head snaps up from their phone, and their skin sparkles with touches of makeup.

“You look really nice.” He has no idea how he let that slip, but he’s more shocked that he didn’t stutter once.

“Ah, th—thank you,” they stammer, fingers fidgeting with the edge of their sleeve. He’s not sure if it's their makeup or their skin that’s doing the blushing. It’s nice to see them being the one tripping over their words for once. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Oh. Um.” Handsome? It echoes in his head. He instantly feels self conscious. So much for being the more suave one for once. “Thanks, uh…I just didn’t wanna wear my work clothes,” he lies in an attempt to ease his embarrassment.

“I gotcha.” He’s glad they don’t challenge him on it. “Shall we head out?”

“Yeah. Where we headed first?”

They take the metro to their personal favorite shop a little up north. The metro’s surprisingly busy for a Thursday afternoon, but the crowd forces the two of them to be huddled next to each other. They’re both standing close to a pole by the window, each with one hand wrapped around the metal.

As passengers come and go, they step closer to him to move out of the way. Eventually it just gets to a point where they’re standing nearly pressed up against his chest. He tries not to dwell on how that makes him feel, but he can smell the fragrance they put on, and it’s very distracting.

Luckily, the ride is short. Any longer on the train, he might’ve put an arm around their shoulder, god forbid.

“If we can’t find what I’m looking for here, maybe you can show me one of your favorite spots to go thrifting,” they say as they enter the thrift store. The interior is decorated, clean, and lovely, and unlike the metro, it’s not packed to the brim with people. It smells faintly of incense, and there’s local art framed all over the walls for sale. It oozes warmth and excitement, much like them.

“There’s a ton of shit here, so maybe we won’t need to after all.” He finds himself intaking everything at once, eyes flickering from sign to sign. “I’ve never been here before. This is really cool.”

“It’s my favorite place to find new clothes.” They trail down the racks, finger flitting between clothes. “I hope you can find something you like here, too.”

“I’m sure I will.” He’s already walking to their denim section and immediately spots some contenders. “I think I already have.”

He’s not sure if they mean to spend hours in there, but he certainly does. There’s more than just clothes to look at, although that’s what takes up most of his time. There’s dishes, furniture, cds, vinyls, books, even electronics. He goes back and forth with them, clothing articles piling up in his arms as they sit on battered couches together and peruse scratched cds. Everywhere he looks, there’s just more, more, and more.

“Okay, I’ve gotta cut myself off,” they say as they leave the furniture section. They’ve sat on nearly every chair in that place. “I already have so many clothes to try on, and that’s not even including the jeans you’ve picked out for me.”

“If it helps, some of these are mine.” Carmy flips through the layers of hanging jeans that have built up on his forearm. “If you can believe it, I even found some stuff that isn’t denim.”

“I’m not sure if I can, but seeing is believing.” They thumb through some long-sleeves he’s carrying that are seeping out from under the jeans. “I’m just glad you were able to find some stuff for yourself, too. Not that I was that worried.”

He hands them the jeans he’s found for them, all dark wash and in their size. To his surprise, they also hand him an article of clothing for him to try on.

“I thought you’d look good in this. You’ll have to show me when you try it on,” they say, and it’s innocent, completely meaningless, but as soon as Carmy agrees and rushes to hide in the changing room, he views in the mirror and sees his flushed face.

Doesn’t mean anything, he repeats to himself, over and over and over. Stop getting in over your head.

He tries on his items of choice first. The first is a dark green henley that looked better on the rack than it did him, so he puts it in the reject pile. The second is a dark blue long sleeve that fits just right. It’s cheap, too, so it’s an automatic purchase. He presumes the way to word it is that it hugs him in all the right places, but he’s not sure. The rest are jeans, of which only one he decides to buy. A bit pricey, but for the brand and year, it’s worth it (although he basically always uses this reasoning with himself).

Now, for the piece of clothing they picked out for him. It’s a dark brown t-shirt that seems like it’s just the right length. It’s a muted, yet warm brown, a bit rosey in hue. He doesn’t realize it’s a v-neck until he gets it over his head and down his shoulders.

“I’ve never worn a v-neck before,” he calls out to the room next to him.

“Oh, are you trying it on? Do you like it?” Their slightly muffled voice calls back to him.

“Um…I’m not sure,” he admits with a shaky laugh. The collar is lower than he’s used to. It dips below his collarbones, and between them dangles his chain. “Should I show you?”

“Yes! Hold on, lemme get some pants on. …Okay, I’m stepping out!”

He hears their door open alongside his. When they see him, their expression snaps into what he believes is surprise and delight. He’s sure he looks somewhat the same.

They’re wearing one of the vintage jeans he picked out for them—dark blue Levi’s. Although they’re rolled up a couple times at the bottom, it seems to fit them just right. As he stares, he’s reminded of his many pairs of Levi’s, and it’s more or less like seeing them in his clothes, which is. Which is. Uh. Yeah.

“I knew that would suit you,” they say with a grin, to which he realizes he can’t hide his blush.

“It’s not weird?”

“Not at all. It looks good.” They tilt their head to the side as they openly look him over, hip cocked. Something in their gaze is making him hot. “No pressure to buy it, of course.”

“It’s different from what I’m used to, but…” He looks down, smooths the fabric with his palm. “It’s kinda nice, something like this. Um, and what do you think about the jeans?” He needs to direct the attention off him quickly.

“Oh, I love them. The others ended up fitting not quite right on me, but that’s how it goes.” They move from side to side, almost twirling. It’s cute. “I love these, though. Just a little long, but I’m used to it.”

“That’s how it always is. I can hem them for you, if you want. I usually hem mine.”

“And he sews,” they say, seemingly to themself, but they’re looking right at him. Embarrassing. “If you don’t mind, that’d be amazing. Either way, I’m probably getting them.”

“Good. You should. They fit well.”

“Yeah?” They glance back into their fitting room, likely examining themself in the mirror, and then back at him. “Okay, then. Definitely getting them.” With that and a cheeky grin, they go back into their dressing room to try on the rest of their clothes. Carmy follows suit, grateful to hide his embarrassed face.

Carmy heads to check out with the dark blue long sleeve, a pair of jeans, and the brown v-neck. They’ve decided on the pair of jeans they showed him earlier and a little purple tank-top he wishes he got to see on them.

“Will that be all for you today?” The cashier asks him as he checks out first. Even the cashiers here are pretty nice, he finds.

“Oh, their stuff, too.” He nods to them, who’s standing right next to him.

“Carmy.” They glare at him.

“What?” He feels himself smiling.

“You can’t do this to me.”

“C’mon.” He nudges them gently with his elbow. “It’s my present to you.”

“Oh, so the present wasn’t the breakfast? Or the cake? Or helping me pick these out?”

“Why can’t it be all of them?” He decides to stop this in its tracks and takes the clothes out of their hands, sliding it onto the counter. “Just these two, and that’ll be it.”

“Just you wait until your birthday hits,” they mutter darkly, shaking their head. “Just you wait.”

“I haven’t told you my birthday.” He pauses. “Right?”

“I’ll ask Richie.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re giving me no choice.”

“You could also just, I don't know, not ask—”

“I wouldn't have to if you didn't force my hand—”

“You guys are cute together,” the cashier comments with a smile, surely a harmless, meaningless thing, but it shuts the both of them up. Carmy can already feel the impact of it on his psyche, and he decides to tuck away the surging emotions to unpack later. At least, he'll try.

“You really didn't have to get those for me,” they tell him when they're exiting the store. “But I guess I should just be saying thank you. So…thank you.”

“Sure. I mean, it would've been better if it was wrapped and stuff, but…” He shrugs. “Had to get you a real present, not just food.”

“Not just food, my ass.” That makes him laugh. “It'll be nice to have something to remind me of this day, though. That's one of the nice parts of getting gifts. Everytime I wear these clothes, I'll think of you.”

“Good. Yeah, that's…good,” he finishes lamely. He nods like their words haven't flustered him, but he's sure they can tell. They laugh, and he can tell it's because of his reaction.

“I'm sorry that the cashier said that,” they say out of nowhere.

“Why're you apologizing? It's not your fault.” Any embarrassment he was feeling before is immediately replaced with a new, more potent sort of embarrassment. He was hoping they wouldn't mention it.

“I guess that's true. I don't know, I just…” They trail off. “Just hope it didn't upset you.”

“Not at all,” he lies, and he prays they believe it.

. . . . .

The metro is less crowded on the way home. They sit comfortably next to each other and watch the city pass them by. A part of Carmy mourns the closeness they had on the way there, but the other part tells him to get it together and keep his distance.

“I'mma take a nap,” they say with a yawn. Their cardigan and bag have been tossed onto the couch. The new clothes have been thrown into the laundry machine, and there's the muffled sound of running water. “Maybe we could smoke and watch a movie later, though.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He peers into the fridge to check on the cake rounds. Just as he left them. “Have a good nap.”

“Thanks, Carm,” they reply sleepily. “Wouldn't be a good day if I didn't get to have a nice nap, after all.” With that, they shuffle into their room and shut the door behind them.

Carmy spends the next two hours flying around the apartment, baking, cooking, cleaning. The sun slowly sets as he goes. He keeps his body and hands moving in hopes that his head doesn't have a chance to catch up, but it manages to keep the pace. It always does.

The crumb coat's fucked up on the left, his first train of thought says. He inspects the surface, eyes following the circumference of the cake. There's a little loose crumb. With the edge of his spatula, he tucks the crumb away.

The faint smell of chocolate wafts up from the cold cake rounds. He's hunched over the kitchen island, hands reaching between dark chocolate frosting and cake. The afternoon sun casts harsh lights onto the cake, and it glistens. He genuinely can't remember the last time he's made a layered cake. He's never been much of a baker, anyhow.

You're going to disappoint them, his second train of thought interrupts, running parallel to the other one at full speed. Who do you think you are? You don't make cakes.

He leans back, inspects his work. The crumb coats are perfect.

Fuck off, he thinks back, triumphant. Look at that shit. He runs his finger along the spatula, picking up congealed crumbs and frosting. He licks it off, and it's delicious. And it tastes good, asshole. So shut the fuck up.

You're being a nuisance, the thoughts continue. Carmy's pops the crumb coats in the freezer for a quick set. They don't actually like any of this. They're just being nice to make you feel better.

They seemed happy to me, he thinks, but he's faltering. He's washing the dishes, and the sensation of the warm water feels distant. They loved the food I made.

Couldn't you tell they were lying? He doesn't understand why these thoughts are rampaging through his head now of all times. It's not unfamiliar, but it's inconvenient. Keep this up, and you'll actually be surprised when they drop you.

Without warning, a memory hits him . As his hands drip with soap, he's reminded of playing with Michael and Sugar in the summer when he was five. Or six, or seven, he's never quite sure. They were outdoors at a local park, and the heat made the metal of the playground searing hot to the touch.

He was blowing bubbles, and the sticky mixture from the bottle was getting all over his hands. In his memory, Carmy watches the way the iridescent bubbles floated away and left little circles on the surface of the plastic slide. He can't remember why he wasn't playing with the others. He can remember the sound of their laughing voices in the distance, gleeful and delighted without him. He thinks he tried to join in, but it didn't work. It often just didn't work, and it was all his fault.

The memory ends, and Carmy's finished washing the dishes.

This is working, he thinks to himself. His hands are dried out from the hot water and soap. I swear to you, it's working. So just stop. Okay?

There's no response. Good enough.

He hears the door opening as soon as he's putting the finishing touches on the cake. With a damp paper towel, he carefully swipes away stray drops of frosting that fell onto the cake stand. He thinks it's best described as if a tiramisu was turned into a devil's food cake. It's not the best cake he's ever made, but it's definitely up there in terms of looks. All the components of the cake tasted good separately, so he hopes it makes sense in his mouth as much as it did in his head.

“Have a nice nap?” He asks before he turns his head. They're standing in the hallway, bed hair hastily tied back.

“Sorta. It was okay.” Their eyes are glued onto the cake as they walk up to the island. “Is this…?”

“This is for you, yeah,” he finishes for them. They take a seat on one of the chairs at the island. “It's a, uh, devil's food cake with vanilla mascarpone cream on the inside. The outside's this coffee buttercream…” He trails off, not knowing what else to say. He could mention the dutch processed cocoa powder, the expensive vanilla bean pods, or the endless sifting, but it feels too gratuitous.

“Wow…” They're still staring, as if it's not quite real to them. “I can't believe this is for me. It almost looks too pretty to eat, but you know I can't wait to tear into this.”

“We could, uh, have it now, if you, if you want,” he says hesitantly.

“I don't know if I could wait.” Their smile grows wider. “You even put candles on it?”

“We don't have to light them or anything if you don't want to,” he adds quickly.

“The candles are the fun part. I don't mind that. The song is…okay I guess, but…” They give him an expectant, excited look. “Were you gonna sing for me?”

“...Only if you wanted to,” he mumbles, suddenly stricken with embarrassment.

“Would that be okay? If I wanted that?”

“I wouldn't mind.” Not if it's you.

“Okay. Then, yeah.” They pull out a lighter from their pocket. “I’d really like that.”

Carmy cuts the overhead lights before taking out his own lighter to help them light the rest of the candles. One by one, the dark room gradually illuminates until it's filled with a warm, orange glow. The flickering flames cast shifting shadows onto their smiling face and reflect into their glossy eyes.

“Ready?” He asks quietly.

“I'm ready,” they whisper.

Carmy doesn't really need to clear his throat, but he does so anyway. He can't recall the last time he sang happy birthday to anyone, let alone by himself. This is the first time he's ever sung in front of an audience, too.

I can do this, he thinks to himself. I can do this.

His voice is awkward and scratchy. He never uses it like this, has never sang for anyone in his life. His ears burn, and he hates the sound of his voice, but he reminds himself to focus on their delighted little smile and warm gaze. The room is far too quiet for his voice, making the words painfully clear.

“Happy birthday to you,” he finishes singing, voice trailing off awkwardly. He's more than ready to finish singing now. “Uh, make a wish…?”

“Right.” The two of them sit in the flickering candle light for a moment longer, the silence thick. Carmy watches their face, their eyes boring into the candles with an expression he can only describe as longing. Then, they blow out the candles with a decisive blow, and the room goes dark.

He moves to switch on the lights. When he turns back to look at them, tears are streaming down their face.

“Hey,” he says softly. He props his elbows on the counter, standing across from them and tilting his head to the side. They're not meeting his gaze, glazed eyes boring into the dripping candles. “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” they whisper with a sniffle, and it sounds like a reflex. Something about them suddenly seems so much smaller. “I shouldn't be crying.”

“It's okay. I don't mind.” That makes them smile, even if it's shaky. “Was the singing too much?”

“No, it wasn't your singing,” they say with a laugh. “Your singing was lovely. It's just—I'm so happy. You made today so special.”

“Yeah?” He fights the urge to reach over and wipe their tears. “I'm glad. I wanted to make it good. I…” He hesitates. “...I didn't like the idea of you spending it alone.”

“I didn't either. And I thought I was going to have to be alone…but then you—then you took off work, and you made me breakfast, you went shopping with me—even got me clothes—and now this—” Another rush of tears gushes from their eyes, and they hastily wipe at it with their shirt.

“You've done way more for me. This is the least I could do.” Before he can stop himself, his hand is brushing hair out of their eyes. They freeze for a split second, eyes finally flickering up towards him. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It's okay,” they whisper back. “Um…” They let out a shaky sigh, the sort of trembling sound that happens after crying too much. “I feel like I should explain.”

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” he assures them quickly, “but I…I'd like to know. If that's okay.”

“I want you to know. I, I do.” They open their mouth to keep talking, but shaky breaths continue to stifle them. It's hard to watch.

“Breathe,” he reminds them, quietly. He visibly takes in a deep breath, silently encouraging them to breathe with him. They follow suit, closing their eyes and taking a slow breath. Tears slip silently from their eyes. Gradually, their breathing becomes less of a staccato, evening out into something much more manageable.

“Thank you,” they murmur. He nods. They already sound a lot calmer. “I'm not sure where to start. I…I suppose I'll start with today.” Another deep breath. “I didn’t get a call from my parents today.”

“Ah…” The first missing piece.

“I knew they weren’t going to. But a part of me still hoped…” They stop and shake their head. “It's the first year that it's been like this.”

“What happened?”

“Uh…I went no contact with my family about a year ago.” Another pained, hollow laugh. The second piece. “I didn't even really want to—it was a complicated, shitty situation. My parents were being their usual shitty selves, and I just wanted them to apologize. It was over such a small thing, and, and I just…I don't know. I thought maybe I could fix things.” He's never seen them with such a heavy expression, etched with such weariness. “I just wanted them to apologize to me, Carm. That's all I wanted. And then they cut me off cold.”

Their voice is trembling again, and the tears are falling faster. The collar of their shirt is dark with moisture. Carmy hates that he doesn't know what to say. He hates just staring at them, silent as he tries to find the words.

Suddenly, he thinks of Michael.

“Michael never let me work in the restaurant,” he tells them. “That's why I went to culinary school. A big part of it, anyway. He just cut me off, didn't let me in no matter what I did, and it was…” He makes a vague hand gesture. “I felt insane. I was so fucking angry. I couldn't understand him. And I'm not saying that's anything like what you've been through, but…” He looks into their watchful eyes. “I'm sorry. I think I'm trying to say that I, that I understand. A little.”

“I…I appreciate that.” They give him a small, wobbly smile. He adores their smile, but seeing it through their tears twists something painfully in his chest. “He would've been lucky to have you. You're an excellent chef.”

“I am now, anyway.” He sighs. “Your family's missing out on you, too. You're…” Say it. Just say it. “You're a really wonderful person. I can't imagine…”

I can't imagine anyone looking at you and not loving what they see, he thinks suddenly, and he instantly realizes he can't say it. He can barely even comprehend that he just thought it.

He can't process this right now. This isn't the time.

“I keep trying to wrap my head around it all, wondering what I did wrong, what I could've done better… Sometimes, the conclusion I arrive at is that I must have done something to deserve this. That I just, I don't know, that maybe I'm just this permanent fuck-up, and…” They run a tired hand over their wet face, through their hair. “My parents fucked me up real good, man.”

There's something familiar about their words, and Carmy realizes it's because it sounds like him. He would've never guessed that under their easy-going smiles was a reflection of himself. He recognizes himself in their self-deprecation, the bone-deep pain. There was always a sense of sympathetic connection between the two of them, but he had no idea. He had no idea how far deep the mutual experiences went.

A part of him still can't believe that this is the truth, that this is what lies at their core, but then he remembers. He thinks about the night they were throwing up into the toilet. They were sobbing, crying into his shoulder about how much they hate themself.

“You know you didn't deserve it. Right?” Carmy's not sure when they started leaning in so close to each other. He's looking at their wet eyelashes with startling clarity. “You did all you could.”

“You don't know that.” Their words are so soft-spoken, but it still catches him off guard. “You don't know what happened.”

“You—” Irritation prickles inside him, his instincts itching to snap back, but he doesn't. He sees himself in them, and he holds back. “You're right. I don't know what happened. But I know you.” The shock is on their face as clear as day. “At least, I think I do.”

“I want to think you do, too,” they whisper. “But this—this messy bullshit is also me. I wish it wasn't. I wish you didn't have to see all this. I…don't want you to…think any less of me.”

“I don't think there's anything you could do to make me think less of you.” He doesn't resist dragging his thumb across a stray tear on their cheek. To his surprise, they lean into his touch. “Y'know when I almost burned down the apartment?”

“Oh my god.” They smile, and he feels their grinning cheek against his palm. “Yeah. Is it crazy to say I remember it fondly?”

“A little bit.” They laugh. It's quiet, but it's real. “Remember that talk we had after?”

“I do. Why?”

“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” he says softly. “It won't push me away.”

They stare at him for what feels like a long time. Their eyes refill with tears, but they don't spill. With a clammy hand, they shakily place their hand on top of his hand that's still cradling their wet cheek.

“Fucking onions,” they say finally with a wet laugh. Fresh tears drip onto his thumb, and he wipes them away again. As many times as it takes. “God damnit, Carmy.”

“No one deserves to have shitty parents, let alone ones that walk out on them.” He thumbs away more tears. “You being an imperfect person like everyone else doesn't justify that.”

“There must be something more I could've done,” they whisper. “Something I did wrong.”

“Maybe. But they're your parents, not the other way around. It's not your fault.”

“I know. I know that. I do. There just has to be a reason, because—fuck—the truth would just be too fucked up.”

“...And that is?”

It takes a long, still minute before they can get their words out.

“...It’s—it's that—” Their cries are verging on sobs, increasingly more staggered and uncontrollable. “It's that s-some kids—are just—some kids have parents that will never—never love—”

They can't finish. Their sobs have overtaken their whole body. Their body's hunched over the counter, curled into themself. Carmy can't think of a time where he's ever seen them crying so hard.

Without another word, Carmy pulls them into a hug.

They cry for a long time. Through it all, fleeting condolences pass Carmy by in his head, but they all feel too cheap, too meaningless. So all he does is hold them tight, letting them grab onto his shirt and soak the fabric on his shoulder. It's all he feels he can really do.

After a while, the tide subsides. He feels them wilting in his arms, exhausted from sobbing so violently. He doesn't actually want to let them go, but their sniffling nose sounds like it's completely stopped up.

“I'm gonna get you some tissues, ok?” He says quietly. They make a quiet noise of acknowledgement, and they pull back. He snatches up a box of tissues from the coffee table. He places it in front of them before grabbing them a glass of water.

“Thank you,” they mumble, voice scratchy. Carmy stands and watches as they blow through several tissues. The water gets downed instantaneously.

“Better?”

“Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good.”

“...I think, deep down, I know I didn't deserve what happened. Or just having shitty parents in general.” They sigh. “It's just easier to think that I do. That I deserve it.”

“...Yeah.” That resonates with a part of him he's not quite ready to acknowledge. “You're one of the kindest people I've ever met,” he admits quietly. “If someone like you deserves a shitty hand in life, I'm fucked.”

“Carmy…” Their smile is small, but genuine. “Thank you. I want to be able to genuinely believe that, one day. I'm going to try.”

“I know. I get it.”

“I know you do.”

That makes both of them smile, even if it's bitter.

“Thanks for telling me. About everything.”

“No, thank you for listening. For just being there for me.” They prop their chin in their hands, their elbows resting on the counter. “Y'know, this past year, I've been trying to find a sense of joy in all this mess. Sometimes it just feels so far away, like…like any happiness is just impossible. But I think I've found it. Rather, I've already found it.”

“Yeah?” Carmy looks at them expectantly, but he never expected this—

“I found you,” they tell him.

“...” He immediately fixes his shocked expression. He's at a loss for words.

Me?

“I never found a chance to mention it, but…my parents are the reason I decided to live with you. That's why I wanted to be your roommate, even though we were strangers.” They shrug shyly. “My lease was up on my last place. I was gonna go home, but then all that stuff happened at the last minute, and…yeah. I needed to find a place to live.”

“Seriously?” They just nod. “Damn. Uh…Yeah, that's fucking crazy. I had no idea.”

“At the time, I was miserable. I kept thinking to myself, ‘I can't believe how shitty this situation is!’ Don't get me wrong, it was fucking awful, but…it led me to you, so…it wasn't really all that bad, in the end. I got lucky.”

Fucking hell, he thinks to himself. Fuck.

“If you hadn't roomed with me, I wouldn't have been able to come back home for my brother's restaurant,” he says, mostly because he's so embarrassed that he swears his whole body's red at this point. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. “I think I'm the lucky one.”

“Can't we both be lucky?”

“I guess we can. Just doesn't seem very realistic.”

“Little too late to say that. It's already real.”

“...There's no other shoe?”

“Not that I know of. I think the other shoe's already dropped for us a while ago. Surely there's no other shoes left?”

“I hope not. I don't know if I could take another one.”

“Me neither.”

“...”

“Do you…want to eat your cake now?”

“Fuck, oh my god—I completely forgot! Yes!”

Just as Carmy planned, the flavors go perfectly together. Even though he knew it was going to be delicious, when he takes the first bite of the cake, relief washes over him. They seem to be overjoyed, inhaling the cake at dangerous speeds.

“You're gonna hurt yourself if you eat that fast,” he observes, both amused and concerned.

“Can't talk. Need to eat this.” That makes him laugh so abruptly he nearly gets cake up his nose. “This is the best birthday cake I've ever had, both visually and taste-wise.”

“I'm glad. Like I said, I'm not really a baker, but…I make an alright cake.”

“You make a fantastic cake.” They’ve got a bit of frosting on the corner of their mouth. “It doesn't get much better than this—eating a cake made by you.”

“Because I'm a chef, you mean?”

“No, not that. Not just that, anyway,” they amend with a cheeky grin. “Because you're my best friend.”

You're my best friend.

…

I'm their best friend, he repeats to himself. I'm their best friend.

He thinks about crying. He won't cry, but he thinks about it.

“Oh,” he replies intelligently. “...Really?”

“Y-Yeah. Unless, uh, you don't—”

“You're my best friend too,” he blurts out, and the anxiety on their face fades away into a relieved, beautiful smile.

“Thank god. That would've been pretty awkward if you didn't…” They shake their head.

“I've never been anyone's best friend before,” he confesses.

“Seriously?” They recover from the shock quickly. “Lucky me, then.”

“I thought you established we were both the lucky ones.”

“Oh, right.” They chuckle. “Lucky both of us, then.”

Carmy thought that life would always be the same. He thought that he was fated to a routine of nausea and nightmares, never quite close enough to reach a rest point. He thought that he was okay with it being his fate, because he never knew anything else.

He thought that loneliness, cigarettes, and memories would be enough, because it always stays the same. Nothing ever changes.

Until them.

He thought he had outgrown happiness, that his body had grown accustomed to living without it. That there was no longer space in his heart to withstand the weight of joy. But as he sits here with his roommate, chatting and laughing over a cake he made for them, he finds that's not true.

His capacity for happiness had never left. It had been there all along.

And with that, something in him lets go.

Carmy sees it all at once. It starts from the beginning—he sees the first day he met them, an initially hesitant meeting gone surprisingly well. He sees the first time the two of them smoked together, deliriously laughing through shared smoke. He sees them in the mornings, messy hair and wrinkled t-shirts. He sees them in nothing but an apron. He sees them in tight black clothes that leave little to the imagination. He sees them laughing at a joke that he didn’t think was all that funny.

He sees them in his dreams, red tomato puree bleeding from their gums. He sees them holding his trembling hands in theirs, soothing him back down from the storm in his hand. He sees them comforting him through his tears. He sees them sobbing, hot tears on their cheek and his hand. He sees them heaving into the toilet, whispering that they want to know him. He sees himself, embracing them tightly in his arms.

He sees it all. He knows that he can't avoid it anymore.

Carmy is completely, undeniably in love with them, and there is absolutely nothing that he can do to make that realization disappear.

…Some things, he understands, refuse to stay the same.

@zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @carmenbrzatto @thehouseofevangelista

#carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy the bear #the bear fx #my fics #alexithymia fic #GOD. IT'S FINALLY HERE. THIS ONE'S A BEAST.#ch 6 is gonna be the climax..... it's gonna happen yall. it's finally here. hahahaha #anyway this one took so long to write because it was so revealing for me... as i'm sure yall have guessed. sigh.

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ratzhatz14 · 2 months ago

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thank you for both your T sprout redesigns btw. I like the design of the normal T sprout, but I always felt he was sorta lacking on a interesting gimmick, So these are really cool to see!

Also on a similar note here, what would be your take on T Cosmo? semi hot take but I always felt like T cosmo was in the same boat as T sprout.

I mean the only other toons who don't have any sort of special gimmick are the starter toons you get at the beginning, Poppy and Boxten.

As much as I adore the starter toons, and as much as I understand it was probably either a balance reason or a "we ran out of ideas" reason, it always felt kinda odd to me personally to group him and only him in with the starters.

Even if it's like a super simple one like Shrimpo where he's super slow with a long attention span, I would have liked SOMETHING ;-;

*Descends from the heavens with a redesigned T.Cosmo while some angelic ahh music echoes in the background*

Oh goodness, the way I actually focused on this?? It surprised me

ANYGAY- I MEAN ANYWAY <3

DESIGN;

I didn't like how Cosmo looked like he got some ichor sprinkled on him and called it a day

So I decided to give him the T.Glaze treatment (aka mONCH)

I wanted to keep him close to the og design, but also not too far off.... So I let some twisteds nibble him

I also tried to add a small amount of rot to him, since... Food rots, yadda yadda yadda

[[MANDATORY "READ MORE" BUTTON AAAAAAUGH]]

Idk why I keep adding it... But eh, signature post style!1!1!1!1

[[THIS IDEA WAS NOT MINE!]]

[[The ability was originally from someone's "Main swap AU" but I forgot the name of the creator, so credits/hats off to them!!]]

His ability would be to give a toon a "Rot heart", basically, gives you food poisoning. Your distractor, IS NOW SLOW. Your extractor, NOW IS DUMB. AND YOUR HEALING NOW HARMS OTHERS.

The way to get rid of this heart, is by either losing 2 hearts, or waiting for 10 floors to have it go away on its own (Mains, y'all are fucked if you get hit by Cosmo)

When a toon has the "Rot heart", their animation would be different (like more tired/weak/limping??). So the others would know that you're on rot time, AND give the toons more soul

(unimportant detail) If there was a sprout which died, and Cosmo spawns, then he'll have Sprout's (vintage/normal) scarf, and look even more in pain :3

Idk why I like making my fav ships/characters be miserable... Is it some coping mechanism or am I just a sadist???

WHO CARES, AT LEAST I HAD FUN REDESIGN THIS LIL FELLA :D

#dandy's world #dandy's world sprout #dandys world cosmo #dandys world fanart #dandys world redesign #dandys world twisted cosmo #bro got MONCHED #the T.Glaze treatment is basically just getting devoured #WHY HE FUCK DID THE DISCORD PEOPLE KEEP TRYING TO EAT MY OC IN DW-OC-ART???#IK HES A JELLY DONUT BUT STILL #LET THE MAN LIVE 😔#cosprout angst #light angst #MUEHEHHEE oh shi #t i forgot to draw the other angst...#...uhm #T.COSPROUT FLUFF TIME!1!!1!1!1!1!!1!1!1!1!1

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hrrtshape · 1 day ago

Text

DAY IN THE LIFE — fame dr 'CHILL DAY' edition

⋆ 8:30 AM – rise and shine in my gorgeous, light-filled apartment overlooking the pulse of paris near the opera garnier. the sun filters through elegant french windows as i slide out of bed in that loewe "i told ya" t-shirt (reference to challengers and jfk jr, hello????). making make a fresh coffee, lounging back on your plush couch with a journal in hand.

⋆ 9:15 AM – time for makeup, and the morning glow-up begins. walking to the pristine, marble-tiled bathroom, as i start with dior prestige la micro-huile de rose for that lit-from-within radiance. next, dior forever skin veil SPF 20 goes on as primer, adding a layer of sheer perfection. then comes the dior forever glow foundation, finished with a touch of YSL touche eclat for a much needed radiance, especially after that...uh, shameful night of over-sweetened margaritas.

bronzed with chanel les beiges healthy glow, cheekbones looking enviable and effortless. i sweep hermès' rose hermès silky blush across my cheeks for that subtle parisian flush. for eyes, it's the dior 5 couleurs couture palette in soft browns with a little extra shimmer from chanel's LES 4 OMBRES for that delicate, specific victoria secret's look. IDUN mineral's SILFR mascara and charlotte tilbury pillow talk lip liner with gucci rouge à lèvres voile lipstick to finish my look.

⋆ 10:00 AM – curls brushed and outfit on: bootleg jeans, chloé paddington boots, a fitted red knit sweater, and a vintage MIU MIU bag – a look straight out of a pinterest moodboard.

⋆ 11:00 AM – i slip out of my apartment, making my way to BO&MIE near the louvre. i grab a warm, flaky pain au chocolat (because we all need sweet treats in our lives) and a chai latte to go, the perfect balance of cozy and sweet. it’s a quiet sunday, and i take this little ritual down to the seine, settling on a bench to take in the morning lull. imogen heap playing softly in earbuds, a dreamy soundtrack to the sounds of paris waking up around.

⋆ 12:00 PM – i begin a gentle wander through the 1st and 2nd arrondissements, where sunday flea markets pop with trinkets, vintage finds, and that peculiar magic only parisian markets can hold. perusing tables with glimmering jewelry and rare books, picking up an old poetry collection that catches the eye, and maybe a tiny golden charm to hang off my bag or to gift a friend. a few fans recognise me, some shy and some thrilled, and i lean in for pictures with a warm, “i don’t bite!!!!!” 🫶

⋆ 1:30 PM – meeting a friend at VESPER, diving into sushi and cocktails that match the chicness of the moment. the laughter, the cocktails, the buzz makes everything feel light and sparkling. by the time we're done, i've had a few (as per), feeling just woozy enough to make the walk interesting.

⋆ 3:20 PM – with a bottle of water to balance out those cocktails, i head over to the musée de l’orangerie. monet’s water lilies are a calming spell – the colours, the quiet of the museum – all washing over, letting everything slow down for just a beat. besides the previous alcohol makes everything just a bit more technicolour.

⋆ 4:00 PM – galeries lafayette calls, and i'm in for a mini treat. picking out a new lip gloss, maybe a rich red or muted mauve, and stop by ladurée to snag some macarons. meanwhile, phone is buzzing; it’s thé manager, with urgent texts about an absolutely irresistible film offer.

⋆ 5:00 PM – meeting up with another friend, slipping into the comfortable flow of wandering conversation, stopping at a small, antique café for tea. the macarons make a reappearance, and it’s that kind of timeless paris afternoon – where you can talk about everything and nothing and let hours drift by.

⋆ 7:00 PM – friend heads out, leaving me alone at the café. perfect for pulling out a journal, pouring out poems, song drafts, and a little doomscrolling (because even in paris, i'm only human).

⋆ 8:00 PM – dinner with a close circle, back in the spotlight with cocktails, laughter, and some elegant dishes.

⋆ 10:40 PM – finally back in my apartment, the curls loosened, phone nearly dead, and the soft hush of a small headache as the city quiets. i slip into something cozy, nestle into bed with a new book, and drift off feeling like me and paris are all alone together, back to where the day began – calm, sweet, and wholly mine <3

#fame dr #shifting #famedr #realityshifting #desired reality #reality shift #reality shifting #shifting community #shifting motivation #shifting blog #shifting antis dni #reality shifting community #shifting consciousness #shifting realities #shifting realities stories #reality shifter

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theyellowhedgehog · 2 months ago

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How Tim found out about the secret identity.

PART 2

Reverse Robin + Parallel AU PART 1 HERE

Since there is no blaring clue like the quadruple flip, Tim has his work cut out for him. Bruce is paranoid enough, just add a miniature Bruce. Batman and Batboy became like a true mythical urban legend.

Tim was actually 14 when he found out Bruce was Batman. Damian was 16.

After becoming Batboy, Damian joins the Justice League and works with a team of teenage superheroes like his own. So he rarely comes home or he's gone for a long time. Tim still visits the Manor, he talks with Alfred in tea times, and sometimes accompanies Bruce on golfing. He still has a fascination on vintage cars but he got bored watching the cars in the garage, that is when he took notice of the new Batmobile that was recently caught on news.

14 years old Tim, takes out his best camera and sets out into the night to take photos of the Batmobile.

The Batmobile becomes his newest obsession. One day, on his close up shot of the car he noticed something about the tail light bumper, normally you won't notice, but the company that produces it actually trademarked it.

W.E

Tim starts going into detective mode. This tail light is a model that WE never released. They were not released due to the fact that it doesn't fit the regulation of a proper rare light. Therefore, if someone is using those , Tim deducts that they must be from somewhere higher up. He started digging into the BODs of WE with his limited resources. He ruled out 13 out of 24. But it isn't still not good enough. He mopes around the vintage cars as he was about to give up when he saw Bruce Wayne lay down flat under a car, legs poking out.

"Umm, Mister Wayne..?"

Bruce slips out and greets him, "Oh, hi, Tim! Come to check out the cars again? "

"Yeah," Tim looks at Bruce covered in grease and says, "Bruce, you can call in a mechanic, you don't need to do it by yourself."

Bruce laughs from under the car, "Sometimes, it's better to do it with your own hand, son"

Tim shrugs and sits down. It is then he realised the rear bumper of the car is destroyed.

"How did this happened??" Because Tim know Bruce is not that irresponsible.

"Well, Mr. Smarty Pants Damian thought it would be a good idea to take his friends out on a ride after getting his permit. He's lucky he hit a lamppost or he better expects a lawsuit if otherwise."

"Oh, then maybe this need a proper mechanic to repair that."

Bruce rolls out and looks at him, "Look like we got two of the best here."

This make Tim grins and drops his bag as he starts to inspect the damage. His heart goes to the beautiful Ferrari that got damaged. Fortunately, this is but a dent, the tail light are broken so new ones need to be replaced.

"Bruce, you have extra tail lights?"

Bruce comes and checks," Yeah, it's in that box." Tim brushes some scratches and dirt ignoring the huge dent beside it, and when he got to installing the tail light, he paused. He looked down at his hand when he feels uneven ridges on the tail light.

Tim stares straight ahead in silence and quietly got back to work again.

When Bruce comes out to check how he is doing, Tim looks at him and asks," How did you get the WE tail lights that were never released? "

Bruce lets out a hearty laugh, " Well, I just keep some spare ones because they are quite useful even though they might not meet regulations."

"Can I have one?" Tim asks. And Bruce actually gives him one.

That was clue one. He suspects but never confronts Bruce or Damian.

Clue two was matching the dates of the debut of Batboy and Damian's absent and presence in Gotham and in California.

As well as Bruce absent in Gotham when Batman was spotted in Metropolis.

When Tim realised the dates actually matches up, he just didn't end it there.

Clue three was calculating Batman's height without the boots and cowl, analysing the body structure, he mannerism in pronouncing certain words and consonants.

But Tim has already decided.

Tim decides to live an ignorant life in bliss, as he does not want to be separated from his cars so soon.

Tim after feeling the tail light and Bruce came to him.

#tim drake #reverse robins #dc comics #fanfic #i burnt my braincells for tim's deduction #theyellowhedgehog #Bruce shouldn't be too offguard around tim #batman #batfam

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pubbybutch · 1 year ago

Text

FRIENDS IN THE DARK - Chapter 1

Ellie Williams x Reader x Abby Anderson - TWILIGHT AU

Word Count: 6.1K+

Content Warnings: Uninvited Visitors, parents being proud of you, USE OF Y/N, nicknames (from parental figure), motor vehicle accident, being chased/hunted, Ellie-Abby beef, Abby having beef with Mel, Abby in general in this tbh…

Men, Minors and general fuckheads DNI 💚

The prologue can be found here

Jackson, Wyoming. It’s a quiet town. The sort of town where nothing ever seems to happen. Surrounded by hills and woods, people who are born there eventually move away nine times out of ten, those that do stay have been there for generations and can’t escape the monotony of the town. It’s the kind of town where one is never rudely awakened. Especially on the weekend.

The morning after your first night in Jackson, the nearly eerie silence that seemed to descend across the valley is broken so abruptly that the thundering noise can only be described as strange, forcing you to wake early and not due to your body clock. But to a heavy handed knock on your front door, maybe choosing the room with the front facing window was a bad idea but you’d made your bed now all you had to do was lay in it… well a you put a mattress on the ground and had to lay on top of it, but that’s besides the point. Throwing a fleece blanket over your shoulders you peek out the open window, stood there was a girl. You lean on the window ledge and poke your head further to try and see her better, but with little success, only being able to gather that she was blonde with an extremely impressive shoulder span.

Shrugging into your jeans from the day before, you quickly get down the stairs to answer the door, the blaring of the radio from the kitchen explaining why your mom hadn’t answered the knocks. As you stand in front of the door, you smooth the creases in your shirt from having slept in it last night and pull the doorknob.

Blue eyes meet yours and a small smile comes to her face. “Hi. I’m Abby, I live across the street." She tilts her head towards a rather impressive two storey house with a vintage Chevy out the front. You pause for a moment looking towards where she motioned but thankfully catch yourself and open the door wider, “Wanna come in?” She nods and steps in as you close the door behind her. “I’m Y/N, by the way. Mom’s in the kitchen if you want?” Politely Abby nods and follows behind you as you head into the back where you push the door and find something akin to a bomb scene. Amid pots and pans, silverware and slow-cookers, stands your mother with her hair tied out of her face with a bandana and beads of sweat amassing on her furrowed brow.

“Mom. Mom! MOM!”

“Huh? OH, GOOD MORNING SLEEPYHEAD!” She turns and twists the volume down on the little portable blue radio, “Who’s your friend, doll?” At this Abby extends her arm towards your mother and shakes her hand, her grip is firm and confident, “Abigail Anderson, ma’am. I live down the road.” They continue to chat as you lose yourself in thought…

It’s the name that causes you to stop in your tracks, shattering your coherence. Wait- this is Abigail Anderson?! The same Abigail that was your first kiss in elementary school at eight years old?! The same Abigail that braided your hair at recess in the school yard? The same Abigail that always swapped half of your peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich for half of her chicken salad sandwich? The same Abigail that hugged you so tight that last day of school, whose tears had made your shoulder damp and you held each other one final time before you left Jackson for what was supposed to be forever… Abigail- Abby. She’s all grown-up now, you suppose you have too, she probably didn't recognise you for that very reason just as you hadn’t clocked on to her. Looking at her as she talks to your mom, her hair is still the same dirty blonde more golden than hay-like as it had been but it is confined to a braided prison that falls over her shoulder and onto her shirt, a shirt that does nothing to hide the fact her shoulders are so toned and broad how she’s clearly built an incredible amount of muscle. The freckles up her neck are new, maybe from the summer sun. And they trail up to her ears, little golden brown flecks and her eyes piercing blue, glacial and bright. Further down her face her mouth is moving, and she’s looking at you- She's talking to you. Oh fuck. OH FUCK-

“Sorry, I lost my train of thought… what was that?” Shit. Count on you to sound so fucking ditsy, but at least she’s smiling, maybe she likes bimbos. Wait why would you think that-

“I was asking if you needed a lift to school on Monday? You’re going to Johnson-Bailey High right?” Abby’s trying to start a conversation and you can’t even think straight.

“Oh yeah, I am.” Awesome, common ground to start from again, “Are you going into senior year too?”

“Yeah! Hopefully we’ll have a class together,” She’s moving from her spot on the breakfast bar, and is dusting herself down, “well, I’ll leave you to get sorted out. Call me if you need a hand with those tables and boxes?”

Your mom is wrapping her arms round over Abby’s shoulders to hug her as the blonde girl attempts to make it to the door, and you’re left following behind the pair. “Thanks for coming over Abigail, please tell your father he’s welcome over anytime and you are too.”

“I’ll see you later, Y/N?”

“I’ll see you later, Abby. It was nice seeing you again.”

“You too, really nice.”

As you close the door you walk away as Abby waits outside the door for a few moments, mumbling under her breath, before jogging away of her own accord. Meanwhile your mother returns to the kitchen, you in tow.

“It was nice for her to offer you a lift, make sure you thank her on Monday.”

“I will, mom.” And boy you wish you could do more than just thank her.

The rest of that Saturday breezes by, from unloading the moving truck to constructing the newly purchased ikea furniture, with your hands full the whole day you never even notice how tired you are until the your head hits the pillow on top of your now put together bed, the Friday night’s mattress now having a place to rest, your phone on your nightstand and plugged in to charge buzzes with a notification just as you’re dozing off. You decide to check in the morning. Despite your tiredness and complete willingness to fall asleep, something keeps you tossing and turning. A burning sensation, like someone holding a lighter too close to your flesh. Pulling the quilt over your head eases the feeling a bit, enough for you to finally fall into a deep rest.

When you wake on Sunday morning at a far more reasonable time than the day before, you pick up your phone, finding all that's displayed on the screen is the time. You could have sworn that you’d gotten a message last night but brush it off.

That Sunday morning and afternoon follows a similar path as the previous, unpacking the boxes and shuffling around mini mountains of clothes and kitchen ware. It hadn’t occurred to you in the chaos of the past two days that you had school starting that next day, the weekend had been rattled through so quickly that both you and your mother hadn’t had time to rest - the rest that the weekend would serve you under normal circumstances, but these weren’t normal circumstances. Abby had come over around noon, said she was coming back from a jog and left you her mobile number for the morning. You had forgotten that she’d offered you a ride.

Pushing past your mothers relentless teasing of ‘oh you’d be so cute together’ and ‘such a pretty couple’, you finally get her to back off with a sharp “Mom. I don’t know if she’s even into girls.” With your mom now quelled at least partially, you hide in your room opting to sort through the boxes of your personal belongings.

By the time books are on the shelves and the majority of your clothes have been tucked away into the closet that sits to the left of your bay window, it’s late. Like super late, 11:45 isn’t that late you tell yourself initially but then remember that you should be up at 6:30 at latest… Deciding that you’d be best sleeping immediately you text Abby as you crawl into bed to check that her offer of a ride still stands and much to your relief it does. With clothes for the morning on the desk beside your full and definitely heavy backpack, you feel confident enough in your preparations to set your alarm. Abby will pick you up at 8:00AM with that thought in your mind you drift into a contented sleep, small smile on your lips.

The alarm sounds and your phone vibrates on the nightstand, you wake with a most unhappy groan spewing from your mouth. You definitely should have gone to bed earlier. Steam and hot water provide your achy muscles a modicum of relief as you soak in the spray of the shower, the water pressure is definitely better here. Getting dressed, you look outside the window relief rushing over you as the morning is misty and overcast but for the first time since Friday night, it’s not raining.

You greet your mother as she comes out of her bedroom, dressed in her casual wear. “There’s some cereal in the cupboard and milk in the refrigerator, but I’m going to get groceries after talking with the doctor.”

“Are you not feeling good?” She shakes her head, yawning while trying and failing to speak at the same time. “You’re trying nursing again?”

“Hey! I’m good at it, plus it’ll pay more than waitressing or being some retail assistant.”

“Fair.”

You sit at the table, scrolling through your phone. While checking your tumblr a knock at the door snaps you from your passive scrolling, the digits on the corner of the screen read ‘07:53’. Abby likes to be early. Noted. Leaving the spoon and bowl to clatter in the sink, you snatch your backpack and throw it over your shoulder before yelling a hasty ‘Bye Mom!’ to your mother through the front door from the front porch.

Abby waves at you from the bottom of the driveway, her posture is relaxed as you open the car door and drop down into the seat.

“Hey, you ready to go.” The blonde looks to your face firstly then to the backpack at your feet and finally back to your face once more, meeting your eyes.

“Ready as I’ll ever be?”

She smiles at your answer but doesn’t mention why as one hand puts the car in drive and the other pulls at the steering wheel. Her stance never changes from the calm, confident and collected aura she exudes. The small talk she makes is pleasant, the little tidbits of information the two of you exchange quickly help you re-establish a bond and the twenty minute car ride goes by in what seems like a blink of an eye. Her dad hadn’t remarried since her mom had died, she was captain of the lacrosse team, she’d broken up with her boyfriend 3 weeks before you’d arrived because she found him cheating on her. It was nice to talk to someone other than your mom, and boy did it help that Abby was easy to talk to.

Pulling into the large gates and red brick walls that bordered the grounds of Johnson-Bailey high school, Abby parks the car up in a section set aside for the seniors. The school looks much less intimidating than it did when you were younger, the brick carries on from the walls and makes up the exterior for the front school building but the extensions and external gym building juxtaposes the classic red brick with their stark white and metal make up. Hundreds of grumpy teens and even grumpier teaching staff mill about the front of the school, reluctant to be back to normality following the summer break. It feels normal. Normal is good.

Abby waves goodbye to you as the assistant principal singles you out and pulls you over. Standing next to the finely dressed lady (‘Miss Dandridge’ she had said) is a very pretty girl, thick curly hair tied back from her face and light makeup enhancing her dark features. She introduces herself as Nora, and your personal ‘buddy’. Despite the forced friendship aspect of the introduction, Nora is extremely likable as she makes small talk and gives you a quick tour of the school building on your way to your joint home room. Opening the door, Nora heads to the back of the room and sits in the spare spot next to a familiar blonde.

Following the lead of Nora you move further into the classroom and find a seat next to a tall Asian boy with the floppiest black hair you’ve possibly ever seen. He leans over and offers you his hand, “Jesse. You new?”

Taking his hand, thankful for him approaching you first, “Yeah, Y/N. I’ve just moved back.”

He smiles, “Well, it’ll be nice to have a fresh face ‘round here. Jackson’s a bit shit, to be honest.”

You laugh at his seeming ‘down to Earth’ness and continue talking with him until the man that had previously been sitting at the teacher’s desk gets up from his spot and the scraping of chalk against black board alerts you to his shift in demeanor.

“Good morning, Class S-1. I hope you had an enjoyable summer, I’ll be your home room tutor and your English teacher. My name is Mr O’Bri-”

The door opens and a girl comes in a heavy blush on her face as she rushes past and sits down at the desk directly in front of you and Jesse and as she scurries around, fixing herself in the seat Mr O’Brien locks eyes with the girl. “Dina, see me after first period.”

“Goddamn it…”

Aside from the initial interruption of the Dina girl, the period passes swimmingly. And the one after that, and the one after that. The day continues smooth and steady as a drumbeat and lunch rolls around before you have time to realize. Following the stream of students into the cafeteria, you look around and spy Nora and Abby sitting beside some other people in letterman jackets around a circular table in the corner, after a small amount as you approach the table. Abby gives you a smile as you approach, pull a chair out and sit down. You breathe a sigh of relief as Nora introduces you to the rest of the table, a few guys and a couple of girls. There’s a tension you immediately pick up on a few side glances between Owen and Mel, deciding to ask Abby about it on the ride home at three thirty you keep your voice down and occupy yourself with the mystery meat in a hamburger bun.

The lunch is pleasant and the company is definitely the cause of it being so. As you find yourself walking back to class with Manny, the brown haired boy keeps you in chat as you head towards the physics classroom. Manny sits behind you as the teacher instructs you to sit along the benches each row separated by gender.

There are no familiar faces in the room, but as class drags on you feel a burning sensation at the back of your head. That’s familiar, but you can’t place why or where from. Looking back at the rest of the class, green eyes meet yours. They’re burrowing into yours as you struggle to break the contact. You finally snap back to reality with a nudge from Marta who’s sat beside you. You clear your throat and try to ignore the churning in your stomach as you can still feel the pine needle eyes stabbing into your back. As the bell rings, you rush to your final class. Throwing the notebooks and pens haphazardly into your backpack, charms around the zips clinking together in your attempt to make a quick get away. You don’t notice as one of the button badges on the front of the bag pops off as you fling a strap over your shoulder. But she does. Her eyes lock onto the cute little smiley face pin. Long fingers wrap around it and slip the accessory into a jean pocket.

By the time the final bell rings to signal the end of the school day, you’re relieved to say the least. The flushing of students towards the front of the school and out to the parking lot sweeps you away until you’re in front of Abby’s car, waiting for her to show up. To be fair to her, she had warned you that would most likely be running a bit behind the rest of the student body as the coach would be looking to talk to her. And as it was currently twenty to four, she was turning out to be correct. Nora walks past and waves as she hops into her car, a little green fiat. Abby can’t be too far behind as Nora was a part of the lacrosse team too. Scrolling through your phone, enjoying the screen time for the first time since lunch, you get lost in the endless dopamine hits the silly little TikToks give you. You’re completely in a world of your own when a poke to your arm shocks you. And there she is. Staring you down once more, is the green eyed girl from Physics.

She says nothing as she sets her longboard on the ground allowing herself to slide a long, bony hand into the front pocket of her baggy jeans, the belt seeming more of an accessory than a functional piece of clothing as it does nothing to support the denim laying loose around her thin hips, you get your first good look at her the auburn shaggy bob she has frames her face nicely if not causing her to appear a even more gaunt than her skinny, pale frame already is, the freckles across the bridge of her nose and up her cheekbones are comparable with constellations. Pulling her hand out of the pocket you see she’s holding something, something small and sentimental. She holds it out for you to take, “here,” she says and you take it hesitantly from her. You meet her eyes again, they’re still looking at you with as much focus as when you had your first encounter. You give a soft, nervous smile, “Thanks, where did you-”

“WILLIAMS. FUCK OFF.”

Abby’s voice booms out across the empty parking lot. You turn on your heel to look at the blonde as she moves at great speed towards you and the other girl, Williams… it must be her last name. As Abby comes to stand between the two of you, the slight warmth to the auburn girl’s eyes vanishes. She backs up and pulls the skateboard away with a slight yank of her leg, one foot rests on it allowing her to rock back and forth giving an air of arrogance to the smaller girl. “Easy! Down girl,” this elicits a guttural rumbling from Abby, “I was just returning something.” Abby lunges towards the skinny girl but you grab the blonde’s arm and pull her back. In comparison to Abby this strange girl was akin to a rag doll, small and frail looking in your eyes. The skater girl takes this as her chance to back up and she does.

“Watch it, Williams. You better fuckin’ watch it.” Abby calls out after her as she moves away towards the backgate of the school.

You reach out and meet a muscled shoulder with your hand as your touch causes Abby to snap back to reality. She opens the passenger side door for you and lets you get in before hopping around to the drivers side and sliding in. The journey home is quiet and tense. Turning your head to face the blonde, she answers your question before you even finalize it in your own mind. “Nobody, nobody good anyways. She is trouble. She will always be trouble.”

“Why’s that, Abby?”

“Bad breeding, at least in my opinion.”

She clicks the knob for the radio and music starts wafting through the car easing the tension as Shania Twain comes out from hiding in the speakers, as the karaoke begins any tension is washed away with the titters and giggles of pure unadulterated fun.

Abby drops you off at yours before pushing on towards her own home. opening the door you find the house empty and devoid of life, letting your backpack lay up against the breakfast bar you spot a yellow sticky note on the worktop, ‘Got some groceries. Snakes Snacks are in the pantry. Got an interview for the hospital. Love you, Mom.’ With a fistpump of celebration, you poke your head into the pantry only to see it much fuller than nine hours ago. Thank god. Grabbing a cereal bar you go upstairs and get stuck into your homework, this keeps you occupied for a few hours until eventually the front door opens, closes and the scuffling of shoes being cast off and relegated to a corner tells you your mom is home. “Sweetheart! I brought take out!”

With a fist pump and silent cheer, you close your laptop over and chuck your history textbook to the end of your desk. The Oregon Trail can wait, you’ve got chinese food to eat. “Comin’ now, mom!” You yell whilst running down the stairs, stepping into the kitchen you see your mom holding a plastic bag with several takeout boxes inside. “You grab plates and I’ll get some drinks, then we can have a TV dinner and you can tell me all about your first day?” Your mom suggests as she is already head and ears into the refrigerator, poking around for some cans of soda.

The flickering of whatever late night chat show is on the screen makes for ambience as you spill the gossip of the day to your mother, her face is nothing short of comical as you tell her about the tension between Owen (your mom laughs heartily at the description of him you give, of his hair being a dirty blond hedgehog with his eyes being too close together, like an opossum,) and Abby. The strange girl that had returned your pin. You even mention joining one of the clubs at school.

“Sweetheart,” your mom starts, “can I talk to you, adult to adult?”

You nod and panic flashes across your mind and definitely across your face, but your mother doesn’t seem to catch it and looks relieved.

“I’m glad you’re being so open. I was scared… I was very scared about coming back. And when your dad…”

You keep quiet, letting her ramble and fumble through her words as you watch as she becomes more and more lost in her mind before you wrap your arms around her, comforting her, soothing her worries, bringing her back to earth with a few words,“I know, mom.”

She sobs into your arms, tears wet your shoulder leaving your t-shirt damp and darkened on one side. She cries long and hard until she eventually falls asleep, grip on you loosening as your mom loses consciousness. You wiggle out of her grasp, take the blanket from the back of the couch and throw it over her, placing a kiss on her forehead you move to the kitchen and do the dishes. The street lamp light doesn’t reach this far around the side of the house but the moon is enough to at least not leave you to stare into an abyss of total darkness, the tree line starts about two hundred and fifty yards from the back porch and you watch as a fox pokes its head out from the brush. It makes its way across the portion of grass that makes up your backyard before stopping dead in its tracks. The dishes are forgotten as you watch the small canine look around panicked. It quickly sprints back into the green foliage and it disappears from view.

Getting back to the dishes, you finish the chore quickly and choose to make your way to bed, turning the TV off on your way while making sure your mother hasn’t woken up. She hasn’t.

Returning to your room, you see that you’ve left your laptop open and your books are still scattered about the desk. Taking one look at the half finished homework, you close the laptop and stash it away into your backpack. “That’s enough of that,” you mutter under your breath.

Stripping and getting dressed again for bed, you crawl in under the covers and settle down for the night. Turning over onto your side you see the curtains in The corner of your room flutter as though there was a light breeze, it’s then that you notice the window cracked open a few inches. “Fuck me…”

Feet meeting the cold floor you scuttle across the room and close the window completely, good and tight. Hopping back into the warmth of the various layers of quilt and blankets, you’re asleep as soon as you close your eyes.

The days in the valley town turn to weeks with nothing strange or startling to really speak of. You seem to be getting more forgetful lately. Your things are seemingly shifting about your room. You’re probably just being silly and misplacing things, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself.

The high school lacrosse season has started and Abby had tried her best to rope you into joining the team, but with the absolute disaster that was tryouts you’ve come to the realization that sitting on the bleachers cheering on your friends (new and old) is definitely the best place for you.

Abby had let little tidbits of information slip, about how Owen was her ex and left her for Mel and how she’d later come out as bisexual as a result of the relationship disintegrating. The confirmation that she was into girls had you internally kicking your feet, punching your fists and screaming until your throat was so raw that it could bleed, but you decidedly keep that to yourself. The little crush that had completely taken over your mind, Abby crawling into every little crevice that wasn’t taken up by school or the various relationships you’d been establishing or reestablishing.

You’d grown close to Dina again, her boyfriend Jesse by extension. Dina is… talkative to say the least, occupying most of your AP math class with her chittering, and you’re yet to meet this elusive Ellie you’ve heard so much about from her venting and seemingly never ending gossip. From ‘oh my god! Ellie and Cat from S-3? They kind of had a huge argument-’ to ‘Ellie is ditching class again, I’m surprised she hasn’t been kicked outta here by now, that’s what happened to her back in Boston!’ Based on what you’d heard, Ellie could only be described as a badass juvie escapist. And that’s how you’ve come to be sat in Jackson’s only diner, The Clay Pit BBQ, on a Friday evening after school waiting for ‘Ellie’ and Jesse to show up.

Dina sits across from you in the booth as you take in the cringe worthy old western themeing that seems as though it was plucked from a young child’s bedroom or a roadside tourist trap. A milkshake is sat in front of Dina with her admitting to herself more than saying to you, “I really shouldn’t be having this… lactose intolerance is a big thing with my family,” you nod at her more to quell her than to actually provide any opinion on her predicament, while a large cup of water and a plate of fries in front you. You both thank the waitress and begin to eat until a cough and playful punch lands on your shoulder. Jesse. You scooch further into the booth, the old faux leather squeaking underneath your movement. But as you turn to look at the others it’s not Jesse that’s sat beside you but the ‘Williams’ girl. The one that had returned your pin and the dots line up in your head. Dina had always said about her ditching to go skateboarding, and under the table is the same longboard as she’d made her escape on weeks prior.

“Ellie, this is Y/n.”

Dina turns to you now, “Y/n, this is Ellie.”

The air fills with a heavy tension, Dina and Jesse both look between the two of you and to each other as though having a silent conversation while Ellie keeps looking at you, as though trying to read you. Green eyes meeting your own eyes with such intensity that a heat begins to spread up your neck and it takes Jesse kicking the auburn haired girl and jolting her out of her trance-like state before she sticks out her hand. “Hi?”

‘Is that all she’s going to say’, you think to yourself as a laugh escapes your lips outwardly and you shake her hand. “Hi.”

Ellie doesn’t eat much but orders an apple cobbler and attempts to make small talk, despite the encounter starting off stale and almost jumpy as the ice breaks you find yourself relaxing into her company as though you’d known her as long and as well as you had the other pair, but you can’t seem to shake a niggling at the back of your mind that there was something off about Ellie Williams.

As the evening continues you settle into a comfortable chit chat, and discuss this and that, what’s there and what’s not. Everything under the sun. Until the waitress from before approaches your table to tell you that they’re closing up for the night and you gather your bits and ready yourselves to leave. As you stand outside the diner, you realize that your phone had died and with the only way to contact your mom dead as a doornail, Jesse asks you something you hadn’t planned for, “How’re you getting home?” You give a huff of frustration and shrug your shoulders, “I’ll walk it’s only a half hour anyways, I can take a shortcut through the woods. Dina pops her head from around Jesse's side and pipes up, “Are you sure, I can’t carry everyone but Jesse can walk home if you want to get on?”

“No I’m fine, genuinely! Besides, you both live on the other side of town.”

Ellie shuffles her way from inside to stand beside you.

“I can walk her home.”

“But Els, you live-”

“Dee. I’ll walk her home.”

Sensing the finality in Ellie’s tone and probably wanting to avoid being the cause of a scene, Jesse and Dina hop onto her minty vespa scooter, and the tall boy waves a long limb as they pull out of the street and down the road out east.

“Ellie. I appreciate the sentiment but I think a bit of alone time would be good for me?” You tell her, its the honest truth but not the whole truth. Internally you’re screaming. ‘Why would she do that? Dina said Ellie lived near her. Why would she offer to walk you in the completely opposite direction to where she needed to go?’

“Oh…” She looks disappointed but quickly fixes her face, “I- I guess I’ll see you round then?”

“Yeah, see you at school?” She lets go a small smile at your good natured teasing.

“Yeah…”

You part ways as she sets off on her skateboard, quickly picking up speed as she propels herself forward, following the same road as Dina and Jesse had just gone down. In a flash of flannel and beaten converse, she’s gone and you start the trek home.

The late evening twilight turns to night it seems as you set off and you are left with a predicament. Either brave the dark of the woods and be home fifteen minutes faster, or take the long way round and stay in the safety of the luminous orange of the streetlights… Taking one look at the storm clouds beginning to form in the western sky, you quickly make up your mind. Woods it is.

Pulling the purple hood up over your head as the occasional spitting of raindrops turns into a gentle pouring, getting past the small saplings and shrubs that make up the treeline you breathe out a sigh of relief at the umbrella provided by the canopy of the tall ancient pines. A thick, choking mist is rolling in, concealing the ground from your vision. The trek is tedious, those people that came before you and also opted for your choice of the protection of the trees have left a somewhat easily traversable path between the roots. The silence of your surroundings that during the day would be comforting is anything but as full darkness takes hold. The only sound is the trodding of your feet against pebbles, leaves and twigs. The half moon peeks out from the clouds occasionally amid the rain, the slivers of light it gives off let you know you're still on the right path and spur you onward.

Snap.

Loud and clear.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

The cracking rings out over the pitter patter of rain on the leafy surroundings.

It’s what causes silence to break and it dawns on you why the woods had been so silent before. They were afraid. The birds, the deer, and the elk. The moose, the eagles, and horses. They were all afraid. And doing their best to stay out of the way of the local apex predator. You had walked head first into the lion's den. Panic sets in as you pick up speed, feet propelling you forward over tree roots and through branches.

Run.

You have to run.

As you run the backpack on your shoulders jostles around, keyrings making clinking sounds with each step. Another creaking noise pulls your attention back towards your surroundings as you attempt to focus on something aside from your labored breaths and the blood thundering in your ears. The same sound comes from behind you again. “Fuck.” It sounded closer than before, ‘where’s it coming from… holy shit… I’m not ready to die…’ Fear has you whipping your head around to the direction you think the sound had originally come from. You hear a follow up rustle as if it knows what you’re thinking. ‘Shit.’

You feel like an antelope in a nature documentary. Meager, mortal prey for a wild, powerful, immortal predator. All common sense is thrown out a shattered window, basic human necessity drives you. The animalistic need to escape courses through you. Instead of sticking to the path, you run straight. Jumping over logs, and avoiding puddles. Your sneakers are going to be destroyed, your hoodie is flailing about as your arms pump back and forth. A glimmer of hope in the darkness appears ahead as the rows of trees begin to thin, the tawny light of a streetlamp. Through the rain and the mist it’s hard to determine the exact distance left, the orange tones bleeding through the weather like paint through a cup of water. The trees are skinny and short, saplings and bushes as the ground turns to soft green grass beneath your feet, you don’t stop until your feet hit hard tar. A road now under your feet.

Your legs burn, your head is light.

The glow of the streetlamp above you fills you with warmth as the adrenaline fizzes out and your breath comes back to you. Lungfulls of damp, cold air rake through your chest.

Just letting the relief flood your mind, you feel the warmth of big wet crocodile tears tracing down your cheeks. You remain unmoving as the rain continues to soak you, you haven’t felt more alive than at this moment in an exceedingly long time. The surreal nature of your escape has you standing in the middle of the road, head reeling. As you close your eyes and take another deep breath, you fail to see the lights coming around the corner.

Your ears hurt before anything else does, the screeching of rubber on tar. Cold metal throws you several yards, searing pain in your shoulder, up your neck, and down your side. Above you is a girl. The light above her head like a halo is the last thing you see as you collapse in her arms.

I hope you guys enjoyed the first proper chapter, I wanted to keep it a little longer but felt that this was the best place to cut it off.

If you wanna be added to/removed from either my TLOU tag list or the tag list for this series (FITD) drop me a message!

Tag list: @moonlightdivine @hi2647 @jasmine-gazaille @mortallyfurryjellyfish @soft-and-lush @viswifetotallyreal @chrry1ovr @paleidiot @sawaagyapong @macaroni676 @godswlwwarrior

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #tlou x reader #tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #Ellie Williams x reader x Abby Anderson #tlou twilight au #twilight au #werewolves #vampires #Friends in the Dark

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