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allie1804-fan · 4 years

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Malaise Chapter 6 (Getting to Know You)

Chapter 1, 2 , 3, 4, 5

Warning Some mention of sexual acts

Once they were showered, Keanu loaned Celia a t shirt and they got dressed ready for their brunch out. They would go separately as she was going to head home to catch up with her kids later on. He warned her that whilst where they were headed wasn’t a celebrity hang out or anything, being out in the day and on the weekend might draw more attention to them from fans and maybe even paparazzi.

“I know we work together so people wouldn’t necessarily gossip, but I just wanted to warn you, we don’t have to go out if you’re worried”

“Sure, I get it and I’m fine. My family and friends don’t pay attention to gossip anyway – are YOU ok?, isn’t that more the point?”

“Not at all, I’m used to it and I don’t pay attention either – I just don’t want them coming after you. You’ll just have to make sure you don’t make puppy dog eyes at me while we’re out” he teased making her punch him on the arm.

“You wish!”

Their brunch was long and leisurely down at the beach in Malibu and they mixed their time between talking about the movie and finding out a little more about each other including their families. She had a girl and a boy (19 and 17) - the two of them got on fairly well with their mother and each other but still fought like cat and dog occasionally. She marvelled to hear how close Keanu was with his siblings, especially Kim. He teared up a little talking about her especially as he had seen her so little recently after Covid restricted his travelling to see her in Italy for so long.

“Did you never want kids?” she asked

“What?!” he said a little sharply

“Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to pry”

“No it’s not that, it’s just, well I thought everyone knew that I did have a child” he said softly not wanting fellow diners to overhear.

“Oh God, I, I …” Celia stuttered not knowing where to put herself “I had no idea”

“Well you’re in a minority I think. It was a long long time ago, 1999. The girl I was dating fell pregnant, by accident she said, and by the time she knew, it was too late to think about not having it and she wanted the baby anyway and in the end I did too. But Ava, our daughter, she was stillborn. Christmas Eve 1999.”

“Oh God that’s awful, I’m so sorry”

“One of those things I guess” he sighed and took a drag of his cigarette “that’s what they say huh? So after that, I never got close, to anyone really or to thinking about kids again. Did you always want them?”

“Yes, from being a little girl it was in my path I guess and Jerry, my ex-husband felt the same so we started pretty young by today’s standards, in my mid 20s. And we were very lucky with the whole process, so, I know I am blessed even when they argue like idiots!”

He laughed then added, sincerely

“Don’t ever feel guilty around me talking about them or complaining about them, I wouldn’t want my past to make you awkward around me”

“Thanks” she touched his hand in sympathy and thanks then withdrew it quickly remembering their talk earlier making him laugh.

“It’s OK I think, I haven’t spotted any mobiles out or long lens cameras - for once everyone seems to be minding their own business!”

They carried on chatting til near 4pm when she realised she needed to get going. They parted ways in the carpark with a peck on the cheek, and a thank you with a wink for the “very nice time”! They would see each other on Monday on set.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the weekend, he found himself at a bit of a loose end and missing the company. He kept sending her silly texts, making her giggle – the kids were curious about what had put a spring in her step and who was making her laugh – she lied and just said work was going well and she’d had fun in town the previous night with friends.

Once they were back in a work environment it was largely business as usual though she did get a certain new frisson every time he came over to look at a shot which meant he’d be physically close to her, often brushing her arm or shoulder as he did it. Sometimes it would seem like she got a literal electric shock and she’d jump making him laugh and tease.

They still had long days sometimes so the Chinese was still a regular thing, only now it was usually followed by going back to one of their places for sex! Her kids were sometimes away for the night and she lived close to Culver City so they went there if they could and usually up to his if it was a Friday night as then they could take a dip in his pool on the Saturday or go out for a bike ride. Celia started to make sure she had clean panties and her toothbrush in her backpack every day, “just in case” she told herself.

It was a couple of months into this pattern when she fully realised just how much time they were spending together and how well they were getting to know each other. She was lounging on his lovely big white sofa reading a book and he was reading a script out on the terrace while he smoked a cigarette. As she’d got to know him better, she’d realised that sometimes he wanted company but also quiet so a book had been added to her backpack collection of things to have with her ‘just in case’.

That morning, they’d made love and she’d revelled in how well he knew her body.

“Ohhh you like that don’t you?” he’d murmured while circling the hood of her clit rolling his tongue around it repeatedly until she thrust her hips up into his face and let loose.

She also knew just where to stroke his neck or the indent at the top of his butt with soft downy hairs which would make him moan in delight.

She was reading “Bird Song” by Sebastian Faulks, mainly a book about World War 1 but there was also a section about a passionate pre war love affair in France. The descriptions of love making and the intimacy immediately made her think of Keanu and that gave her a moment’s pause. “What are we doing?, behaving like a couple that’s what”. She hadn’t planned on leaving till later or maybe not at all but she made a decision then to go home and went out to the terrace to let him know.

“Hey, I think I’m going to make tracks”

“Oh? I thought you were keen on the Thai take out”

“Yeah I was but my mum just messaged me and needs a hand with her home admin – she’s just getting things like banking on line and it’s a trial!” she made a face and he laughed.

“OK, never mind – see you Monday then I guess” he stood and gave her a kiss.

“Have fun with the old lady!”

Luckily he’d swallowed her lie – she was able to deliver it well since it was partially true, only her sister was the one helping her mum as she’d cried off because of seeing Keanu. Realising that she’d been putting off family obligations because of a man didn’t sit comfortably with her. After the divorce she’d promised not to go down that road again. It was time to put the brakes on this thing before it got out of hand.

@penwieldingdreamer @fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithkeanu @ladyreapermc @witty-wallflower @gatsbynouvel @bitchyslut99 @keanureevesisbae @omg-imagine @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @kindainlovewithkeanu @paperplanesandwallflowers

#keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu #keanu reeves #keanu reeves ofc

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

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Parting Shot - Episode 1: Azazel

Based on: “Most wait for someone to make the pit of their stomach burst with flame, but not us. We wait for flowers to grow from the centre of our hearts. Could that really be so bad?"

Every town has a story.

There’s a rule that says no matter where our lives end, we remain proud of where they began. The young girl raised in the sunshine moves to the drizzly city to pursue her songwriting, but she never stops missing the beach. The proud playwright gives up his family’s dairy farm to sit in lecture halls, yet he always remembers bonding with the barn cats. The chemist who finds love in a shy lab tech carries the feeling of hydrochloric acid on the tips of her fingers as she brushes back her son’s hair on an old porch swing.

The town of Foxcastle is the exception to this rule. People don’t return. They don’t remember the way every branch on every tree seemed to bend into an unpleasant hexagon, or how the morning fog took to the ground more often than it did the sky. There are two iron gates that sit on the edge of town, the marked up fence connected by twin brick pillars formed an even rectangle around the perimeter of the property. The faded bronze plaque embedded in the stone claimed that it was to keep out the worst, but we always believed it’s true purpose was to detain.

Foxcastle. The town had a very special place on the inner column of the typical penta-fold road map. It was located just west of anxiety; sitting at the intersection between depression and suicide. Mind you we were teenagers, so every nook and cranny of life seemed to find a home somewhere within the three-way venn diagram. If anything definitive could be said about those circles however, we know they would be stained as flaming russet as is the coat of a young fox.

We. It was a word that took less than a second to say, yet spoke of a value worth hours. A word I had well adjusted to using on a daily basis, doing so boldly as if the single syllable had nested at the tip of my tongue and didn’t intend on moving for decades. Within the confines of a lonely iron gate, I came to learn that the most important thing was to have a light standing by the corner ready at a moment’s notice. And that was exactly the role she played.

The house was a single story. One bedroom, one bathroom, and a number of average essentials all linked by a carpeted hallway. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was nothing but a double bed, one table, and a couch spread out to give off the illusion that we possessed some sort of harmonic stability in our lives. There was a single light on when I lumbered up the front porch, shouldered open the splintered front door and stuffed a highly unorganized cluster of silver keys into the inner pocket of my jacket.

“You’re late.” Camila mused, seated lengthwise down the aforementioned couch with an unlit cigarette between her pouty lips. Her eyes were glittering, despite her body language screaming exhaustion from the day’s strain.

“Sorry.” My shoulder bag sagged down into one of the two kitchen chairs, the strap now draped lazily over the back. “Mat called me after school, he wanted me to work late to organize some profiles that just came in from the varsity coach. Looks like I missed dinner. Is that Thai food?”

“Big time.”

“Did you leave me a spring roll or something?” There was a red lighter sitting balanced on the counter, rusted at the wheel racket from months of use. I took it, perching on the arm of the couch and eyeing the illumination from her laptop screen. “A dumpling? Some tofu?”

“No tofu.” The smoke between her lips restricting her normally impeccable ability to articulate. “But there are some empty cardboard containers that you can lick if that’s your jam.”

“A fitting abysmal swan song to a fitting abysmal day.” I turned the ignitor over in my fingers, the ridges in the wheel well on their way to becoming traction-less metal. “But on the up side, I could tell you all the last names of the football neanderthals that made varsity this season.”

Camila glanced up at me, the cigarette lifting as her chin did. On her lap, the screen of the silver computer dimmed as if my gaze had suddenly made it shy away. “Light this, and I’ll order you something else while you talk to me about the roster.” She jested.

“I thought you quit.”

“I thought you would be home by seven.”

Camila was a one quarter Cuban, one quarter American, and one half a place all her own. She was a mystery. A problem, a riddle, and a question. She was a thriller novel that was never going to get an epilogue. I didn’t know where she came from, or how she ended up with walls built to the ceiling and a sense of loneliness that reached impossible heights. I had theories, but they were just that. Neither true nor false.

Many of the world’s great writers were now stuffed away in the earth, only the best managing to live on through ink that couldn’t be smudged. Unlike them however, when it came to Camila, I didn’t desire an answer. I never cared. She was a light, and if any moth got too close they would suffer. The flame now fluttering over my hand drew to the end of her cigarette, and her eyes locked on mine through a smile.

“Call me if you’re going to be late like that again.” She added, drawing the nicotine infused cancer stick away from her lips and using her other hand to move the laptop to the cushion beside her. “I need to know where you are.” Before she could rise, I had her wrist in my left hand, my right circling around to take the cigarette and give it a greedy drag. I was taken aback, yet not at all shocked at the realization that I was holding a hand rolled joint. She had quit.

“Classy.” I coughed, a cloud of smoke coming out with it. “So tell me what you’re writing here.”

Camila was already halfway across the room, dialling an ambitiously long phone number into her device. “Hey Barry, it’s me again. Bring over another order of pad Thai and dumplings. Hold the peanut sauce.”

Taking the warm couch cushion, I drew in another pull of weed and eyed the dormant machine to my left. There wasn’t much on the document displayed on the screen, the only evidence of productivity was the date in the top right corner. Camila had caught on to my curiosity after completing her delivery request, her smug smile and cheeky passive aggressive remark already locked and loaded.

“Can I help you with that?” She had traversed over and sat next to me. “The login password is your name.”

“I asked what it is you aren’t writing here.” I said again, despite already posing the question and getting a dinner request as a response. Camila had stolen the joint back, her fingers idly toying with the rolling paper. “Can I help?”  

“It’s just crap. I’ve got to do the cover story for the Valley Press.” Camila replied, lifting the joint to her lips. “And if you can find a way to make the fact that a biology student found a little frog inside the bigger frog sound interesting? Be my guest.”

I drummed my fingers against the computer’s aluminum body. “You can call it Frog-ception. I suggested, her gaze deep and hazy from the weed yet amused at my pathetic attempt at a sense of humour. “And by the way, the only person you have to blame for this responsibility is yourself. I told you it was a joke of an idea to write for the half-assed school paper and you didn’t listen.”

Camila’s reply was a silent exhale, the smoke streaming out beginning to cloud the room and lift to the ceiling. She had shifted her gaze to the blank wall before us, and looked more distant than before. “It’s better than what you’re doing.” She finally retorted, the glimmer in her eye returning when she looked over at me. “Writing out cheques and drafting homework slips for the lazy school secretary.”

“Detention slips.” I handed the laptop back to her alongside the correction. She looked at the blank document, now adorned with my witty title across the top in bolded font. “Get your head out of the late nineties. By the way Mat isn’t lazy, he just got divorced and his wife moved away his two teenagers. He’s distracted.”

Rising before she could string together a comeback, I set off the living room’s creaky floorboards on my way to the kitchen. Our counters seemed as disorganized as every night, covered front to back in some kind of half eaten bag of empty calories and two litre bottle of diet soda. I picked the first snack I could find from the space next to the microwave and bit down, cringing at the taste of stale cheese doodle. “Camila, get in here and clean this shit up!” I called, poking my head out of the room and noticing she had a single paragraph down on a previously blank document.

“Dude, could you untwist your panties for a minute and just go commando?” She appeared in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other cupping the ridges of the doorframe. "It’ll do wonders for that uptight attitude.”

“You only call me dude when you’re high.” I grinned, tossing a barbecue kettle chip across the room. Camila’s quick reflex activated, and it landed between her teeth.

“Case closed, detective.”

At the sound of knuckles on hardwood, I hurried over to unstick the front door, greeting the town’s resident delivery boy. Barry had been the bringer of mee krob and veggie dumplings every Friday night since our arrival, nine out of ten times it was with a smile and a cute anecdote from the day’s events. “You’re home late.” He rasped, his smokers voice far worse than Camila’s and growing even more so by each passing day. “Did she eat all food the first time around again?”  

“It’s what happens when I don’t call.” I affirmed, handing the boy a crisp twenty and taking the paper bag in return. “We both know her munchies come before she gets high.”

“Ah, I figured the two of you weren’t just spokeswoman for a really earthy perfume.” Barry nodded, seemingly approved at his own witty banter and flashing us a row of off white teeth. He turned to descend the porch steps, his mode of transportation an old bike that looked to have been yanked from an elderly couple’s garage sale.

“Thanks Barry.” Camila sang, peeking out over my shoulder. “I love you!”

“Get back in the house.” I elbowed her in the ribs, her lack of body fat wildly apparent and somewhat startling. With a small noise, Camila receded back to the living room, settling with her laptop and resuming her lame news article. Meanwhile I dove into the paper bag that was wafting a tantalizing soy sauce-tofu aroma and tore open the top container. Un-willing to spend the evening eating Thai food in solitude, I grabbed a napkin and found my way to Camila’s side.

“Ms. Rootwater’s ninth grade biology class spends an exciting fourth period making a staggering discovery.” She read aloud, expelling another cloud of smoke into the air along with the topic sentence. “We had never seen anything like it, says the twenty four year old teacher of the year, it’s a real rarity to see a smaller species fermented into the gullet of a larger, especially in the formaldehyde preservation the distribution labs use nowadays.”

Spinning a web of pad Thai onto my fork, I leaned against her. “Hold on, you’re telling me the woman’s last name is Rootwater, and she’s a biology teacher? Don’t you think that’s a little on the nose?”

“Do you complain about Mr. Charter, the history teacher as well?” Camila exhaled in my face, infusing my once wholesome dinner with the scent of drugs and regret. “Or Ms. Monet, the jolly fat lady who teaches seventh grade art?”

I waved the smoke away, but didn’t shift from my close proximity to her. “If I knew about them yes, I would. You should learn to smoke that out the window by the way. Or else we’re never going to be able to get the smell out of here.”

The girl simply giggled, dark hair getting side parted by a slow trail of her fingers. “You know we’re not getting it out anyway. Not since the cannabutter brownies.”

It was a cold night, even more so than usual for a day tucked between the end of fall and the beginning of winter. Our poor insulation was a symbolic testament to our lives, cold and hopelessly irreparable. Camila moved to the side window and cracked it open, crouching onto the balls of her feet and taking me up on my suggestion to expel the weed outdoors.

“Close it!” I barked, glaring at her.

"But you just told me—“

"I know what I told you, but I wasn’t talking about right now. I was being general.” I patted the empty cushion space again and stabbed a cube of tofu. “Sit here and finish the article.”

Camila shut the glass and hurried back, falling against the couch and re-adjusting the computer on her lap. “The classroom bound species, a common river dwelling frog feasts typically on a diet of flies, gnats and other airborne grubs. In a state of deep starvation, studies have shown that preying on a smaller, more vulnerable species is not out of the question. The—“

“Camila.” I spat out a mouthful of beansprout, grabbing her arm. “No talk of gnats and airborne grubs when I’m eating please.”

“I’m getting mixed signals here sweetie.” The lid of her laptop snapped closed, and as it was tossed away she sidled up against me. The joint between her fingers had been worn down to less than half of it’s original size, and any ash dropping from it’s tip now scattered across the tops of her thighs. With time, Camila’s stoned mannerisms had become nearly habitual to me. There was no doubt in my mind that my own had done the same with her.

I captured the clean end of the joint between my lips the moment it was offered. “Just sit, write, and keep it in your head.”

“My head’s all fucked up.” Camila droned, placing her hand on my thigh and arranging her body so she lay horizontally across my lap. I jokingly balanced the bottom of my takeout container on her chest, the warmth from the bottom of the thin cardboard sending a vibrational shiver through her body. “Feed me.” She commanded, the blazed sparkle in her eye brightening the familiar colour before me from a soft brown to a swirling gold.

“How much of this thing did I smoke?” I pondered aloud, drawing the joint away with one hand and holding a pre-twirled knot of pad Thai above her face with the other. Camila didn’t reply, but nibbled happily when a noodle dangled past her lips.

On an ice cold Friday night, high and mighty was our typical pre-bedtime mantra. Nothing else mattered on an evening when the following day contained a morning of pirated television, an afternoon of laundry, and an evening of leftovers. I set the remainder of my dinner down on the floor and lifted Camila’s laptop in it’s place. The document looked far lonelier with one paragraph on the screen than it had when it was empty.

“Finish the frog article for me and I’ll love you forever.” She yawned, easing her hair away from her face in one fluid motion.

“Camila, you’re a poet, the last thing you should be writing is garbage for a paper that no one even reads.” I minimized the window and opened a fresh one. Camila’s desktop was as unorganized as the rest of her, all thirteen inches of screen space crammed with loose files, random folders and shortcuts to every inch of the machine. Neither technically savvy nor an ironic nerd, she was a living embodiment of the concept in which a hard drive was a tangible way to maneuver the brain.

I began to type, the clicking of the keyboard activating Camila’s overpowering curiosity. “What are you doing?” She questioned, curling upwards.

“A prompt. You write the best when you’re high.” I tacked a period onto the end of the final sentence and angled the document towards her. “A crime drama with an undercurrent about maturation, human suffering, and how destructive religion can be. Show me an unhealthy demonologist, hell bent on running from the law and striking gold by finding love in a cash grabbing bar of a seaside tourist town.”

Camila leaned forward, her chin pressed lightly on the dip in my shoulder. With the laptop still balanced on my thighs, she had reached around and hit enter twice before starting a fresh sentence. “It must be hell in your head.”

“Talk it out.”

“Andrew Dent, a fresh graduate of the University of Bristol for theology, divinity and religious studies. As a little boy with very Jewish parents, he was visited in the middle of the night by a creature painted red, hunched over and resting at the foot of his bed while staring him down. Since then he has made it his life goal to track down the beast and not only deconstruct, but understand it, and all of the others he believe to roam the earth when our backs are turned.”

The tips of her fingers flew over the keys at three times the speed they had with Frog-ception. She spoke as she wrote, a quality I always believed to be a result of growing up bilingual.

“The creature Andrew saw is a demon, a twofold manifestation of the heavy religious influence from his parents, mixed with strain of HIV laying dormant in his body.” Camila continued. “His practice of hunting the in-huntable leads to the murder of a troubled teen who he believed to be a living embodiment of the things he didn’t understand. Andrew meets a young man, falls in love, runs from the law and adopts three children before succumbing to his illness in a quiet town by the water.”

I looked from the words being birthed on the computer to the floating, yet determined expression on her face. “Does he realize by the end what’s fuelling the demonic interest?”

The clicking stopped, and Camila looked over at me in a slow, dramatic turn of the head. “Yeah.” She answered simply, accentuated with a light nod. “He fell in love right? Love gives you answers. It makes you realize things you didn’t before. Love makes the demons go away, on-textbook and in-head alike.”

I reached around Camila’s laptop for the food again, looking for a reply that hadn’t yet surfaced to the tip of my tongue. While she continued to write, I slid her legs off my lap, rose, and got rid of whatever was left in the bottom of the container via the kitchen garbage can. At the end of the hall, our bedroom consisted of various clothing archipelagos, and a double bed tucked into the corner. It was colder than the rest of the house, leading me to contemplate returning to the couch and wrapping us both up in the heaviest blanket I could find.

“Hey, I think we could make this work.” From the living room, Camila was half prancing, half stumbling down the hall until she reached the doorway. “This plot line, I really like it! Let’s celebrate with a snack, where are the rest of those barbecue chips you had earlier?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me about that.” My shirt landed on the floor, cold air raising goosebumps across my shoulders. “The bag is behind the toaster, sealed with one of those plastic clips.” 

“I get my fingers stuck in that damn thing every time…” Her voice trailed off as she turned around and hurried to the kitchen, the crumpling sound of an aluminum lined bag following. “Every damn time.”  

I felt her lay back against the bed some minutes later, shirtless and with her laptop balanced delicately on her chest. Her wrists were cocked at an unnatural angle as she continued to type. “Andrew doesn’t understand the notion of denial, chocking up his feelings to grief and the scars from his family.” Her voice lowered to a soft murmur, the ink spilling from her lips fresh and untouched. “He’s an inditement of the damage a parent can inflict on a child, even when they never mean to.”

Camila seemed relaxed, just as she always had in the mind of a fictional character living only on the screen of a computer. The girl was an artist, and not the kind with a paintbrush or a microphone, but a canvas shoulder bag and silver laptop. She saw the world for what it was. Camila stared down the things she feared the most, lighting the darkness on fire and burning them to the ground.

“I like that a lot.” I rolled over, my weight pressing down onto one shoulder to get a better look at her. “You should title it The Demonologist.”

“Not original enough.” She shook her head, grounding my idea with a lazy smile and stuffing her arm elbow deep into the bag of kettle chips. Her obnoxiously loud chewing sounds followed, her molars hard at work as she satiated her mile high state of mind. “I want something that’ll grab people, have them gravitate towards the shelves and slot the hardcover into their home libraries.”

“Well Twilight happened to work really well for Stephanie Meyers.” I grumbled at her blunt refusal of my genius and turned onto my other shoulder. “Maybe you could piggyback onto her success.”

“Azazel.”

“What?”

The bottom corner of her laptop nudged at the space between my shoulder blades. “Azazel.” She repeated, assuming that in some dimension there was a version of me that had suddenly understood the familiar sounding word the second time around. “He’s a teleporting mutant from the X-men, the father of Nightcrawler often romantically paired with Mystique.”

I turned over, the glaring light from her screen taking away any chance I had at drifting off to sleep. Pulled up on the machine was a webpage, shrunk to take up half the device’s real estate and displaying an image of a man with bright red skin and dark slicked back hair. The mutant was human-like in all respects but his tail, his features cold and exaggerated. “So what, some dude in red body paint is going to scare the living daylights out of your protagonist?”

 “No, but his biblical counterpart might.” Camila replied quickly. “The name of a fallen angel used in the Hebrew bible alongside the scapegoat rite. The shedding of blood and taking away of sin.”

I was openly impressed at Camila’s religion based prowess, making it known to her with a low whistle. “It’s too much like a person, it wouldn’t scare a little boy with overbearing parents enough.” I then yawned, bringing my arms up to cradle my head above the pillow.

“Sometimes we can be more afraid of the things we know.” Camila seemed unfazed by my comment. “The more familiar we are with something, the more it can manage to scare us. There’s nothing more frightening than the answers we make up in our heads right?”

Before I could reply, the lid snapped closed and the computer was set down to the carpet below. Camila then curled towards me, snuggling up against my side and dragging the covers up over us both. The room no longer seemed as cold as before, her eyes falling closed and cheek laying gently against my chest. She had changed out of her clothes, and the scent of weed on her breath was fading quickly.

“You did a good job with this one tonight, genius.” I lifted my arm and tucked it around her, the ends of her hair tickling my inner wrist and the length of my forearm. My compliment seemed to resonate, her frame shivering happily against mine.

Foxcastle. A town where children fell asleep dreaming of demons hunched over at the foot of their beds, wondering how they were going to explain it the following morning. It was a town where you could wake up from a nightmare, only to find yourself in another. I rested my hand against the dip in Camila’s side, running the outside of my fingernails against her skin and letting my brain sculpt her body before the authentic contact even happened.

“Can I ask you a question?” She asked, quietly and unmoving. “Its really important.”

“I know what your high questions are Camila, and I’m a little too tired to get philosophical right now.”

Camila, a girl who stopped listening to me a long time ago continued without a care in the world. “So how do you know that this is real life, and we’re not just playing out the events of someone else’s never-ending nightmare?“

With an effortless eye-roll, I extended my elbow with a sharp jerk and sent her tumbling off the side of the mattress. One thud later, the quiet was broken by the sound of rustling foil and over-exaggerated munching, both of which lasted far too long. Camila was flat on her back, staring up me with an animated pout on her face and her cheeks bulging with chips.

“That was rude.” She stated, spewing crumbs up at my face.

“Come here.” I held my hand out, gripping Camila’s inner forearm as she did the same to mine. Mustering a single arms worth of strength, I hauled her upwards and wrapped my other arm around her waist to pull her atop me and roll over so she was tucked between my body and the wall. Nuzzling my way to the crook of her neck, Camila giggled, latching on to me to re-warm herself.

“You’ve got to call me when you know you’re going to be this late.” She whisper-scolded, the covers drawing up around us again. “I don’t care what Mat needs you to do, I hate not knowing where you are, okay?”

“Of course.” I replied without a beat missed. Our legs tangled together, filling me not only with familiarity, but a powerful sense of comfort and warmth from the cold air. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Camila scoffed. “I never said I was worried.“

She may have been telling the truth, but the concern painted on her face had been evident from the moment I stepped through the door. I pulled a squeal from the girl, digging my fingers into her side and holding her down so she couldn’t re-roll off the side of the bed.

"Fine.” Camila breathed, her chest heaving from the strain and a lazy smile draped across her face. The girl I knew was two different people, one that changed drastically the moment she left the walls of the house, then reverted back upon return. Camila was all I had, and would remain so until the two of us were shoulder to shoulder as corpses in the ground.

“You are not going to tell me that being here is a never-ending nightmare.” I added, squeezing my arms around her like a giant carnival teddy bear. “You’re just high.”

“Case closed.” Camila repeated, releasing an over-exaggerated yawn while her eyes fell closed. “Goodnight.”

Foxcastle was a town where the brightest hearts were encased in darkness. It was a place to escape. To hide. To marry the night and embrace the things we feared the most. It was a town of teenagers and hormones, cliques and social class and pep rallies amongst the rain. I felt sleep start to drag me away, watching the foot of the bed carefully to ensure nothing had a chance to hurt her.

A sharp jab to my ribs cut the falling sensation, jolting me awake and alert. Camila was looking down at me, somewhat unimpressed but mostly drowsy as the weak effects of a single joint wore off. “What?” I frowned, looking wearily at the foot of the bed again. There was nothing but an exponentially growing pile of stray clothing, yet the image Camila had shown me was desperately trying to trick my brain into believing otherwise. “What’s wrong?”

“I said goodnight, asshole.” Camila answered, a hint of sass in her voice. “Say it back.”

She was a thriller novel I found myself willing to read and re-read until my eyes were dry. A shadow that I found myself loving far more than any which had crossed my path before “You’re so stupid.” I muttered, hugging her tighter.

“Say it.” The young Latina insisted, telling me nothing more.

“Goodnight Camz.”

***

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#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #camren #angst drama #romance fluff #submission #Parting Shot

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rboooks · 7 years

Text

· Got tagged by @authenticaussie , @awkwardonthedancefloor , and @fire-lark

Always repost the rules

· Answer the 11 questions posted for you

· Create 11 new ones

· Tag 11 people (if you want!! No pressure <3)

Answers under cut

My questions!

1. What’s the best time of the day for you?

2. Tell me about your latest Plot bunny!

3. What got you into your current fandom?

4. Do you remember your dreams?

5. What's one smell and sound you can’t stand?

6. Give me your life quote. A quote from you.

7. Favorite food?

8. Do you have any side blogs? Which ones do you use the most?

9. How long does it take you to create something?

10. Whats the first thing you do when you wake up?

11. Favorite anime, cartoon, book and movie?

Tagging:

@authenticaussie, @yaoifanatic4ever @wordsdrippinginink @pinkfluffycookie-chi @awkwardonthedancefloor @simplymoemega @sabo-writer-princess @leafyxthiefy @lorena12me @livinforluffy @corvida-e

- authenticaussie

1. What do you think you smell like!!

I think I smell like my favorite shampoo? It’s apple!

2. Got any new projects that you’re really excited abt?????

Right now, I’m excited about getting my asks done since I kinda got addicted to writing them.

3. What was one of your biggest life changes?

When I first open the book Inheart! I got addicted to reading since then And reading really saved my life. :3

4. What countries have you traveled too?

I’ve been to Mexico!!

5. Where do you want to go? What do you want to see? (I want to see the Thai murder museum ;u; and the Rock museum)

I want to visit France, japan, and Canada. I would love to see the Northen lights and Niagara Falls someday in my life.

6. What are you most worried about right now? What will you do to stop the worry?

My mom’s health, I usually have to remind myself that it will get better if we watch what we eat and I write some bit to calm down.

7. If you had to give yourself a new name, what name would you pick?

Marina! I always loved the sound of it!

8. What quality about yourself do you value most?

I don’t know... um...honesty? I am very blunt.

9. What’s in your fridge? Is it Edible?

A pizza and yes!

10. When you were younger, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I wanted to be a vet. I really liked animals as a kid but I have a fear of blood so...

11. What is one of your favorite desserts?

Can’t go wrong with chocolate cake!

- Awkwardonthedancefloor

1) What is one project that you’re most proud of?

I helped build the house I live in. Pretty proud of that.

2) What’s one word that does not describe you? And you never want to be associated with?

I can’t describe myself very well but I wouldn’t use bully and I would never want to be called one.

3) Have you ever broken something that you couldn’t fix, no matter how hard you try? (Like an egg?)

I broke a glass hummingbird that my dad bought me and it was the first in my blow up glass collection so I was hurt. Tried to superglue it back.

4) Who do you love the most in the world right now? (Family, friend, s/o, etc)

My family! I can say it’s a tie between my big bro and my little sis.

5) What’s your arch nemesis? (for me it’s mayo, and mean people, and chinese)

I still hold a grudge against bullies.

6) If you could play rock paper scissors with anyone in the world, who? ( They can be ancient people, like “the last emperor of china”.)

Masashi Kishimoto. I would play rock paper and scissors with him.

7) What was your most successful lie?

I can’t lie to save my life. I will come clean because I feel so much guilt so none are successful.

8) Who changed you?

This one is hard...I’ll say my high school teacher, Mrs. Minyard. She got me to be a little more outgoing.

9) If you could go back to the past, but could not interact with your past self…what would you do? (no notes, no warnings, no advice)

I can’t interact with myself but you never said I couldn’t interact with others I knew. So yes I would. May mess with time a bit. :3

10) If you could be a plant, what plant would you wanna be? (I wanna be a tree, like a giant ass tree so that I could look down on all the tinier trees.)

I would be a...weed. You would never be able to get rid of me!!!!

11) If you were stuck on a deserted island….. Yeah, that’s the question. “If you were stuck on a deserted island…”

if I were stuck on a deserted island I would dig a ditch. Then I would die in it. Because I can’t survive if left alone for too long. (Also at my funeral they would have to say “We left her get out of our sights and she died in a ditch somewhere!”)

-firelark

1. What is your favorite quote from One Piece (or any other anime)?

Favorite is from Naruto “Those that who break the rules are trash but those who abandon their friends are less than trash!” but from one piece it’s “Thank you for loving me”

2. Favorite fictional genre?

Tie between Romance and fantasy. :3

3. If you could wish for one thing, no limits, what would it be?

I would wish for a thing to keep let me wish without limits more so I could cheat the system.

4. Oldest/middle/youngest sibling? Or an only child?

I’m the middle child of three!

5. What is worse? Being too hot, or being too cold?

Being too hot. I hate the heat!

6. Tell me a funny story!

I scare myself a lot. The other night while I was on my phone I notice that a shadow moved across one of my walls and I screamed, falling flat on my ass as I scrammed off the bed (which is next to said wall). My bro raced in asking what was wrong since he heard me scream but I realized something. It was my shadow. My own Shadow that moved with me, scared me.

7. What’s the first word that comes to your mind? Type it down :D

Food.

8. Do you have a favorite plot bunny/art idea you haven’t been able to work on yet?

Yes! I have this one where it’s a girl who is reborn into the One Piece world as Sabo’s twin sister. Pretty much the whole idea of her is that she isn’t a fighter due to her body being weak there (It’s normal by our standards but in OP she is considered “sick” and Garp won’t train her. It’s a risk to her life) but she want’s to support the ASL boys somehow. and ends up being like a Franky to the Gray Terminal by feeding the people there, gaining the loyalty of the trash dwellers and taking control of the underworld of Dawn Island. Which she uses to help the boys and once they set out to sea, keep tabs on them.

9. When did you start writing/drawing/creating in general?

I started writing in like 7th grade.

10. If you could make a crew of characters to sail on the Grand Line, who would you choose?

Hmmmm. Are we talking Cannon here? I take the ASL bros, Marco, Whitebeard, Robin, Cavendish, Bartolomeo and Shanks. If we talking Fandom I’ll take Jeremiah Cross, Riskua dracule and Ross Outlook (My own Oc that I’ve never finished lol)

11. If you were to go on a trip, where would you like to go?

I’ll love to go to France, Japan, and to the beach!

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