#i’m all hungry now and my eyes are sore and i’m getting fish n chips for dinner

[milflewis]

you know when you jump into the sea and your head first comes up out of the water and there is salt in the back of your throat and in your nose and it is both cold and warm and you are coughing and laughing and spitting and your legs are all weighted down heavy and floating. there might be seaweed somewhere. your arms sting from the slap and you’ve cut your foot a little on the pier rocks. yeah. you know.

[dreamerstreamer]

Burnout

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: Working nonstop leaves Clay officially exhausted. Too bad he doesn’t know when to call it quits. Luckily for him, you do.

Warnings: depictions of anxiety + exhaustion + burnout

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: this was inspired by some of my own personal experiences. please get some rest if you need it. i hope you enjoy!

Clay awoke to the sound of meowing in his ear and a paw prodding at his cheek.

Letting out a small groan, he shifted, vaguely aware that his cheek was pressed against something cold. He reached up in front of his face, his fingertips meeting soft fur. He blinked an eye open, his hand rubbing at his bleary vision. Little by little, the fogginess slowly parted to reveal Patches’ olive green eyes peering back at him. The moment his gaze met hers, she meowed, swiping at his face again.

“Stop,” he croaked, surprising himself by how dry his mouth was. Almost immediately, Patches took a step back, meowing once more at him before hopping off the table and vanishing from his line of sight.

He raised a hand to his throat, swallowing uncomfortably. Slowly, he lifted his head from the desk, taking in the sight of his desk set-up. While his monitor was dark, it was his laptop that was lighting up the cluttered mess that had become his studio. Off to his right sat his green water bottle.

Right. His water bottle had been empty for—

His eyes darted to the clock, squinting. The numbers 1:47 AM flashed back at him.

—six hours.

When did I knock out? he wondered to himself, rubbing at his temples. Two hours ago? He shook his head. Well, doesn’t matter, now. Gotta finish the new plug-in.

He reached over, nudging his mouse with his elbow. The moment his cursor moved, his monitor came to life, light flooding the dimness of his room. He squinted, shielding his eyes from the glaring brightness of the screen with the back of his hand.

His code was still open, the line having cut off in the middle, the open bracket hanging wide, waiting to be completed and closed.

He grimaced, the gears already whirring in his head as he stared at the ticking clock on his screen. He needed to have the plug-in coded by tomorrow—or, well, today—so he could send it off to George for their scheduled test run. Not to mention the video he was only halfway finished editing he wanted to upload in two days’ time.

He dragged a hand over his face, a low groan rumbling in his chest. Just then, there was another low growl, this time coming from his stomach. He glanced downward at his hoodie pocket, something sharp digging at his insides.

Well, first, it seemed like he would need some food.

He pushed back his chair and pushed himself onto his feet, wincing at the way his muscles ached. They were definitely sore from not having been used in god knows how long, now. With another sigh, he turned, pushing the door open to his studio before climbing the stairs.

It only took a few moments for him to find the kitchen. He fumbled with the light switch for a second before the room was suddenly flooded with light. He winced, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Oh god,” he muttered, his throat feeling raw, “it’s so bright.”

A few seconds later, he peeked through his fingers and lowered his hand, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. As soon as he could see clearly once more, he dragged himself over to the cabinet, pulling the door open to peer inside. Empty space stared back at him, and he frowned. We forgot to go grocery shopping.

A snack-size bag of chips and two cups of instant ramen stared back at him, almost tauntingly. After staring for another moment, he found himself pulling out one of the two cups, eyeing it dubiously before shrugging. It’ll do. Flipping open the kettle, he quickly filled it with some water before setting it to boil. As he waited, he grabbed a pair of chopsticks and tore open the cup cover, fishing out the flavour packet and tearing it open with his teeth. Just as he was pouring the flavour powder in, he heard a voice behind him.

“Clay?”

He froze, then felt something in his chest soften. He turned, mustering what energy he had to send you a smile. “Hi, [Y/N].” At the sight of your bleary eyes, his smile drooped. “You’re still awake?”

You yawned, holding a hand over your mouth. “Mhm. Hungry. I’m just grabbing a snack, that’s all.”

Behind him, the kettle whistled. He quickly removed the top, then turned back to send you a knowing look. “Me too.”

You strolled over to the cabinet he had looked through earlier, frowning as you let out a sigh. “I’ll go grocery shopping this weekend,” you murmured, reaching for the chips. “Anything you want?”

He cast a glance at the chips in your hand. “More chips?” he offered softly. “I dunno. I haven’t really thought about it.”

You bobbed your head and pulled the bag open, immediately sticking a chip in your mouth. Clay let the sound of chips crunching fill the air as he poured the boiling water into his noodle cup, stirring absentmindedly as you quickly finished the bag. After a few moments, he eagerly raised his chopsticks to his lips, a whirlwind of flavour filling his mouth. The noodles didn’t particularly help with the dryness of his mouth or his tiredness, but at least he wasn’t hungry anymore.

The two of you ate in silence for a while. At one point, you finished the chips and threw out the bag, but he wasn’t quite paying attention. He felt his toes curl beneath him as he shifted in an effort to keep himself awake, but he could still feel the exhaustion pulling at his ankles. He wished he was asleep, he really did.

Just then, you spoke up. “Are you okay?”

He blinked, snapping out of his tired daze. “Yeah,” he mumbled in between chews. “I’m just a bit tired.”

You pursed your lips, leaning back against the counter as you eyed him up and down. “You look more than just ‘a bit tired’, Clay.”

He swallowed, averting his gaze from yours as he focused on shoveling more noodles in his mouth. His eyelids burned, weighed down by bricks made of exhaustion. “You think so?”

You didn’t answer, only staring at him for a few moments longer as he finished the cup of ramen. He didn’t even have the strength to think about the tension pervading the air. As soon as he was finished, he set the cup down, ignoring how heavy his arm felt. He felt your eyes on his as he rinsed out the empty container before tossing it in the recycling bin. He turned, your gaze locking onto his. Irritation prickled up his spine at your expression.

“What?” he said, his tone coming out harsher than he intended. A flicker of guilt ran through him, but it quickly dissolved into weariness once more. Whatever. He was tired. It didn’t matter. Right?

To his surprise, you didn’t flinch like he thought you would. Instead, you took a small step toward him, your hand reaching up and forward tentatively. Your fingers brushed against his cheekbone, and the moment your palm met his skin, he nearly melted into your touch. How long had it been since his shoulders felt so loose? He couldn’t recall.

“Clay,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his cheek, “will you come to bed with me?”

His breath hitched. Sleeping? Now? He couldn’t afford it—even a single lick of sleep would throw him off entirely. He needed to finish his code and finish editing that video for the day after. He couldn’t just sleep, now.

He sent you a smile, hoping it didn’t look as sad as it felt. “Sorry, love, but I have a bit more work I have left to do.”

You blinked, your lips curling downward. Your frown bit into him harder than he would have liked. Slowly, you pulled your hand back from his cheek, something disappointing flashing in your gaze. “Okay,” you said quietly, turning to walk out of the kitchen. “Please go to sleep soon, though, alright?”

He nodded, but the action didn’t fully register in his head as he watched you disappear from his line of sight. Already, he missed your warmth against his face, and he had half the mind to change his mind and go to bed with you right then and there.

But the deadline hanging over his head wrapped a fraction tighter around his throat, whispering into his ear like a menace. “You don’t have time.”

Indeed, he didn’t.

Shutting the kitchen lights off, he slipped back down the stairs once more, striding back into his studio. He collapsed into his chair with a grunt, shaking his mouse as his monitor came back to life. He cracked his knuckles once before settling his hands back on the keyboard, focusing his attention back on the open bracket once more.

He wasn’t sure how much time he spent typing, opening and closing Google as he ran into bug after bug. The longer he stared at the screen, the more his brain felt like it was slowly getting the life sucked out of it. He had only completed another dozen lines of code or two when something tore him out of his focus.

“Clay.”

His thoughts came to a jarring halt in his head. He turned, spotting you leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. A concerned expression was plastered to your face, and he nearly fell out of his chair. “[Y/N]? Why are you still up?” His eyebrows knit together. “I thought you went to bed.”

“I sent George a text,” you said abruptly, your eyes scanning his face with a wary look, “and he said he doesn’t mind doing the test run another day.”

Clay’s mouth fell open, a wave of shock rolling over him. You... what? Swallowing, he closed it, shaking his head slightly. Just because he didn’t need to finish the code didn’t mean he still didn’t have any work to do. “I still have to finish the video—”

“You can finish that another day, too,” you suddenly said, your eyes not leaving his. He saw your fingers curl into your pyjamas. “You know your fans will love it no matter when it comes out.”

Something welled up inside of him, something hard and cold that dug straight through his bones. “B-But...”

You simply tilted your head at him, a weary look crossing your face. “But what, Clay? Is there anything else?”

He paused for a moment, a pebble of shame dropping into his stomach as he shook his head. “No,” he admitted quietly. His heart burned uncomfortably between his lungs. “But I could always get a head start on—“

“Clay,” you said sharply, not missing the way he jumped, “don’t you see what you’re doing to yourself?” You lowered your arms and your voice grew quiet, something pained flitting across your features. “This is killing you.”

He stared at you, the light of his monitor making your face glow in the dimness of his studio. As much as he tried, he couldn’t think of another rational justification for staying up. He had no other immediate tasks, no other projects he needed to work on in this moment. He had no reason to stay awake any longer.

And yet, deep down, something anxious and angry thrashed in his gut. Sleeping now just felt wrong. It was almost as though it was a crime, as though he would somehow fail if he didn’t keep working. After all, if he didn’t keep working, then what kind of creator was he?

But the longer he stared at you, taking in the sight of your pleading eyes and worried frown, he felt something else overtake him entirely. A different kind of sinking feeling settled over his shoulders, and he swallowed.

“[Y/N],” he said honestly, suddenly feeling vulnerable and very, very sad, “I’m tired.”

Your gaze softened, and he almost wanted to cry. “I know,” you said, soft and sincere.

With quiet steps, you made your way over to him, stopping just in front of him. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your stomach as he let out a shaky breath. You didn’t move, simply raising a hand to pat his head. For a few moments, he simply leaned against you, feeling his eyes sting and burn with a mixture of fatigue and sadness. Was he really that tired?

“You put too much responsibility on your own shoulders, Clay,” you murmured, your hand leaving his head. “You’re allowed to be your own person. You’re allowed to spend time to yourself. You’re allowed to take care of yourself—you need to.”

You pulled back slightly, and he raised his head. His lungs felt like they had tied themselves into a knot in his chest, but the moment his eyes met yours, he could suddenly breathe clearly again.

“Please,” you said, “come to bed with me.”

He blinked. Then, he nodded. “Okay.”

He didn’t miss the smile that stretched across your face as you reached over to save his code, turning off his monitor. As soon as the studio filled with darkness, you slipped your hand into his, tugging him out of his chair and up the stairs. He didn’t remember walking into the bathroom, but you were suddenly shoving his toothbrush in his hand.

“I’ll wait for you in our room,” you said, “okay?”

He nodded again, still too dazed to fully comprehend anything. He only half remembered brushing his teeth, spitting out the toothpaste as he rinsed out his mouth in the sink. Before he knew it, he was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his eyelids already drooping. You were sitting on the bed, your legs curled beneath you and the blankets pulled back for him.

The moment he stepped inside, you lifted your chin, tilting your head at him. “You done?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but cut himself off with a yawn. Wiping at his blurring vision, he nodded. “Mhm.”

The pleased grin you sent him made his heart swell with affection. “Perfect.” You patted the space in front of you. “C’mere.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, he walked forward and climbed onto the bed, settling his head back against the pillow as you pulled the sheets up over him. After a few seconds of shifting, he finally settled down, his shoulders sagging as he let the tightness seep out of his body and into the bed.

“Comfy?” you asked softly, your voice washing over him like a soothing melody.

He shifted his head slightly, his legs curling further into the warm blankets. “Very.”

He could only imagine the soft smile on your face, a fond look filling your eyes. “When’s the last time you slept before four o’clock?”

He thought for a moment. If he had the energy, he would have shrugged. “Can’t remember. Must have been a month ago, or something.”

He could hear the frown in your voice. “That’s not healthy, Clay.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, feeling his lips curl slightly. “Probably.”

There was a slight pause, then he felt your hand in his hair. In an instant, he had melted into putty on the mattress, tilting his head slightly toward you. “You can only run on sheer passion for so long,” you murmured, dragging your fingers through his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. “People need rest. And good food. And warm hugs. And love.”

He blinked, slow and lazy. “Love?” he repeated.

You hummed. “Yeah.” Dipping your head, you pressed a kiss beside his ear, whispering, “Lots and lots of love.”

He nodded ever so subtly, his head sinking further and further into his pillow. “Love,” he whispered back, caught in a dreamlike haze.

Your fingers scratched against his scalp, and he let out a tiny sigh. “You still with me?”

“Mm,” he mumbled, “not really.”

Your hand stilled for a moment, then carried on. “Good. Go to sleep, Clay.” He could hear the soft smile in your voice. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He said something back, or at least he thought he did, but he had drifted too far to care at that point.

This was nice. He missed this.

That night, Clay fell asleep with your hands in his hair and a smile on his face—feeling warm, safe, and oh-so loved.

[tendertenebrosity]

Aedan, Part Who Even Knows

So, I did say you likely wouldn’t see any more of these guys, but I was rereading my draft and this bit is polished enough for me to feel comfortable sharing. Here is some birdperson comfort! New followers, you can find more about Aedan in his tag. 

Shae approached the fire. If she’d been trying to sneak up on it, she thought wryly as she climbed over a dead branch and landed on another with a loud crunch, she would have been very disappointed.

So it was that when she rounded the bole of the big tree and found herself face to face with the fire, Aedan was already on his feet and staring in her direction.

She came to a graceless stop, stumbling the last few steps as her dress hem caught on a tree root. “Aedan,” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with gladness and relief. Then it seemed to stop, as if everything else she had to say was bottled up behind a stone in her throat.

He was scarcely recognisable. His big brown eyes blinked at her, familiar features in an otherwise drastically different face, wan and smudged with dirt. Deep shadows under his eyes and yellow-brown bruising and swelling painting his throat, his fine cheekbone, the hollow of one of his eyes.  He looked tiny, smaller even that she was accustomed to him looking, fragile and sodden with a blanket draped over his wings and clutched at his throat with tight-clenched fingers. His hair was dark with water and twisted into rats’ tails.

He looked like he was ready to flee at the sight of her.

She had to say something. Something, before he took off into the woods and she never ever saw him again.

“Oh my God, Aedan, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Please - Aedan - don’t run away. I’ve come to find you.”

The fire crackled between them, sadly, flickering low around the branches Aedan had stacked to keep it burning. Aedan stared at her like he didn’t understand what she was saying.

“Aedan - you look awful - let me help you,” she said. “It’s okay. I’ve come to get you.”

She took a step towards him, without thinking, and he took a step backwards, clutching the blanket tighter.

“Don’t,” he said jerkily. “Just - don’t.” His eyes darted, up and down, behind her, behind him as if wondering if he could get away.

Her heart plummeted, to see him so small and hurt, and frightened of her. She spread her hands, very carefully, and eased herself back a step.

“Where’s - everybody else?” he asked, eyes glancing behind her again.

“Just me, Aedan,” she whispered. “Just me. I came to bring you - home. I came to try and fix it.”

He shook his head. Water dripped from the leaves and branches around them, a quiet patter to fill the silence. Thunder rolled gently in the distance.

“Is… is Lucas… dead?” he asked, his voice hollow.

Shae’s heart twisted. “No,” she said, her voice small and thin. “No, he isn’t. He’s hurt. But they don’t think he’s going to die.”

Aedan didn’t move for a long second, and his eyes seemed to be fixed on something in the distance past Shae’s face. “Oh,” he whispered. “I’m… I’m glad.” He took a deep breath, and she could see his chest rising and falling.

He was silent for another long moment.

“Aedan…” Shae said. “Can I… look, I have dry clothes and blankets and things back in my saddlebags. And food. Why don’t I go and get them, and we can build your fire up a bit, and… and I can help you, okay?”

His mouth twisted and he looked upset. “Help me?” he echoed. “Shae, I’ve been - the last three days have been… you locked me up! I thought I was safe, I thought we were family, but things changed like that and - and - ” He tried to snap his fingers, fumbled and lost hold of the blanket, let it slither to the mud. His voice was starting to rise, cracking and falling over itself. “Lucas broke - he said - he was going to kill me. He would have killed me. Why should - why are you -” He gestured wildly, one of his wings coming out at last to join in the gesture. “What are you even doing out here by yourself?”

Shae stared at his wings, misery sitting in her stomach like cold mud. His wings. One of them was bound to his back with filthy bandaging, the cloth mussing up and fraying the feathers where it held them tight against his body. The other was open, but dark with moisture like his hair, and so bedraggled she could see strips of the forest floor through the gaps between feathers. It hurt her heart to see them like that, beautiful things he’d taken such care of, part of him in a way that clothes and hair weren’t, unkempt and immobile.

“I came to find you,” she said, faltering. “I - I thought - ”

“Why would you want to help me?” he asked. She could see his mouth twisting for a moment, and then he was crying, tears mingling with the water running down his face from his hairline. “Aren’t I just… just some bargaining chip to you? Just a token of, of an alliance that it turns out isn’t even worth the paper it’s written on?” He rubbed his eye with the heel of one hand. “I-if the treaty’s worthless what’s that make me? Aren’t I j-j-just another wingfolk, your enemy, barbarians, vermin? Lucas called us v-vermin, why are you out h-here tramping th-through the woods for some creature if I’m n-not even useful for making my family do what you want...”

“Aedan!” Shae begged. “No!” She wrung her hands in front of her, wanting to go to him, wanting to touch his wings, wanting to bundle him up into her arms, stroke his hair the way she knew he liked. She had never wanted to touch anybody as much as she wanted to touch Aedan now, with a force that startled her.

He stared at the ground, tears dripping from his chin. His arms were folded, hugging himself, thin shoulders shivering. “I don’t know if I’d be able to stop you dragging me back to the castle anyway,” he said bitterly. “Wouldn’t get very far if I tried to run, would I?”

“I’m not going to drag you anywhere!”

“Really? So if I told you to turn around and go back without me, you would?”

“I - ” Shae swallowed. She buried her hands in the hair at her temples, stared up at the rain-soaked canopy for a long moment while she thought. “Yes,” she said. “I don’t - please don’t do that, though. You won’t make it through the forest and out the other side by yourself.”

“Made it this far,” he mumbled, staring at the ground. “Must be halfway, right?”

“I don’t… know,” Shae said uncomfortably.  “Look… since I’m here, can I go and get my stuff? You look freezing. And you must be hungry.” She coughed suddenly, trying to clear the wobbles that kept trying to creep into her voice. “At least let me feed you before you leave, if you’re going to.”

“I…” He rubbed absently at one shoulder, and shrugged. He didn’t meet her eyes, didn’t even look up, but he nodded at the ground. “Yeah. Okay. I guess.”

Shae exhaled shakily in relief. “Great!” she said quickly. She backed up a few steps, held her hands up like Aedan was a wild animal that might startle at sudden movement. “I’ll be back soon, all right? Don’t go anywhere!”

When Shae returned, leading the horse very carefully across the uneven ground, Aedan had pulled some dead branches close to the fire to dry out. He was sitting on the thick, coiled root that was protruding from the ground, sodden stringy tail feathers out behind him, hunched up and staring into the fire.

“Hey,” Shae said, out of breath, her saddlebag over one shoulder. The root was long enough to seat a couple of people side by side, and she pointed to the space beside him. “Can I sit there, Aedan?”

His eyes flicked up to her. He shook his head slowly. “You can sit over there,” he said, pointing to a rotten log at least a metre and a half away, at a right-angle with him and the fire.

Shae nodded, a lump in her throat. “Sure,” she agreed.

She knelt and began to spread the contents of the pack out, keeping them as dry and clean as she could, relieved to find that the waterproof material of the packs had kept everything dry. She shook out the set of Aedan’s shirt and what passed for pants for him out. “I brought you these, Aedan, do you want to get out of your wet things? In the meantime I’ll start boiling water and we can have tea. I brought this, um, travel cake, I don’t know if you’d have tried it before but it has dried fruit and honey so I think you’ll like it….”

Aedan tipped his head slowly. “You brought a set of my clothes?”

“Well - yeah,” she said. “I figured, if you were only dressed for hanging around at home reading, you would still be in those…” She squinted across the distance at his shirt. It didn’t seem to be done up right - the tie around his neck was done, but she realised that the part that was supposed to fasten around the small of his back had to be left loose because the bandaged wing was in the way.

He didn’t make any move to come over to get the clothing, so Shae stood up, stepped around the fire, and draped it over the end of his root along with one of her blankets. He watched her wordlessly as she approached, and as she retreated.

He looked exhausted. He looked sore. She found herself looking at the livid bruises around his throat and feeling a black tide of anger against Lucas rising up in her chest.

Lucas might not get better. Lucas could have died. So it felt in some way disloyal for Shae to be this furiously angry at him, to want to shake him and ask him what was wrong with him, to want to never speak to him again so that maybe he’d understand what an awful thing he’d done.

She started to busy her hands with the little pan, pouring her bottle of water into it and fishing for the store of tea leaves she had brought.

“Did you tell Lucas I would be on the roof?”

She started, nearly spilling the tea leaves. “Um,” she said, thoughts racing, staring at her hands. “When do you…”

His voice was low and angry. “When? Stop it, Shae, you know what I meant. Lucas told me that you didn’t care about what happened to me, and he knew exactly where I’d be, out reading on the roof like I always am in the mornings when I’m not in the library. I trusted you. I trusted you, and he said you told him where to find me!”

“I guess I did,” Shae said, wincing. “But it’s not like that, Aedan, I didn’t mean for - I didn’t know he was going to hurt you.”

She gathered her courage and looked up, over at him where he sat on the root.

He was looking back at her with wild, hurt eyes. “He’s your brother. Don’t you know him best? What did you think he was going to do? Didn’t he say?”

“No!” she protested. “He just said – he just said that they needed to find you, in case – I don’t know, in case you were in on the attack. He didn’t say he was going to hurt you. I just thought we’d lock you in a room or something until we knew what was going on!”

He let out a disbelieving breath. “Oh, just that, then,” he said, and his tone was very unlike Aedan, bitten off and sarcastic, tight with hurt. “Not to worry! Just going to lock me up!”

“I’m sorry,” Shae said, closing her eyes, wanting to shrivel up with shame. “I shouldn’t have…”

“Did you really think I had anything to do with killing the King?” he asked. “Why would I do that? Did you think, what? That I was a spy, that I was going to hurt you? I wouldn’t have! I liked the King, he was never anything but kind to me, and even if he hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have hurt him!”

“I know!” Shae said, lifting her hands to her head. “I know that now! Now that I think about it. But at the time, I just…  we just didn’t know if we could trust you! And Dad was missing, we didn’t know - everything was so confusing, and I didn’t know I felt about you when I thought about it, and I just - thought - there was so much I needed to do and I thought I could figure out what I felt later!”

She put the tea down, sat back in the dirt, wrapped her arms around her knees. Everything was a tangled mess inside her chest. Dad. I miss you. You’re never coming back.

Aedan was silent, over on the other side of the fire. When she looked over at him, blinking back tears, she saw that he had his hands over his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thin and muffled. “About your dad. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened but it was wrong, it’s not fair, I’m so sorry. He was… he was a good man, he was a good king.”

She nodded, her throat tight. “Yeah,” she whispered. “He was. Thank you.” She wiped her eyes.

They fell into awkward silence again. The fire crackled. The little pan of water was starting to boil, and Shae moved it off the fire, for something to do with her hands.

Aedan’s hands crept out and took the clothing she’d put on his seat. “Look, thanks for - thanks for thinking to bring these,” he mumbled. “And everything else, too. I know you don’t want to hurt me, not really. And Robb didn’t, either. It’s just… it’s all so complicated, Shae.”

She latched onto that gratefully. “Yes,” she said. “It is.”

“I’m going to - go put these on,” he said nervously. “Don’t, um, look over I guess.” He stepped up onto the root and over, walking a few steps away.  

Shae stifled a rueful little smile, as if Shae catching sight of Aedan minus his pants was really something that needed to worry them both at this point. She kept her gaze carefully on the fire.

He returned, and when she looked cautiously over at him he was toweling his hair dry with one of the blankets.

He paused, looked at her, looked at the fire. Then he ignored the root he’d been sitting on, took the extra few steps around the fire, and settled carefully on the end of Shae’s log,  leaving a space between where he was and where she would sit when she came back from the fire.

She held out one of the thin metal traveling cups to him, giving off fragrant steam. His eyes flickered, and he gave her a hesitant, tremulous beginning of a smile. He put the blanket aside, leaving his hair a birds-nest of braids and knots and tangles, and reached out to take the cup from her. Their fingers brushed, his cold and soft, and she shifted her grip away from them as she handed it to him.

Then she eased herself backwards and up onto the log, leaving a few hands-widths between them. He had his hands wrapped around the tea and his shoulders hunched over it, pressed against his chest. Shae took her own cup and sipped it, more for companionship than because she really wanted tea. The taste was soothing, though.

“You need to eat,” she said, firmly, unwrapping the waxed paper from her travel cake. “When did you eat last? You look horrible.”

He gave another, stronger smile. “Um. I found a few things,” he said. “I do know some woodcraft, you know. Unfortunately a lot of the plants here are different so it wasn’t as helpful as I was hoping it was.”

He took the cake from her hand, and didn’t speak at all for the next minute or so as he ate it, every crumb, silent and intently focused on it in a way that made it clear just how hungry he’d been.

“Shae…”

She looked up and over, her heart skipping. “Yes?”

He was staring into the flames. It was getting darker, and the leaping shadows made the bruising less obvious. ���I would have liked it if you had trusted me,” he said slowly. “I trusted you.” He put the empty cup down, and crossed his arms, gripping his elbows. “I thought that we were, you know… I liked you, and I thought maybe you were coming around to thinking better of me. And I trusted your family, Robb and Lucas. And I trusted Wizard Tamsin when she said I’d be safe here. I trusted my family.” He hunched forward, hugging his arms to his body. His voice was a whisper. “I guess I’m just an idiot, aren’t I? Because it turns out I shouldn’t have trusted any of those people.”

Shae bit her lip. “Aedan… no,” she said. “You’re not - an idiot. You just want people to be good, you think the best of people. That’s a good thing. It’s something that I like a lot about you. You should have been safe to trust people.”

Aedan hummed wordlessly. He had his arms wrapped around himself tightly, like he needed to feel them, like he would fall apart otherwise. She could see the shivers wracking his frame, and the urge from before resurfaced harder than ever, to wrap her arms around him.

“I’m really sorry, Aedan,” she said softly. “It’s complicated, you’re right, but I should have done better by you.”

He nodded, shivering still. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

She hesitated. She didn’t want to reach out, not if he didn’t want her to. She settled for leaning back and opening her posture slightly, leaving a space that he could fit if he wanted to. She opened her arm, hesitantly, slightly, trying to make it obvious to him but at the same time not obvious so that if he wanted to ignore it she could put her arm back down and they could both pretend that she had never done it.  

His eyes slid over towards her, and for a moment they were unreadable. Then he unfolded his arms, sat up a little straighter, and edged over, inch by inch, until his side with the broken wing was pressing into the space she had left for him.

Shae drew in a slow, shaking breath, and let her arm come around to lie across his shoulders. He was ungainly under her arm, all shivering and wet feathers and joints that she didn’t want to jostle.

“Is - oh, your wing - I’m not hurting it, am I?”

He shook his head. “No. No, it’s fine.”

He pressed closer as her arm closed around him, and then suddenly with a choked noise he turned in the circle of her arm and let himself fall forward against her chest, face buried in her shoulder.

Shae felt, very definitely, as though she did not deserve this. But she put her other arm around him, too, snugged him closer against her hip, and leaned her head down on his. His hands and arms were caught between them, pressing against her front, and she could feel the water from his wings and hair soaking into her dress.

It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t even all that warm. But they sat there, as darkness deepened around them and Shae realised they really ought to be caring for the horse and setting up more of a camp, since they wouldn’t be heading out until morning. Aedan’s shivering slowed, and stopped, and he stopped pressing his face into her neck quite so desperately.

His left wing had relaxed and was drooping in front of them, half-open, the feathers drying out to a more familiar and comfortable cream and brown. Shae shifted position, reached out and gently ran her finger and thumb down the vane of the first primary that came to hand.

Aedan at first tensed, looked up. When he saw that her hand was what had touched his wing, he relaxed a little further into the embrace and sighed. She could feel his breath stir the air close to her neck.

“You know,” Shae said, and her hand continued picking and stroking gently amongst his feathers. “I brought some stuff for your wing, from Martin. Clean bandages, something for pain. Want me to get them out? ”

“Yes,” he said, into her shoulder. “Please.”

[blurrymango]

Chapter One

The air was salty and chilled, a sign that it was finally the beginning of fall. PoisonBerry clutched the journey in bony hands. There was something strange about this day, something overwhelming that loomed over the vessel of the ship like a cloud. The net that had been cast in the water came back up slowly. The crew watched with anticipation as it breached the surface. What they had pulled up was not fish nor treasure, but a body. With long brown hair and scarring burns covering what surface wasn’t covered in decay. The raven-haired girl felt to her sick to her stomach at the scene before, the nauseating smell and sight quickly overtook her, her body unable to handle it as she passed out.

Maybe in another timeline he would have cared, but by the sticky-notes she had covered the pages of his book with, it was obvious she had no idea who he was, no respect for the grave in which his thoughts at. And in the pale moonlight that shined through the small window on the wall, he realized that, as well as having no respect for him, she had no respect for herself either. Greasy and unkept short black hair mocked anyone who knew her. She used to take pride in herself, inner and outer. Those once delicate and slender hands that could make or break beautiful creations were now callused and shaky. He looked away, not wanting to see her in that state any longer.

Whoever had shared this before had long since left, as he hoped he would as well. He would have thrown on whatever of the person’s clothes fit comfortably, though with his stature he was reduced to choosing whatever wouldn’t slide off his awkward body. He absentmindedly wondered how easily he would be able to get his muscle and fat back up, knowing that until his skin wasn’t trying to heal itself over layers of decay he wouldn’t be able go back on testosterone. He sneered at the thought, grabbing an empty satchel and putting his journal and some money in it.

He figured that if he were to stay on the ship that he would be interrogated or if he managed to play dead that the male members of the crew would likely try to, well, make use of his corpse’s more feminine parts. He shivered at the thought, unable to tell if he feared the idea or got excited by it. Either way he did not want to find out which. He briefly considered taking PoisonBerry with him, but not only did she not remember who he was but frankly she might as well be dead if she didn’t remember him. Plus, he was a stranger to her, and though she was never quite smart, she had good instincts. He had always admired that about her.

He was about to get into a raft when he heard a gun cock and felt cool metal against the back of his head. He could hear it now, the unsteady and ragged breath of the person behind him. She never really liked the sea air, her asthma would always act up, as it was now by how it sounded. He cleared his throat.

“Th-the-the o-o-cea-ocean a-ai-air-r a-ain’t g-goo- ain’t g-good f-for ya lungs-s, girl.” He hated his stutter, it made him sound scared, but, really, he wasn’t really feeling emotions right now. His legs were tired from standing, his tongue sandpaper in his mouth, and his entire body was sore and nauseated.

“‘S-s-sides, if y-y-ya k-killed me, I b-b-bet-betcha’ th-that ya c-capt-tin beat y-you f-f-for it, make ya c-clean up my bl-blood and gut-ts.” The coolness of the gun left, and he turned to face her. Her features were etched with anger and fear, though her long nose scrunched up with disgust. Maybe it was the smell. But when he looked into her eyes, she looked away. Those once bright green eyes that he had once stared into with mutual admiration and respect could now barely stand to look back at him. She was afraid.

“Just return what st-stole and you can leave.” She held out her hand for the item.

“Th-th-the b-bah-bag ain’t-t yours, b-b-babe.” He needed to get on land quickly, else he was going to throw up his guts into the sea.

“I’m talking about the journal.” She sneered at him. He could handle an angry PoisonBerry, and he knew had to act fast or do what she wants, or things would get violent.

“J-j-jus-jus’ t-t-takin’ back what’s-s m-mine br-bro.” His instincts acted and then the gun was in his hand and aimed straight at her head before she could register what happened.

“Y-y-y’know wh-what-t, s-s-s-since you s-so rude to your g-guest, you c-c-can t-take me to the Av-v-v-vante docks or y-you-you’ll get a f-fuck-fucking b-bull-let in ya s-sk-skull.” She was no longer rude.

It would have been silent if not for the gentle waves around them. Blitz was looking directly at PoisonBerry, studying the rowing girl with scrutinizing eyes. She used to be so different, she was so confident, hard-headed and energetic. She used to give off an air of easy-going superiority that made anyone relaxed. The person in front of him was merely a pitiful disgrace in her body, if there was a way to get rid of this thing that possessed her and bring back his friend, he would take any opportunity he got. He hated how different she was now, and it showed.

“So, uh-“

“Sh-sh-sut-shut the f-f-fuck up, p-pl-please. I-I-I’m n-not in the m-mood to t-t-talk.” The rest of the it was spent in grateful silence.

When the two arrived at the town, the sun had barely risen, yet society was already awake. The mere idea of waking up this early disgusted them both and angered Blitz, but that meant stores were open. Which meant food, and though the thought of eating nauseated him, he was hungry, and he knew just where to eat at.

He walked with a purpose, if anger could be considered one. It certainly would have been a sight to see, a corpse walking with a girl so skinny she was a skeleton, both wore ill-fitted clothing. Blitz loved and hated the stares he got, on one hand, it was attention and their gazes were fearful, on the other hand, it was attention, and they were afraid of him.

When the two reached their destination, a small café tucked neatly away in the city, Blitz was thankful that there weren’t much people. He gestured for PoisonBerry to sit at a booth near the counter. He knew the girl at the register, but something told him she didn’t remember him. Before he could order though, another familiar face rushed in, a vampire girl whose admittedly had much healthier looking skin than his, she ordered tea and coffee. He snorted at the order, knowing that it was not born of indecisiveness, but of an ideology that screamed ‘Life is boring so do what you want and if you end up buried alive or in jail then you did not party hard enough.’ Quite frankly a beautiful philosophy to live by.

“Y-you tr-tryna’ c-c-cure a h-hang-hangover?” He leaned against the counter. She looked over at him, shocked by his existence, and smirked, pulling out a thermos. She unscrewed the cap and held it towards him. The contents of which assaulted his sense of smell. The thermos contained a mix of honey, blood, and vodka.

“M-m-ay-maybe j-just stick to c-candles, A-Amber.” He told her.

“Either you’re a psychic or a stalker, either way I’m outta here.” She exclaimed, pronouncing ‘either’ both ways. True to her word, she gathered up her things and left. The girl behind the counter snorted.

“Next, I guess.” The dark-skinned girl said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“U-uh, y-yeah, I-I’ll have a sl-slice of st-str-strawberry c-c-cake and a t-t-t-tea for my friend and I’ll have  a dou-double-ch-choc-double-chocolate-ch-chip cookie and uh, the sw-sweet-test coffee you have.”

The girl scribbled down the order with a bored expression, then her eyes flicked up and she smiled.

“That’ll be $14.42.” She stood straight and cleared her throat. “But if you can guess my name you’ll get a discount.” She smiled lazily. He might as well have, considering he knew, both her and her twin.

“I c-c-can tell y-ya more th-than th-th-that. A-al-also I’ll p-pay for the va-vampire’s drink t-too, consider-considering h-how sh-she l-left bef-fore she- before she could h-h-hers-self.”

She pretended to ponder it for a moment, then held out her hand for him to shake his. She slid the order through the little window leading to the kitchen.

“Y-your n-n-name i-is Ar-Arti-Artimes, you ha-have a twi-tw-twin with b-bl-blue e-eyes named Apollo, and-and! - y-y’all  are fr-friends and c-co-workers with girl n-named Ch-Char-Cha-Charlotte C-Cooke!” She stared at his grinning face with wide eyes.

“Go sit with your friend, your order will be out shortly.” He smiled at her, setting down $9 and going to sit with PoisonBerry.

“Wha-what are you, like, a stalker or somethin’?” She asked with bewilderment. All she got for a response was a small hum.

“Like, how do you know so much?” She rephrased. He leaned over the table at her and spoke in a low tone.

“I-I’m a g-god.” He leaned back up. “A-anyway, af-aft-ter this I f-figured we sh-should g-go v-v-visit an old f-f-friend.”

“Or maybe we should make you go get a haircut because it covers your face.” She said back. He let out a chuckle and a small glare.

A girl with skin the color of cookie dough and caramel-colored curly locks of hair walked over to them, carrying their breakfast. Charlotte Cooke, the love of his life from before death, still looked as angelic as ever. She nodded her head along with whatever was playing in her head-phones and smiled at him as she set down their food. He clumsily searched his bag for some money to tip her with.

“Well, thank you sir!” Her soft voice was music to him.

“H-h-have a n-nice d-day!” He said as walked away. The two ate in silence, PoisonBerry giving him weird looks the whole time. They finished up and left.

“Alright-t, s-s-so, I a-ain’t g-gon-na-na get my h-hair c-cut in p-p-public p-plac-ce.” He said to her as they walked down the gravel roads.

“What, so, you gonna cut it yourself?” She asked as they turned a corner. He didn’t respond, in fact, the walk continued in silence until they reached a point where gravel turned to dirt and buildings turned to trees.

“Where are you taking me?” Her curiosity was starting to turn into unease. She started wondering how much she could trust this guy. Minutes went by with no answer as Blitz lead her down a twisting path that lead to nowhere. She asked him again and he responded with aggression in his stance and an off-putting calmness in his words.

“Y-you cl-clearly aren’t c-c-com-comfortable ‘round me, y-yet you con-continue foll-follow what I s-say. I d-don’t need-need you at this point, a-at th-th-this-s pl-plac-ce.” He turned to face her, and even though his face was visible, it still just as unreadable. “Th-th-there is n-no more g-gun t-to your head-d,” he spread his arms out “and there is n-no g-g-gun in-in my h-h-hand. Ther-the-there’s n-n-noth-thing stop-stopping you fr-from-from leaving.” She looked away, hugging herself with boney arms.

“I got nothin’ to go back to if I leave.”

“D-damned if you d-do, damn-damned if you don’t. Y-you’ve go-got-t-ten this f-far, c-contin-continue, o-or not, it’s-s your ch-choice, I d-d-don’t ca-care.” He continued down the trail, and against her better judgement, she followed behind, like a dog on a leash.

The house was exactly as he remembered it. It towered over the trees and to those unfamiliar with it, they would lose more than just their path. He always loved this place, and it loves him. He could spend eternity wandering its’ halls. His house lifeless, like he had been. Yet there was someone in there. He barged in, ready to tear the place to shreds with his bare hands to find them, to find this intruder and remove them from his home like a parasite from a praying mantis. Yet there was no need to, the person was right there.

“Oh, I thought you’d be home sooner.” With pale, cubby cheeks, red eyes, and long straight blue hair, Sundae had not changed one bit. And judging by the barking corgi that squeezed through her legs to lick him, neither Sundae nor Butterscotch had forgotten him. He picked up the Brit and spun her around, the two laughing like children. Butterscotch yipped happily. He put her down, cleared his throat, and told her what he already knew.

“Blitz, trust me, I’ve been keeping tabs on our dear friends, and I know how to get their memories back. Except,” She gestured to a confused PoisonBerry, “she’s been at sea.” She walked over to the green-eyed girl and took her angular face between her hands. “Plus, she’s changed the most. Whatever made her how she was, was purely thanks to you. She’ll be the hardest to restore. But, we’ll also need her for Midnight.” She lead the two into the house.

“W-w-well, h-how we g-gonna do it?” He asked her, hands in his pockets. A thought struck him then. One that shook him to his core. Had his brother forgotten him? Did his sister forget him? His head was clouded, his ears rang, and nausea consumed him.

“Blitz!” Sundae caught him before he fell. She looked to PoisonBerry. “Well come on then, help me out here.” The raven-haired girl hurried to them.

“What’s wrong with him?” She asked frantically. Sundae simply looked at her. “Is-is he having a stroke?”

“What- No. He, he’ll be fine, he just passed out.”

Blitz woke up a day later. Nausea filled his head and couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, he was numb and in pain all at once. He tried to scream, yet all that came out was blood and bile. He managed to lean over when he threw up. He knew it might be getting on his carpet, but at the moment he didn’t care. After emptying the contents of his stomach and lungs, he regained his senses a bit. His head pounded, and his body felt like it was on fire. He stumbled out of bed, thankfully not stepping in vomit, and limped to the bathroom. He fumbled around the mirror cabinet until he found his meds. He swallowed them along a mouthful of sink water. The room smelled like death, he smelled like death. He tore off the stolen clothes, grimacing when pieces of flesh went with it. He noticed now how his hair was in such a bad state. The brown locks were greasy, tangled, and covered his face. His skin, normally just pale and scarred, was covered patched of green and yellow rot.  He stumbled to his bathtub, turning the faucet on scorching hot and dumping an entire bottle of soap in it. He got in and dunked his head under, too. He felt his hand around the floor and found scissors and a comb. With shaky hand he began to cut and comb his hair. By this point the tub was beginning to overflow, but he didn’t care because there was a drain beneath it. Then he bathed himself. He scrubbed until the blistered. He didn’t want to leave this heavenly scorching heat, but the feeling of unease made him leave.  He turned the water off, unplugged the drain and went to the mirror. Eyebags, chapped lips, and a big nose greeted him. One eye was icy blue while the other nearly blind. His teeth were yellow and uneven, but he didn’t care as long he had them. He scowled at his reflection and left.

He combed his fingers through freshly cut hair while trying to recall the events of the past, what, day? He’d never been good at keeping track of time. He put on some baggy dark clothes and taking the vomit filled bucket, opened his window and dumped the bile out. Satisfied, he went to his desk and opened his journal. He scowled at the sticky-notes and carefully peeled them off the pages and threw them away. He flipped to a blank page and began writing.

Either he blacked out or zoned because when he opened his eyes the room was filled with the warm glow of the afternoon. He stretched his hands over his head and his stomach growled under his sweater. He groaned as he left the room. When he got to the dining room with a box of cereal, he saw Sundae surrounded by pictures and papers. He spotted his camera on the table, a cheap little thing he bought with what little money he had when he was a kid. His most prized possession, and Sundae kept it. He was overjoyed until she spoke.

“Blitz! I know who we’ll bring back first.” The black-clothed girl had only just noticed he was there. She picked up a photo of two girls dancing together under the un, not a care in the world. He remembered that day, he and Luci, a werewolf girl, had met Amber. He took the picture when the two were dancing to some upbeat jazz song that came on his radio.

“Wh-which one? He asked, hoping it would be Amber, as she might be easiest to find.

“Why not both? I know where they live.” Oh right, Blitz forgot she’d been stalking their friends while he was dead. This would be easy, they could get most of them done in a day. He gathered the materials they’d need, got PoisonBerry, and set off in a carriage to town.

Amber had a small apartment full of takeout boxes and unlit candles everywhere. The place was a mess and Blitz almost felt bad until he remembered that when he first met her she had been living in a doomsday bunker under a field. The curtains were closed, and the place was dusty and smelled like blood. Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind them and the candles were lit. A figure cloaked in shadows stared them down with glowing red eyes.

“A stalker you are, you should have stayed watching from afar.” Amber stepped into the dim light. PoisonBerry hid behind Sundae who stood straight-faced with her arms crossed. Blitz stepped forward, and of all the scents in the room, there was no cinnamon. The one missing was in his satchel. He pulled it out with a box of matches. He lit the candle right as the vampire struck. Fangs almost in his neck, she went limp in his arms and the light became blinding.

When their eyesight came back to them, they were under the warmth of the sun. Tendrils pure light came from the vampire’s chest. And with a burst of light, she awoke in his arms as the sun set. She let out a breathy laugh as she looked up at Blitz’s bewildered face. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cheek.

“Good ta’ see ya again, amigo.” She looked around and hurriedly sat up. “Where is our wolf?” She looked to him. Sundae cleared her throat and dusted herself off, leaving a shocked PoisonBerry laying in the grass.

“Your friend is in the circus, and the circus will be in town quite soon, just in time for the full moon. And since she joined recently, they have no idea.” She spoke

“S-so, what, she g-gets t-ta’ t-t-town, and w-wolf’s-wolf’s out t-to pl-play. A-and b-b-boom, j-just like-just like th-that, e’eryone’s-s d-dead.”

“Yep. So, if we don’t want a massacre on our hands, we gotta get her back quick.” Sundae stated.

When they got back home, Sundae and PoisonBerry started cooking, and Blitz and Amber started planning.

“So, as a wolf, they ain’t gonna be able to contain her. She’ll escape and look for a place where she can alone.”

“R-right, s-so we gotta-gotta he-her.”

“Do we got anything that’ll do anything like that.” Amber asked him.

Blitz went to his closet and pulled out a long chain.

“That’ll work.”

That night Blitz didn’t sleep. He thought of all that could go wrong and of his brother and sister. He had no idea if they remembered him, if they even still alive. Though he hated it, he was human, and humans feared the unknown. If his brother continued down his path of assassination, Blitz had no of knowing. Eventually, he gave up on sleep and decided to write instead.

He soon found that writing was a great way to pass the time when he heard birds chirping. Yet, right when he was going to leave the room, his body shut down. When he awoke it was obvious that his surroundings were not based in reality. The grass was a deep red, and thorny vines strangled anything that wasn’t grass. The sky was pitch black, yet in the great nothingness it seemed to all flow towards a single point. He followed the hypnotic movement of the inky nothing, each step calming and his movements languid and heavy. Eventually he found it, or rather, himself. The picture perfect of image of a younger version of him surrounded by sunflowers.

“Why, why do you put them through this? All you do causes them to suffer.” He scowled at the child, it’s voice alien and unnerving to him, its words dripping with poison. He stalked toward the child, it’s hair a blonde and tangled halo that he wanted to rip out.

“I don’t recall even speaking at such an age, child.”  He hissed, circling around it, ignoring how weird his voice sounded. “Why is it that you’ve summoned me back to the realm make-believe? To gloat about your pureness, your virginity and innocence? That won’t last you very long, you know?” His voice echoed in the small infinity.

“Nothing I do will lead me to becoming you.” It sneered at him.

“And yet, here I am, all you are is a reminder of the purity I lost, the innocence that got stolen from me.” The world vibrated and shook with every word he spoke, the sky melting into the ground, leaving an inky void everywhere. “I hate dreaming, y’know. And you, we, I hate being alone. And my friends keep me from loneliness, and you’re keeping me from my friends.” The last thing he saw was that child’s damn face, mocking him, and contorted in fear. It was an ugly sight, one he was glad to leave. Though when he came back to the real world, there was an overwhelming urge to leave. He wanted to leave. The thought had not yet crossed his mind before now, and it sickened him. Leaving meant all of his progress would be wasted. Leaving meant abandoning his friends. All those forgotten memories, wasted. Yet, he knew he would prefer for them not to know. As he packed his bag, every fiber of him screamed at him not to leave. He found himself unable to scream back. He left his home behind him, a weight lifted off his shoulders and a sickness in his gut. No one knew he was leaving. Except for PoisonBerry, who followed close behind him like a dog.

He took the long way to the docks on purpose, not wanting to go through the sunflower field. A small voice in his head told him wouldn’t be able to avoid it for long. He never could. When he got to the docks, the voice screamed at him to go back. The pirate ship he had left was there, crew members guarding his only escape. He heard a whimper behind him. Of course she was here, of course she followed him, she always did and now she was going to die. He tried to hide her in the forest edge, but it was too late. The captain, who he faintly recognized as PoisonBerry’s sister, spotted them. She called out to them, forcing them to step onto the docks, and right into their clutches.

“Well, ain’t this an odd sight, a corpse and skeleton.” The blonde walked to the pair, crew following behind. Their weapons were drawn and there was murder in their eyes. Frankly, Blitz was unaffected. It all happened so suddenly, one minute they were staring the others down, the next they were in a crate, being thrown into the ocean. Water was filling the space as they sunk. PoisonBerry was panicking, pleading, screaming tothe gods to save her. The only answer she received was the rush of water.

“Pray-prayer is f-f-futile, the-th-the gods-s are f-f-forbidd-den to answ-swer. W-we are al-l-lone in oc-cean and th-they m-might a-as w-well be d-d-dead to- to us.” His voice shook with irritation and his body shook with fear.

“This—This is all your fault! I’m going to die and it’s all thanks to you!” She screamed with rage. Hands flew to her mouth.

“Y-you’re the o-o-one who f-f-fucking f-followed m-me.” There was a shift in the pitch, he could see her eyes.

“You held a gun to my head!” Brighter. “You made me leave with nothing but the clothes on my back.” He could see tears now, glowing, angry tears. “And even when you did give me a choice, my only options were you or being lost and alone!” Brighter still, he could see everything in the box. “I-I chose—I chose you.” The green light became blinding, his ears rang, and his head ached, yet he didn’t look away.

“Welcome home, Nat-Natalie.” He whispered and closed his eyes. He felt bony arms around him, wetness forming on his sweater and sobbing in his ears. He cried too and clung to his friend like a child. “Y-you’re back—you—you’re back. You’re c-come back—come back to—to me!” They held each other tightly as if either one were to let go, the other would fade away. She pulled back from him.

“Midnight! We—we gotta get Midnight!” She stood up. He looked around, sunflowers surrounded them, and they stared only at him, judging, mocking. He closed his eyes.

“I-I g-guess Amb-ber and S-sundae got—got Luc-ci handled.”

The shewolf snarled in her cage as people began surrounding it. They took pictures and laughed at the beast. In the crowd came a loud noise. It progressively got louder as people started clearing away. Amber walked to the cage and placed the trumpet down. The wolf growled at her.

“They got cha’ caged up like some type o’ beast, huh.” She reached her hand into the cage and opened it. The wolf put her paw on the human’s hand.

On the other side of town Blitz and PoisonBerry dragged a blonde girl up a cliff. She was tied up and screaming muffled cusses and curses through the improvised gag. They made it to the top where the ritual was waiting. Blitz waited with the now panicked girl as PoisonBerry picked up a leather-bound book. Blitz shoved Midnight, the blonde, into the circle of mushrooms.

“Fe lat me hahn se fuite nam!”

The circle burned with a bright light and the witch was restored. The ropes had been burned off and Midnight stood. The lovers locked eyes.

“PoisonBerry?” She asked, her accent thick with emotion. Tears welled up in their eyes as PoisonBerry ran to her shorter counterpart. They fell to the ground, holding each other tightly and whispering to each other in their native languages.

Blitz watched on, breathless. It was like he had been a man dying of thirst, seeing this scene of two soulmates coming together was like gulping down water. It hurt like hell going down, yet the refreshing cold numbed it, making him forget everything else, if only for a second. He felt around his scarred neck for a piece of worn string. He found it and clutched the two rings tightly.

He once wrote in his journal about their dynamic. “Visually, they’re opposites. PoisonBerry is tall and almost concerningly thin, with eyes angled in a permanent scowl, pointed ears and nose and a sharp and angular jaw. Her body is boney and pale, her nails bitten down to the nub. (likely a habit she picked up from Blitzs brother) Midnight on the other hand, is short and curvy, with tanned skin. (Blitz’s brother would say she’s “thick”) Her jaw is square with an upturned nose. Her eyes are big and squared off, eyes burning with a bright orange-red flame that held so much passion. So, soft curves and boxy features stood in high contrast with angular and cat-like sharp features. They dress differently as well, yet both seem to have a strong preference for stripes. Midnight wears a lot of black high-waisted skirts and shorts, with flowing short-sleeved shirts, black and blue being her main colors. PoisonBerry wears mostly tight-fitting dresses and sleeved cloaks, blacks, reds, and purples dominated her choice of color, with the occasional splash of green. Visually, they’re opposites, but they’re both filled with a passion for life that I could never hope to have.” (frankly, he used to be jealous of that when he was little, now he doesn’t feel much about it)

When the three of them got back to the house they were met with a vampire, a werewolf, a demon, and an invitation to a masquerade. The group said their hellos and discussed dinner plans. (Lucy glared at Midnight the entire time, silently nodding along to the conversation) Blitz pointed out the moon hanging above and made them agree to have a big breakfast in the morning. While everyone else slept, Blitz fought to keep his closed. The invite they had gotten left a bad taste in his mouth. The invite had been handwritten in a script that he could barely read, fancy lettering with unnecessary loops and curves, but he knew exactly who wrote it. The invite was from his half-sister, somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if his brother had gotten an invite too. He really hoped not, their half-sister had put them through hell when they were kids, leaving them with invisible scars and (thankfully only on Blitz) actual scars too. So, for her to even think for a second that Ty would go was idiotic. He sat up in his bed, wanting to vent his anger out. He opened his curtains to let the moonlight in, lit a candle, and went to his desk. He opened a drawer, one full of gears and nuts and bolts and other bits and scraps he collected over the years. He set some of them on the desk, stared at them for a bit, hoping inspiration would come, then put them back. He opened another drawer and took out his journal. (he had made it when he was very into book-binding, plenty of pages that could act as whatever he wanted) He started taking an account of all that happened since he last wrote. He loved writing, it was a good way to clear his head and keep track of important and not-so-important details that he would surely forget otherwise. It was a way to escape reality, if only for a sec. And this time, escapism worked well, because before he knew it the sun was rising, his candle had melted into a pool of wax and there was knocking at his door. Sundae entered and then gagged.

“Smells like rot in here.”

He turned his chair towards her and lifted his bare arm, covered in varying levels of decay and scars, then gestured to himself, in a similar state.

“S-s-sund-dae, my-my b-body’s m-m-m-mending, it w-won’t- it’s-s gon-gonna t-take awhi-whil-le t-till it’s heal-healed.”

Sundae hummed and stepped in, closing the door behind her.

“Seems as though we’re the only ones awake, well, Amber might be, but who knows with that girl.” Sundae told him. Blitz made a gesture that said ‘well, you know her.’ Sundae hummed in agreement, leaning against the wall where the sun illuminated her features, giving her an almost angelic glow. Ironic, considering the two rather prominent dark red horns sticking from her forehead.

“Y’know, I found PoisonBerry and Midnight curled up together, making up for lost time, I suppose.” They laughed quietly to each other. (Blitz’s ended with a rather nasty cough) He walked to his dresser and took some dark colored clothes from the pile next to it. A quick sniff determined they smelled better than he did. He was buttoning up his shirt when it hit him.

“The-the i-i-inv-v-vite, M-mint s-s-sent-t it h-here, t-to us—to y-you! Sh-she re-rem-rem—she—she kn-knows you.” He curled up into himself. “Sh-she remem-remembers wh-who we are.” He whispered.

Sundae approached him carefully, acting as though he were a wild animal. He knew it was unintentional, but when the look in her eyes went from friendly to cautious, it stung.

“Blitz, relax, you’ll be ok. If anything happens, I promise it won’t happen to you.” She was trying so hard to be comforting, but in his mind, that promise was empty, it twisted like a viper in his thoughts, mocking and tormenting and cruel and manipulating. He knew it wasn’t, Sundae has always been his most trustworthy friend, but he couldn’t help it.

Slowly they stood together, and with shaky hands, he got dressed, slowly, but still.

They eventually got everyone up and ready. (PoisonBerry made the process more difficult than needed, but still) Blitz suggested they go to Pepper’s café. The walk there was peaceful aside from Blitz’s occasional coughing fits. As the group was walking in, someone walked out. The person rudely bumped shoulders with Amber, calling her a deadbeat lawyer. Blitz saw red. He told the group to go head inside and order. Reluctantly, they agreed. (though PoisonBerry sensed a fight and wanted to join, Midnight glared her down till she went with the rest of the group) He glared at the stranger. The person was, to put it simply, jacked. He had at least a head on Blitz, then again, most people did. (stunted growth along with being biologically female will make you shorter than most other guys) To anyone else, the person seemed to have the upper hand, but Blitz wasn’t planning to fight. He shoved his hands in his pockets and snarled at the stranger.

“I-if we were-weren’t-t i-in p-publi-lic I-I’d b-beh-head you.” The person snorted with laughter in response and Blitz lost control. He lunged at the stranger, his mind far away while his body acted on its own. He felt familiar arms wrap around him, pulling him back. The stranger’s face was a bloody mess. Taking one final look at Blitz, the stranger ran.

“Sir,” he looked up at the voice, and stared into aqua eyes. “I don’t tolerate violence at my establishment.”

“Sorry about him, he’s” He looked at Sundae, her hands in her coat pockets and her eyes filled with shame and embarrassment.

He pushed himself from Pepper’s grip and looked at her. Concern and anger were etched into her features. He dug around his jacket pocket and pulled out two necklaces that were tangled around his fingers. He opened his hand, palm facing down, and the sun and moon pendants glittered in the sunlight. He took Pepper’s hand and placed the necklaces in her palm.

“I-I—uh—h-hope this—th-this m-makes up f-for—for wh-what I-I’ve d-d-one.” He disconnected his hand from hers and nodded towards the door. He and Sundae walked in and sat down at the booth with the others.

“S-s-so, you-you’re law-l-lawyer?” He asked Amber, to get rid of the silence. She laughed, and time seemed to move again.

“Yeah dude, a good one, at that!”

“So, like, is candle-making a hobby or somethin’?” PoisonBerry asked, confused by the new information.

“I think she became a lawyer when her memories were false.” Midnight interjected. The conversation continued while Blitz and Luci stayed silent. Well, at least he was paying attention, Luci was chewing on the napkins. C.C. arrived with their food and drinks and Blitz locked eyes with her. He swore he saw some of recognition there. She smiled at him as she left, and he smiled back.  He saw Pepper rush into the kitchen while they ate. He didn’t expect her or her twin to get their memories back for quite a while, as even when he came back from the dead the first time it took a while for them to remember.

Then the bell jingled, and a lady came in who was obviously trying to conceal her identity, yet even with sunglasses and a hat, he knew who she was. He could smell not only the fear and anxiety radiating off her, but also the faint stench of sulfur. Her name was Lola Viper, and in her hand she held an invitation.

[xswestallen]

‘Morning After’ Pancakes

WestAllen oneshot      Rated M     1896 words

Summary: Barry and Iris make breakfast together. Set early on in their romantic relationship, before they move into the loft together.

A/N: Just a fluffy oneshot I wrote real quick. Hope you enjoy!

“Is that the sun?” Iris asked, rolling over in bed to look out the window.

“It is.” Barry said, rubbing his neck. “I think we stayed up all night.”

Iris laughed. “I didn’t even notice the time.”

Barry blushed. “Me neither.”

Iris could tell Barry wanted to say more, the words were on the tip of his tongue, and she was determined to hear them. Iris put her finger on Barry’s bottom lip and dragged it down. He moved forward and kissed her lips. Not wanting to get distracted by Barry’s velvet, tender kiss, Iris put a hand on his pec and pushed him off her.

“You were going to say something, but then you stopped yourself. What was it?”

Barry smiled in embarrassment. He hid his grin with the bed sheet.

Iris pulled the sheet away. Barry wrestled her down and pressed her body into the mattress, concealing his face in the pillow beside her head.

“Come on!” Iris insisted. “Please tell me!”

Barry shook his head. Iris could only see his wavy brown locks shaking back and forth. She giggled at how one piece stuck straight up in the air.

“Tell me what’s so funny first.” Barry said, lifting his head up and looking at Iris now that the rose hue had faded from his cheeks.

“Your hair.” Iris told him. She reached out to smooth it, but Barry’s hair was even more stubborn than his personality.

“You’re not used to seeing me first thing in the morning. I usually put some gel in it before I go out.”

“No, I remembered how your hair would always look like this is the morning back when we shared a bathroom at my dad’s house.”

Barry smirked. “But, you’re not used to laying next to me in bed with hair like this.”

“I can definitely get used to it though.” Iris teased.

Iris and Barry had officially started a few weeks ago. Thing were going well. Iris was really happy, happier than she’d ever been. Transition from friendship to something more had been easier than Iris expected. While going on a first date with someone she knew she was already in love with was kind of awkward, the rest came instinctively. It felt natural. It felt like their friendship always had: comforting, fun, safe, but even better now that they didn’t have to hold back their shows of affection or their deepest feelings.

Barry had spent the night at Iris’ apartment (again). They went to bed around midnight after watching a movie, but apparently never went to sleep. Iris remembered putting on her red pj’s and Barry remarking how red is his favorite color. He slid her pj’s off and they made love.

After that, Iris remembered snuggling against Barry’s chest as they talked about movies. Barry told her how he used to imagine himself doing big romantic gestures for Iris like guys in romantic films do for their love interests. He described one day when they were in college, and Iris called him to tell him about the horrible day she’d had, that made Barry consider buying every peony flower in Central City, filling the field outside her dormitory with them, and surprising her, like the protagonist in Big Fish does. That lead to them making love again. Iris lost track of the conversations and the number of times she came after that point.

“Come on!” Barry said, giving Iris a few light spanks on her butt. “I’m hungry. Let’s make breakfast.” He hopped out of the bed and stretched. Iris admired the view of his muscles flexing.

“I’m feeling like pancakes.” He said as he put a pair of CCPD sweatpants on.

“Mmm.” Iris hummed. She was still laying in the same spot in bed.

“Iris! Come on!”

“Babe!” Iris scoffed. “I can’t up. I don’t think I can walk.”

She batted her eyes at Barry. He should understand why her legs felt like jelly and her center was sore, he was the reason for it. Iris slowly and seductivly moved her hand down her breast, stomach, and pelvis. She kicked the sheet off her so that Barry could see her hand continue to travel to her vulva, which she gently massaged with a feather light touch.

“It felt SO good.” Iris moaned. “But, I think you broke me.”

Barry leaned over Iris in bed. His big arms supporting himself as he lowered his lips to hers. When they touched, Iris felt a spark of electricity as strong as the ones she felt that night in Star Labs when Barry was in a coma and the night on the bridge when she found out Barry is The Flash. Now, instead of surprising her, it excited her. Iris felt her entire body tingle. She moved her hands across Barry’s back, digging her nails into his skin as he deepened their kiss.

All of a sudden, Barry moved away. He was equally breathless as Iris. They looked at each other, dumb smiling lighting up their faces.

“I want to feel you again, be inside you again, make you cum again. But, I really am hungry. Let’s eat first.” Barry straightened up and held out his hand to help Iris out of bed.

“Uh, I wasn’t kidding about the not being able to walk thing.” Iris informed him. She flopped her leg around to show how weak it was.

Barry smiled. “Then I’ll carry you.”

Iris didn’t think he meant it, but Barry put his arms under Iris’ back and knees. He lifted her out of bed and held her, bridal style, in his arm. Iris linked her arms around him for extra support. For a minute, Barry just stood there holding her, gazing at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“Don’t you want to go to the kitchen?” Iris whispered. “I thought you were hungry.”

“I am. I just wanted to slow down and take in the moment.”

Iris caressed Barry’s cheek. “That’s ok.”

He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes. Iris pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

“Barry, you don’t have to run when you’re with me.”

Barry smiled. He opened his eyes and walked with Iris into the kitchen at a normal human speed.

Iris’ kitchen was small, consisting of only one wall of counter space and an island that doubled as a table. iris didn’t mind the tight squeeze since she didn’t do much cooking in it. When she was cooking, it was usually at her dad’s house. The small space in the kitchen meant that if Barry and Iris were going to cook together this morning, they’d be very close, which made Iris all the more excited to meet some pancakes.

Barry sat Iris down on a barstool at the island. When hit with a 200 mile per hour wind Barry created with his movement, Iris’ hair blew in her face, but she was still able to see the red streak moving around her kitchen. A second later, Barry had all the ingredients for pancakes mixed together in a bowl, chopped fruits and chocolate chips on the side, and a greased pan on the stove.

“Do you want bananas, blueberries, strawberries, or chocolate ships?” Barry asked, gesturing to the various options.

“Bananas and chocolate chips.” Iris requested.

“Coming right up!”

Barry poured the extra ingredients into the bowl and moved his arm at super speed to mix it.

“Did you remember to add the milk?” Iris asked.

Barry nodded.

“And,” Iris continued. “You used flour instead of baking soda, right?”

“Hey, I only did that one time.” Barry said defensively.

“Yeah, the only time you ever made pancakes!”

“That was 10 years ago. I’ve made pancakes for myself since then?”

Iris looked skeptically at him. “Putting a frozen Eggo pancake in the toaster doesn’t count.”

Barry nudged her with his arm. He stopped mixing and poured the batter onto the pan. “You’ll see when your tasting the proof. I’m a much better cook than I was as a teenager.”

“Oh?”

“When I went away to college and had to live without your and Joe’s cooking, I forced myself to learn how to cook so I wouldn’t have a 100% ramen noodle diet.” Barry explained. He slid the pancake around the pan before flicking it into the air. When it landed safely, he grinned.

Iris got up to make some coffee with her French press. She didn’t need to ask Barry how he liked his, because she was still so used to making it for him after working at Jitters.

“Viola!” Barry cheered. He passed a plate with a pancake on it to Iris. “Honey, maple syrup, or whipped creamed?”

“Well, honey is the traditional pet name for a lover. But, I like the sound the sound of maple syrup.” Iris joked.

Barry rolled his eyes. “Haha cute. You better not ever call me whipped cream.”

Iris took a bite of the pancake. Her eyes widened and the world froze.

“Oh my god!”

Barry looked smug. “Good, isn’t it?”

“So good!” Iris mumbled as she took another bite.

Barry threw his fists in the air.

A realization hit Iris. She put the plate down glared at Barry.

“Hey, wait a second.”

Barry raised his brows.

“You learned how to cook but you never told me or my dad till now?!”

Barry’s grin fell. His eyes diverted to the floor. He looked guilty.

“I uh- Forgot to mention it.” He squeaked.

Iris didn’t buy it. “You were just getting out of having to make dinner for us one night a week!”

Barry became very focused on flipping the pancake.

“Shame on you, Bartholomew!” Iris scolded. “If you didn’t look so cute making pancakes shirtless, I’d be really mad.”

Barry smiled again. Iris could see his body relax.

“Here,” Iris offered Barry a forkful of pancake. “Enjoy your culinary genius.”

Barry opened his mouth and Iris fed him. The pancake was so drenched in syrup, that some ran out of Barry’s mouth and dribbled onto his chest.

When Barry reached for a paper towel, Iris stopped him.

“I’ll get that.”

She used her finger to wipe the spill of Barry’s chest, then sucked the syrup off her finger. The whole time, Iris made eye contact with Barry. As she took her flinger out of her mouth, she made a ‘pop’ sound.

Barry grabbed Iris by the waist and pushed her up against the cabinets, kissing her with urgency. Iris felt his dick starting to harden against her inner thigh as they kissed. As much as Iris wanted to keep going, she was now thinking Barry’s original plan was better. She slipped out of his arms and went back to cooking the pancakes.

Barry looked at her in confusion.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Iris said. “And, you’re going to need a lot of energy for the day we have planned. You had no trouble going all night, but I don’t want to drop your blood sugar.”

Barry sighed, but helped finish cooking the pancakes.

“These are really good.” Iris reiterated. “You have to make them for me more often. Please?”

“Ok.” Barry agreed. He stroked her hair and looked lovingly at her. “If you keeping having me over for the night, I’ll make you pancakes every morning!”

Iris smirked. “That’s a win win!”

[hypnoidvoid]

Key to the Jungle (Reddie AU): Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first Reddie fic that I’ve ever written, so I hope you guys enjoy! I hope to post once a week and I have predicted that it will be around 12 chapters. Dedicated to @j0ys for all the encouragement and being my first tumblr friend, I love ya. 

Summary: Ecologist!Richie and Nature Photographer!Eddie. Eccentric Dr. Richard Tozier has graduated with his Ph.D in Ecology and was given grant money to conduct his own research in the Amazon basin. He gets a research team, one of them being the very talented nature photographer Eddie Kaspbrak of National Geographic. They could not have predicted the beauty and chaos of the adventures that will ensue. 

Pairings: Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak, eventually Stan Uris x Bill Denbrough

Word Count: 2,647 words

Warnings: Vulgar language; future chapters will contain angst and NSFW scenes

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

// Link to Read on Ao3 //

[Chapter 1: Preparation]

[Friday, February 21, 2018] 

The sun was searing bright in the dead center of the sky, as 1:00 PM was signalled by the aggressive pings going off on Richie’s watch. He hurriedly wrestled with papers, and their accompanied color coordinated post-it notes threatening to fly off, as he jostled them into his shoulder bag that he threw over his head and trotted down the hall from his office to meet with Stan about this upcoming Tuesday. And he knew that if he was even a few minutes late, Stan was going to grumble and roll his eyes into the next dimension. The good ol’ Stanley Uris eye roll, ladies and gentlemen. There was something special about Stan’s signature eye rolls: they were comically dramatic and looked borderline painful, but left you feeling disappointed in yourself even if you did abso-fucking-lutely nothing wrong. Well Richie had quite the reputation of being late, even as a part time professor, and he was making a solid effort to improve his habits.

He rounded the corners of the university’s biology department halls with little to no grace and excitedly threw open Stan’s office door with a loud *THUD* knocking off a poster that had been pinned to the back of the door. He was a mess of frizzy black curls, sporting a toothy grin extending from ear to ear in the archway of Stan’s office. Spatters of freckles painted his pale complexion on just about every patch of his body along with numerous tattoos (some large, some minimalistic), he wore thick horn rimmed glasses of severe prescription, and was overall a whimsical fashion anomaly.

Richie had been waiting for this Tuesday to come for approximately a year now and couldn’t contain his unbearable excitement from any person.

Not no way. Not no how.

He was beaming. After finishing his Ph.D in ecology in record time at the early age of 23, he was given the opportunity at the university to not only teach part time for extra cash, but was also given a significant amount of grant funding to conduct his own research in the Amazon basin for a few months where he’d be able to bring along a team for his trip. His own team?!

My own Justice League of nerds….yowza.

The university was confident that Richie would be producing highly acclaimed work in the future and wanted to provide him the services to do so (and to get their title slapped on his published reports in big, bold, obnoxious lettering). The University of California, Los Angeles was one of the top universities in the entire United States. Man was he a prestigious son of a gun, but he never really took it to heart about how much he naturally excelled. He just always did. It was a normality.

The lanky man was loud, lacked a filter, but carried a magnetism with him that was crafted through wit and overwhelming charm. And over everything….. he was fucking brilliant. Nearing genius. Dr. Richard Tozier could do differential equations in his sleep, but couldn’t coordinate an outfit that matched if his life depended on it. He was a wildlife ecologist who focused primarily on conservation, taking a keen interest in tropical habitats. There was so much dangerous shit in the jungle. Spiders the size of your fingernail that could make you bleed from every pore?

Cool.

Twelve foot snakes that were known to eat small children if they were hungry enough?

Fucking awesome.

Hell, even pissing in the water could send a fish swimming up your dick. Richie was enthralled with the uniqueness of everything in the jungle, because frankly, it seemed like the jungle just didn’t play by any of the rules that the rest of the world abides by. And he admired that.

Stan finished his Ph.D in ornithology about a year after Richie had, despite being the same age. He loved everything about birds, and like Richie, wants to focus on their conservation. Stan thought that birds were God’s gift to the world, and needed to be protected by all means. He began bird watching at a very early age, making careful note of the ones that he observed, and keeping color coded lists of ones he wanted to one day see.

“Stan my Right Hand Man! What a lovely day to see my favorite bird man. The sun is SHININ’, cancer is CURED, racism is ERADICATED, the planets have ALIGNED. Today, my good chap, is a fantastic afternoon”. Richie promptly plopped himself onto the edge of Stan’s desk buzzing with contagious enthusiasm, meanwhile completely ignoring Stan’s pristine organization of his desk.

“Get off my desk Richard, for the last time this place is not the ‘jungle gym of dumbass’” Stan retorted, but with little malice in his voice. A slight smirk even tugged on the corner of his lips. “You’re on time though, so I’ll let you keep your limbs. Now let’s get to business. Did you bring the grant pap-”

“Duh” Richie cut him off with.

“Okay how about the permission sli-”

“Mhmmmmmmmm”

“You’ve gotten all your vaccinations, corre-”

“YES. Yes, and yes to the next two questions I know are about to tumble out of yo’ damn mouth. So instead, let’s go fi-”

Richie tried to diverge, but was in turn cut off by an equally diligent Stanley. “How did you know what I was going to say, dipshit? So please let me finish, my goodness-”

Richie sharply interrupted once more. “Yes, I’ve prepared the laptops with all the data analysis software, and yes I am in touch with Mike about our dock time. He’s even contacted the others and all is set, what did I tell you Staniel?”. With narrowed eyes, Stan slouched in defeat, “Really? Staniel? You are exhausting. I really don’t know how I’ve put up with your incredulous idiocrities for this freaking long. I must be sick in the head”.

Stan was stubborn and hated to be proven wrong, but had a massive soft spot for Richie in his heart (Stan himself may have called it a sore spot), and knew he could never hate the fucktard. Or even slightly dislike him, despite his annoyances. Richie and Stan had been best friends since childhood where they grew up in the quaint town of Derry, Maine. The air in Derry was stifling, the people cold, and the aura of in its entirety was unwelcoming and intolerable. They were each others only comfort and true friends for years, bonding inseparably over their love for science, the environment, and the creatures that inhabit it. And needless to say, they spent a large chunk of their young lives finding creative ways to escape bullies. Richie could be crass, and disgusting, and blatantly rude but Stan ultimately loved him deeply and considered him family. It was a friendship that most would not encounter in a lifetime, and he was grateful for this friend that he could share his life with.

Both were accepted to UCLA the same year, moved to Los Angeles as a team, and were roommates for their entire bout in college only just recently being able to afford to get their own places (a few blocks being the gaping distance from each other).

Looks like acquiring a doctorate would after all pay off in more ways than one, Stan thought mindlessly.

“Ahhhhhhh you love me, I know ya do Stanny boy! Now, let’s go snatch Bev and grab some grub, my stomach is beginning to digest itself”. And with that, Richie slung a long, gangling arm around Stan’s shoulders, and they departed to retrieve Beverly from the lab, both with jovial smiles on their faces.  

________________________________________

KNOCK… KNOCKNOCK……KNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCK

From behind the thick, iron door of the lab Beverly could be quaintly heard shouting “One minute please, I’m getting the samples out of the centrifuges!”

“Bev dearest open the door love, I can’t be waiting all day for this lame centrifuge excuse of booty calling my fine ass, Stanley knows about our insatiable coworker lust!”, Richie sang. Stan groaned and soothingly pinched the bridge of his nose with slight embarrassment, so that his ash blonde curls were forced to shade part of his face.

The door opened in a slow motion, revealing a lively Beverly with raised eyebrows, and a mischievous smirk; her hands boldly rested on both of her hips. Richie loved the way her smile was endearingly crooked, and left front tooth faintly chipped. The perfect people after all, had the most unique imperfections.

“Richie I swear to God I would have gotten you kicked out of this place years ago for sexual harassment if I didn’t find you so entertaining”.

“M’lady you wound me! Now come give papa a hug ya beautiful, wench”. Richie held out both of his arms expectantly and Beverly flung herself into his, as a small child would do to their father after he came home from a long day’s work. They both let out familiar chuckles, and swam in the endearment that they had for one another in that brief moment. Her fiery ginger hair cascaded softly down her back in waves down to her hips as she let herself be immersed in Richie’s bearhug. Richie then placed both his palms on Bev’s shoulders and held her at an arm’s length, staring her straight in the eyes with a mock sternness. The extreme height difference between the two of them would have made this tableau as seen from a stranger very intimidating with Richie standing 6’3”, and Beverly Marsh an average five foot and six inches.

“Now, Miss Marsh. I trust that as my most talented, and may I say favored, field assistant you have prepared my lab materials to endure a long flight as well as waterproofing for the rainforest. The Amazon is unforgiving, and so am I. Do we have an understanding, little dove?”

Beverly lightly shoved Richie’s arms off of her shoulders and snapped into a marine’s saluting position, lowering her voice to crack a “Sir, yes sir!”. As much as Stan found Richie and Beverly’s relationship dysfunctional, he could feel the loving platonic electricity between them and couldn’t help but smile at their banter. They were a refreshing drink of rambunctious tonic water.

Beverly Marsh was in the midst of completing her Master’s degree at UCLA for environmental sciences, and while Richie never had the pleasure of being her professor, he was gifted her assistance for field work and immediately favored her. The other field assistants could go to hell, they all had barbed spikes up their asses and couldn’t handle Richie’s demeanor. Not to mention she was smarter than the others. Maybe not academically (Einstein failed math, Bill Gates dropped out of Harvard yada yada yada), but she had a wit that strongly matched his own and that in itself exemplified enough intelligence. Bev was also wildly freckled, with beautiful red hair that resembled her illustrious personality for adventure. She was an uncontrollable flame; one that could birth innovative creation, and in the blink of an eye cause deadly destruction. Richie hoped he would never have to see that side of Beverly.

_________________________________________

Stan, Beverly, and Richie trolloped towards a small trendy café about a half a block down from the biology department corridors, off of campus to satisfy their growing hunger. Richie ignited the end of a menthol cigarette and puffed on it ferociously to try and curve his appetite, before ashing it on the bottom of his sneaker and tossing it in a proximal trash bin. Just because he littered his lungs didn’t entail him being a litter bug, he was a conservationist remember?

All on the edge of their nerves, at a similar state of “hangry”, they waltz into their favorite local eatery named “Cafe Synapse”***. An appropriate place for a group of biologists to eat at. Stan ordered a black, medium roast coffee complemented with a club sandwich (minus the turkey, due to obvious reasons); Beverly kindly requested french onion soup and side salad along with hibiscus lemonade; Richie ordered a chocolate chip frappuccino and a croissant. The last thing Richie ever needed was more sugar to indulge his ADHD habits, but not even God Almighty himself could stop the Trashmouth from consuming an unhealthy quantity daily.

Stan delicately placed a folded napkin onto his lap, to protect his neatly ironed slacks. He bled order; the tucked in, baby blue button up shirt, the combed curls that could easily become unruly, the freshly polished dress shoes. His cheekbones were even as sharp as his tongue. Everything Stan wore, and did, was thoroughly considered and executed with an impeccable grace.

Except when Stan drank. He could toss back whiskey like nobody’s business and was even roudier than Richie at times. He was the perfect alcohol parallel of a pure Christian girl getting freaky in the sheets behind closed doors as their opposite public persona. And it was priceless to witness, if you were so lucky.

Richie placed both of his hands behind his neck and reclined in his wooden chair to a dangerous incline, “Jesús Crísto Stan, you look like you’re covering up a hard on with that origami napkin on your lap.”

“Fuck you, beep beep Richie” Stan countered with a light-hearted giggle.

Beverly sat forward in her chair and flirtatiously twiddled her finger around a curl framing her face, “Dr. Richie please stop staring at Dr. Stan’s lap like the pervert you are, now that’s just rude”. Richie furrowed his eyebrows, and steadied his chair back on to solid ground. “Just because I float my boat both ways sweetheart doesn’t mean Stan is my type m’kay? Plus Stan denied me access to those pretty li-”

“Oh my god Richie fucking sto-” he intervened.

Richie threw up his hands in a submissive gesture, “Okay okay princess, no more smut I promise.”

“So please do inform Bev and I about your talk with Hanlon. What’s our living situation like? And who are the others joining us on our research trip?” he continued with sincere curiosity.

“Well, Mike said that we’d be living in our own netted huts on the nature preserve. Running water will be provided in certain locations Stan, so don’t worry. I know how much powdering your face at night means to you. And from what I know, Mike will be our host and also act as a guide since he owns and lives on the research station. A fellow named Ben Hanscom will be our medic. A Bill Den-whatever will be our botanist, also there to gain inspiration for his ulterior fictional narratives that he writes for his online blog. I heard he wrote a horror ficlet about a possessed venus fly trap….”. Richie trailed off into a fit of sniggering fidgety squirms imagining a large carnivorous plant taken over by supernatural powers wreaking havoc in Tokyo. That would be an honorable death, Richie thought.

Death by occult man-eating angiosperm. At least it’s not a boring trip to the grave.

“….and I’m not finished yet folks”. Richie motions for a drum roll, and Bev and Stan joyfully play along, using their hands to pat the table.

“We even get our very own nature photographer to document our tomfoolery. Edward Kaspbrak, born and raised in New York City. Oh man, he sounds like a mama’s boy, even more than you Staniel”. Stan followed this remark with presenting Richie with the bird from both hands. Stan never called this action “flipping someone off”. It was giving someone “the bird” or the “double bird”, because god damnit he was an ornithologist with a Ph.D and he deserved this unalienable right to give someone the bird whenever he wanted to. Even rude children.

Little did they know that their future research teammate, Eddie Kaspbrak, had been packed for weeks now and heavily anticipated his Amazonian adventure that would ensue for the next few months.

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CHAPTER NOTES:

**** Cafe Synapse is a real place around UCLA in Los Angeles, and I thought this was a perfect addition to this fic.

I hope you guys loved the introduction, I have SO much more planned, and I am quaking to share the rest with everyone <3 You will also meet one of my favorite versions of Eddie very soon…. Leave me comments, I’m a sap! And let me know if you want to be on the tag list :)