#i’m gonna have to text my roommates and let them know that Healing Takes Longer Than I Thought Whoopsies

[mars-ipan]

pmd was postponed because my mother called me

[love-fireflysong]

Oh my god, I'm so sorry that this one took so long holy shit. I have no excuses, other than the fact that I'm a terrible person who can't be trusted with deadlines it seems. But it is done! Yay! So, as successfully chosen by Miss '@clumsybookworm18' Mel, here's my entry for hurt/comfort (finally). This is actually the beginning part of a sole survivor chris/ash au I've been imagining for over a year now, and will very likely be the only part of that au I will ever share. That au is for me. And me alone, sorry lol.

Can't Undo the Scars can be read over on AO3 of course (and I would recommend it if only for the snazzy looking texting lol) but it is also under the link as usual.

Can't Undo the Scars

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort Fandom: Until Dawn Characters: Ashley Brown, Chris Hartley Words: 9749 Rating: Teen (mentions of past trauma, unhealthy coping mechanisms, separation anxiety, nightmares that involve death) Author's Notes: Will I ever be happy with this fic? No but I'm as content with what I got as I ever will be. What Chris and Ash are doing to try and get back to 'normal' is so stupidly not healthy for either of them, but they are young kids that just want to try and move on with their lives. So be nice to them (and me obviously lol).

"I think we should take a break."

Sitting across from Ashley at the table in the quiet cafe where they had gotten coffee together, Chris fumbled with the sugar cube he had grabbed. It bounced off the small table and tumbled to the floor, not that he was paying any attention to it anymore. Not when it felt like all his blood had frozen in his veins. Still, hoping and praying that he was misunderstanding what Ashley was trying to get at, he let out a forced little laugh. "...like a KitKat? Oh man, when was the last time I had one of those? Must have been ages ago, you're totally right we should go and grab a bar or two after this. A little snack and treat we both totally deserve and I'll break us off a piece of that—"

Chris let everything else he was about to say trail off when Ashley pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and shook her head fiercely as she refused to look at him. The loose sleeves of the sweater she was wearing were pulled far down enough that only the tips of her fingers were poking out, and those tightened around the mug of coffee she was holding onto. "No, I-I mean, I think we need to take a break from each other. At least for a little bit."

Forget his blood freezing, Chris felt everything around him freeze. His breath froze in his lungs, his heart froze in his chest, and time seemed to freeze around him. "Ash, are-are you," Chris swallowed roughly as he tried to keep himself together, "are you breaking up with me?"

Immediately Ashley's eyes snapped up to meet his, and they were wide with the same fear that Chris was pretty sure had replaced all the blood in his body. "No! No, that's-that's not what I'm doing! That's not what I want at all!" Her hands left the mug she had been gripping on the table and reached out to take Chris's, but hesitated and pulled back at the last second. "Why? Do you want to...?"

Chris closed the distance between their hands and grabbed hers in his, but was careful not to touch her wrists. He was more relieved than he had imagined it was possible to feel (and he had felt some pretty intense feelings of relief in the last half a year) when she responded by immediately turning her hands over so she could curl her fingers into his. "I don't! I can't think of a single thing in the world I want to do less than that."

The jerky nod that Ashley gave in agreement should have left him feeling better, but it didn't. "Good. So we're not br— not gonna do that then."

"Cool. Cool cool cool. Glad we're in agreement. But then, what did you mean by that, Ash? That we should..." Chris couldn't even bring himself to say the words, instead letting them die in his throat when Ashley slowly withdrew her hands from his and placed them back around her quickly cooling mug.

"It's just, this isn't healthy Chris. This can't be healthy for either of us."

"Healthy? What isn't healthy? This much coffee? The amount of sugar I put in my cup every morning? Is the amount of sugar I use turning you off Ash? Cause I don't think I can fix that sorry."

She didn't smile at that, not even a hint. No faint tugging at the corners of her mouth, no sigh of exasperation, nothing. And it was then that he knew that whatever this was all about, she was as serious as he'd ever seen her, and that terrified him.

"This, Chris. None of this. The fact that neither of us can sleep alone. That I'm terrified that the moment you leave my sight I'll never see you again. I hate that it feels like neither of us can go out in public unless we're both there."

"Oh. That. Yeah, I-I can see how that might be a problem. But Ash, it wasn't—it's not as if it's our fault. We're just trying to heal, I mean that's what all the doctors keep telling us at least. And if this is what it takes, then what's so wrong about that?"

Ashley looked up at him again, and while he wasn't shocked at the dark circles around her eyes (they were identical to the ones around his after all), the tears that had started to build up in the corners of them had him reaching over the table so he could take her face into his hands. Her hands cover his a second later, but not pull them away like he feared, instead she curls her fingers into the palms of his hands so she can hold him there. The two of them lean over the table to meet in the middle, likely looking like a romantic embrace shared by lovers in the corner to anyone looking on, but this is anything but. "But it's been months Chris," she starts and he wipes away the first tear that threatens to fall before it ever gets the chance to, "since, since..."

Since Blackwood, he finishes for her in his head, it's been months since Blackwood and it still feels like we're no better than when we first came down. And it has been, Blackwood had been nearly six months ago now and the two of them still jumped and grabbed for each other at what seemed like every little thing. A loud bang, even from something as small and normal as a car backfiring down the street, always sent Chris back into that room in the basement, watching as Mike aimed that gun at Emily. The sound of a glass cup shattering as it hit the floor would have Ashley locking up in fear, her grip on Chris's hand tightening to a point far beyond pain.

That first week of July had been terrible for them both. The smart thing to do would have been to get as far out of town as possible, but that would have left them basically stranded in the wilderness; surrounded by trees on all sides as they jumped at every little sound and animal call, wondering if it was yet another one of those creatures from the mountain trying to finish them off. Instead they had elected to stay home, cowering together in Chris's basement as the fireworks going off with loud pops and bangs from nearly every house in the area had managed to cut through their earplugs and send them both into a tailspin. Remembering every bullet that Chris had shot into the Wendigo that had chased him from the shed, none doing any damage at all except to push it back further and further from him. Remembering the sound as the lodge exploded into a ball of fire, leaving them to sit cold and alone in the snow as their ears continued to ring and ring. The coolness of the basement had done little against the summer heat either, reminding them too much of the heat from the burning lodge that had threatened to cook them both from the inside out.

July had almost been worse than February, and nothing would ever top those two days in February.

He's not worried about the scene the two of them are making in the cafe though. The table they had chosen—had been using since they discovered this beautifully quiet and peaceful cafe back when they had both finally worked up the nerve to leave their houses back in May—was in a secluded corner with no windows. It was a defensible position (or at least as defensible as a table in a public cafe could be) and as long as they stayed quiet then no one would pay any attention to them. Not when the other patrons were too busy chatting with their friends or typing away on a computer. And the employees? They had more to worry about then two nerdy regulars who for all appearances looked like they were having a romantic and private conversation.

"Can you at least just tell me why?" Chris whispers, his words choked as he continues to wipe away her tears. "Why now? What happened to make you think that we need a—" his m0uth moves but nothing comes out until he finally manages to force the word past the blockade in his throat "—a break."

Ashley leans into one of his palms and smiles at him sadly. "I know we both decided that we were gonna try and start school again in the winter semester, and that our admissions had already been accepted, so I was looking at dorm availabilities when you had fallen asleep last week. They only have a few single dorms and those are available only for married students. Which is fine, it's way too small to room two people at once for durations longer than a weekend. But it also turns out that there is no option for co-ed dorms, the school doesn't allow them. No exceptions."

"What? But, surely they must—"

She shakes her head. "No exceptions, they were very clear on that. I don't know how many times me or my mom or any of the doctors emailed them to try and explain the circumstances, but the response back was always the same. They 'feel sorry and understand how difficult this must be for us' but no exceptions means no exceptions. We either agree to separate dorms with roommates of the same gender or we have to find another set of lodgings."

"But that's...that's bullshit! So the thought of a boy and girl sharing a room apparently goes so far against their-their—what, good Christian values?—that giving our poor roommates nightmares while we scream ourselves to sleep is an acceptable alternative?!"

Ashley turns her head so she can leave a chaste kiss in the center of Chris's palm in an effort to calm him down, and decides to just stay and murmur her next words there. "I hate it too, but what other alternative is there? You know we can't get a place together, there's no possible way we could afford the rent for one."

"We can...we can..." Chris tries to find something, anything, he can say to make this not happen. "I can find a job, work and go to school or—"

"And we arrive back to the same problem, Chris. If we can't survive a separation at school, how are we supposed to do it when we're both out working as well, just so we can stay together. I don't want to do this anymore then you do Chris; I really really don't. You have no idea how much I don't want to do this, but we have to get used to not being able to see each other all the time. And I would rather do it on our terms then because the school or our roommates decided we can't."

Ashley's right, of course Ashley's right. It's Ashley Brown after all, she's always right, but he doesn't want her to be. Not about this. "Okay," he agrees instead, even as it feels like saying the word is stealing something away that he can't quite name. He hides this by lowering her head so he can place his lips on her forehead and say the words there instead. "Okay. Just-just tell me how long."

"A week." Chris feels something in his stomach turn into stone and sink to the bottom of his gut. He had been hoping for something like a day or two, not a full week. He isn't sure he can survive seven days without seeing her. "I-I thought long and hard about it, but a week. We're gonna have periods anyways where we won't be able to see each other because of exams or projects, so if we can manage a whole week then we can do those no problem."

"Are you sure that maybe we shouldn't, I don’t know, just build up to that? A day here, two days there, just so we can get used to it?"

Ashley shakes her head firmly enough that it jostles Chris's hands right off of her face, but keeps her hands in his anyways. "No. I want to get this over with. Prove to everyone, to ourselves, that we can do something as simple as this. I mean, we used to go periods all the time when we didn't see each other for ages, so what's so different about this?"

"Everything", Chris wants to say, "Everything's different now. It changed the moment we left that mountain behind." But he doesn't. He doesn't because he wants her to be right, that this is just a minor hiccup and if they can overcome this, then they can overcome anything. So with one last squeeze of her hands and a pained smile, he lets go and takes a sip of his coffee and grimaces at the taste. It's cold now, had probably gone cold a long time ago and he can tell from the shared frown on Ashley's face that hers has gone cold too.

With no reason for either of them to stay here now, they had only brought enough money for a single coffee each, it's pretty clear that their little coffee date is over. Neither of them say a word as they clean up their table and leave the cafe, their fingers intertwined as they usually are nowadays, but holding on tighter than usual. They separate only so they can get into Chris's truck, but the moment they settle into their seats, their hands find each other once again. And that's how Chris drives Ashley back to her mother's, hands gripping so tightly that they're fingers have turned white and not saying a single word the entire drive back. They never mentioned it, but neither of them have to. The moment they arrive at her place, then this is it. This will be the last time they're gonna see each other for an entire week, and the moment one of them speaks then any and all willpower they have to pull this off is going to be gone and they'll be back at where they started. They need to do this, even if neither of them want to.

It isn't until Chris pulls up in front and watches her let go of his hand to take off her seatbelt that it actually hits him. For the first time in six months, he's not going to be following her in. That he's going to continue the drive back to his own house alone. The realization shudders through him and he quickly finds himself fumbling at his own seatbelt clasp, and the moment he's free he's surging across the divide between them and taking Ashley's face in his hands as he kisses her like he's never going to be able to again. She doesn't hesitate to return the embrace either, throwing her arms around him and gripping onto him as though she never wants to let him go.

They spend what is probably far too long delaying the separation, but inevitably they do separate. And when they look at each other it's with tears in their eyes and their foreheads pressed so firmly together it's almost like they're trying to become one person.

"Just seven days, right? And that's it, we'll never have to do this again? You promise?"

Ashley doesn't say anything, she just nods and leans in for one last kiss, as though trying to memorize it and him for the coming week. And when she does pull away to leave, it's with her arms slowly untwining themselves from around Chris's neck, and then letting her fingers trail lightly over his shoulders, down his arms, and past his hands. Though she is stopped when Chris curls his fingers so that they catch on his, and doesn’t fight it as she watches wordlessly as he lifts them in front of his face and carefully lets the loose sleeves of her sweater drop so he can see the faint scars on her wrist that were left when the rope burns had healed. And as always, he makes no comment as softly places a kiss into the center of each wrist, followed by the palm, and then the tip of each finger, finally closing his eyes as he presses the back of her knuckles to his lips and holding her hands there. Just to remind himself that she was still here, that she hadn't died on Blackwood Mountain with all the rest.

He drops her hands when she pulls them back, but doesn't open his eyes when he feels her shaky fingers carefully remove his glasses and place them on the dashboard before returning her hands to his face in order to complete their little ritual. Gently, she traces the contours of his face with the pads of her thumbs, brushing them over his eyes, his nose, his lips, and following each with a soft kiss to the body part in question. Finishing as she always does by placing her lips in a closed mouth kiss to the area where his jaw and neck meet, and lingering just long enough so she can feel his pulse thrum beneath his skin. The minor burn from where he had once held the gun to his jaw had faded a long time ago, but he doesn't think that either will ever forget exactly where it used to be. And when she leans back, the usual expressions of relief and awe are hidden so far underneath the absolute heartbreak that they may as well not even exist. "I—" he starts, but stops just as quickly. It's far too overdue, but the timing isn't right. "I guess I'll see you next week then."

Ashley looks like she has something she wants to say, but instead reaches out to put Chris's glasses back on his face with shaking hands and as she opens the passenger door and gets out of the vehicle, she gives a weak smile. "Yeah, I...I'll see you then."

Chris just watches as she walks up to the building, gripping onto the steering wheel as hard as possible in an effort to hold himself back from trying to follow her into the building like every fibre of his being is screaming at him to do. And after sharing one last shaky and teary eyed smile from the top of the steps, Ashley unlocks the door and enters, leaving his sight for what feels like both the first time in forever, and the final time he'll ever get to see her.

He rushes the rest of the way home, and the moment he gets back he just about runs to his bedroom and hides under the covers of his bed, ignoring both the surprised greeting his mother sends his way and the inquiry about where Ashley is. He just wants to sleep.

The week will be over quicker that way.

***

By the end of the first day Ashley is ready to scream. Not because she misses Chris horribly (she does), or because waking up without Chris at her side had sent her into near hysterics (it did). She had expected these things after all, they were all things that she had to get used to again, he wasn't always going to be there with her after all. It still hurt—good god did it hurt—but all in all, it wasn't going terribly for the first day. She'd had no nightmares thankfully, and had spent most of the day reading, with some minor tidying up in her room and helping her mother around the house.

Oh no, the reason she was about to scream was her mother in question. Who after finding out why exactly Chris hadn't come home with her yesterday, and never made an appearance later on in the evening just before bed, had been frantic. Saundra wasn't angry, she didn't scream or yell or try to do anything that might set her daughter off, but she was being horribly insistent that maybe Ashely and Chris should have thought this through more. Asking why Ashley had never brought this up to her, and if she even mentioned that they were doing this to their doctors. She hadn't of course, because Ashley was fully aware that they would have done almost everything in their power to try and talk them out of it, telling them that the two of them weren't ready for separation of his magnitude yet. And of course neither of them were ready for this—they likely never would be—but it needed to be done if her and Chris had any hope of even trying to return to a normal lifestyle in time for them to return to college in January.

And, well, she was terrified about what would happen to them if they didn't. Sure it was deemed 'healthy' for now, as they tried and struggled to recover from what everyone around them said was a horribly traumatic series of events. But what about when it wasn't simply seen as healthy and therapeutic, but harmful and co-dependant? Ashley loved Chris, even if neither of them had said the words yet she felt it in her entire being everytime she looked at him, and the idea that one day they might grow to hate or resent each other for being unable to let go was too much. And so the completely necessary trial separation came into being. If they could prove that they could successfully be apart for something as short as a week, then this wasn't codependency in the making, it was healing pure and simple.

Now she just had to convince herself of that.

***

By early morning of the second day, Chris had finally admitted to himself what he had figured out a few short hours into his self-exiled bedrest: sleeping the week away when he had been finding it hard to sleep in general for months now was quite frankly going to be impossible. And so he had with great reluctance rolled himself out of his far too empty bed and into the shower, passing his own mother talking in hushed voices on the phone. Voices that quickly stopped the moment Lilith realized that her son was finally up and moving again, and then immediately confronting him afterwards and pleading that he tell her that nothing bad had happened between him and Ash. He weakly assures that everything's fine between them (it's not, everything is not fine, it won't be fine until she's by his side again), and that he'll talk to her after. The only thing he wants right now is a hot shower. Lilith lets him go reluctantly, but Chris is also very aware that the moment he steps foot into the bathroom, that she's going to be back on the phone with Saundra speaking in hushed and worried whispers.

The rest of the morning passes by in a haze of motherly questions—mixed with the occasional fatherly one every now and again just for spice—and a large breakfast that tastes and feels like ash in his mouth, and it bleeds into the afternoon, and then into the evening. Which finds Chris both bored out of his mind and desperate for a distraction as he digs through a pile of video games to try and find something to play. But everything he finds was either given to him by Ash, or ones the two of them had played together (if not both), so he abandons his search and instead finds himself out in the garage digging through dusty and broken down boxes until he finds the old playstation and games that his parents had gotten for him before he had ever met Ashley or...or...

Well, the point was he had a game now that carried no memories of anyone or anything except being six and terrible at video games. It does nothing to wipe away the loneliness and despair that covers him like a heavy blanket, but it's a start. An extremely stalled start to a race he wants nothing to do with, but a start nonetheless.

***

On day three, Ashley is starting to think that maybe her mom had been right and that this was such a stupid idea. Last night was especially bad. No matter how many blankets she had piled on her bed, no matter how many childhood stuffed animals she had shoved back on to fill up the empty space, none of it had helped. She had never felt so cold in her life and all the open space on the bed had made her feel like she was going to be swallowed up into the emptiness. In desperation she had started ripping the drawers from her dresser and throwing clothes from her closet, frantically holding back burning tears of frustration and the scream building up in her throat.

And then she found it. One of Chris's sweaters shoved half-hazardly away into a dark corner of her room under the bed, and had been forgotten about by the both of them until now. The immediacy with which she had fumbled to grab the thing and throw it on probably would have frightened her any other day, but with the tears finally flowing hot and heavy down her cheeks as she buried her face into the dark fibres, all she could feel was bone-crushing relief settling over her. Her room a mess she could deal with in the morning, Ashley had crawled into bed hugging herself and the sweater as close as she physically was able. She wasn't cold anymore, and the bed felt less empty too.

As long as she had a reminder that Chris was still alive, that she could still smell him even on this dusty and long-forgotten piece of clothing, then even if he wasn't physically here with her she could manage. And she would manage, she would. They were already halfway through the week after all, and she would prove to everyone—to herself—that they (she) could do this.

Ashley wears the sweater all the rest of the day once she wakes up.

***

In true Chris Hartley fashion, day four finds himself absolutely glued to the screen of his phone. Shortly after forcing down a small breakfast in an attempt to alleviate his worried parents' concern, he had spent what was probably a far too long amount of time in his text messages just staring at Ash's name. His thumbs hovering nervously over the keyboard as he fought with himself over and over again, debating if texting Ashley would be okay. Yes, the two of them had agreed that this 'break' (he hates the word, hates it hates it hates it with every fibre of his being) was needed if they wanted to try and get themselves ready for the separation that college life would inevitably bring, but that was to try and prepare themselves for not being able to see each other for long periods of time. They wouldn't be able to see each other during classes or during periods of intense studying and working on projects, but they would still be able to talk. Hell, his entire first year of college while she was still in high school had been just that. They hadn't been able to hang out in weeks, but they had still texted all the time.

So biting the bullet, Chris had gone ahead and texted Ash a quick and easy 'hey'. No 'miss you', no 'this was a terrible idea', no ' i wish you were here right now'. Just a simple 'hey' and then he stared at his phone, face pale and hands shaking as he waited to see what she would do. He didn't care if she would just send back a scathing reply about how he was breaking the rules by doing this, he just needed her to respond and reassure him that she was alright. That she was still alive and his insecurities were getting the best of him.

The phone rumbling softly in his hand was a godsend, and so too was the affirmative 'hi :)' that she had responded with. After that, it was as though the floodgates had opened. The two of them texted each other back and forth the entire rest of the day, her telling him about the books she had been reading as he told her about his adventures through late 90's and early 2000's gaming. They told each other what they had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They talked about everything and nothing and it was so blissfully normal that Chris wondered why on earth it had taken him this long to text her in the first place. He thinks that he was so used to just having her there with him all the time, that the idea that they could still text hadn't even crossed his mind.

There are things he doesn't tell her of course. That the idea of falling asleep without knowing she's next to him and safe is so ludicrous that he had stopped trying, only sleeping in small, unintended fits that leave him feeling even worse than before. That despite at least continuing to eat, the food tastes like nothing and he can only manage a few bites before excusing himself. And what little he does eat almost always manages to come back up during the night, though thankfully when his parents are both sleeping (he doesn't want them to worry more than they already are). Chris doesn't want to worry Ashley, not when it seems like she's managing this whole seven-day long affair better than he is so far. If she can do this, then so can he.

So no matter how many times his thumb hovers over the call icon in the corner, he does not press it. Texting will have to be enough, he knows that the moment he hears her voice then every single shred of resolution he has built up will crumble in seconds and he'll be driving as fast as he can so he can see her again. And they're already four days deep into their seven days, the last thing he wants is for Ashley to decide that they need to start all this over from the top again.

***

Ashley is comfortable in her bed, more comfortable than she's ever felt in her life honestly. Chris's arm is draped heavily over her waist, and his breath is warm on the back of her neck as he peacefully naps the afternoon away. His body is solid against her back and she feels so, so safe and so, so loved as she continues to read her book, a favourite of hers that she had read cover to cover a million times but always felt like coming home in its warm familiarity. Contentedly, she flips a page and snuggles back further into Chris's body and she feels something warm and wet drip onto her neck.

"Chriiiiiiis," she groans, but not without an edge of laughter, "wake up. You're drooling on me, you dip." He doesn't move, and Ashley repositions herself a little, made difficult by the weight of his arm over her, and jabs her elbow into his gut. "I'm serious you dork, wake up. I swear to god, you sleep like the de—" The words die in her throat in horror when she turns her head to face him.

His head isn't there. Nothing is there. Just dark blood pouring hot and heavy from the open space above his neck, staining the fur lining his coat and the once clean, white snow as the blizzard rages around her. Desperate to prove that this isn't real, that it can't be real, she fumbles for the hand that hangs limp at her waist and threads her fingers through his, but his fingers are cold to the touch and black with frostbite, and no matter how hard she squeezes he isn't squeezing back. She's fully aware that she's openly crying and sobbing as she repeats his name over and over, begging him to wake up and tell her that this isn't real. Her tears are freezing on her cheeks the moment they fall.

From deep within the treeline, a high-pitched shriek that rattles the teeth in her mouth echoes long and loud around the wide, open snow-covered space.

Cries and nausea alike stick in her throat as she tries frantically to wiggle out from Chris's body, but his arm is a dead weight that keeps her pinned in place against him. "C'mon, Chris. We need to go. We need to hide. Get up, please please please get up."

There's a soft thump of a large body landing in the snow far off to the right, unseen but not unheard, and she freezes in place. Hoping and praying that the thing won't see them as she huddles in closer to the protection that Chris's body is offering, her blood stained fingers tightening painfully on his limp hand and around the leather bound journal she is still holding in her other. In fear she buries her face into the snow beneath her, the cold biting at her skin and the metallic taste of Chris's spilt blood filling her mouth and nose. For a moment, there's nothing. No sound except for the wind whistling through the trees as the snow whips wildly around them.

And then Chris is gone. The comforting and yet horrifying weight he had been is just gone as he's suddenly flung through the air and colliding into a tree with a sickening crunch. Her hand had been gripping onto his so fiercely and so tightly that she had been pulled with him for just a second before his hand had been violently ripped out of her grasp. Leaving Ashley to stare wide-eyed and terrified into the face of the thing—its body too long and spindly with far too many sharp angles to be considered human—standing above her as she lays on her back. Milky-white eyes gaze back down unseeingly at her and Chris's blood is dripping from sharp, deadly claws that splatter onto her face. The thing opens its mouth to showcase row upon row of crooked and yellowed razor-sharp teeth and it screams at her, spittle flying into Ashley's face as her ears ring and ring and ring.

Too scared to cry, too scared to move, Ashley just wishes that Chris was still here with her and not lying broken and mangled and headless at the foot of a tree as he continues to slowly bleed out into the crisp white snow. A small little whimper, barely louder than the whisper of wind blowing through grass and certainly going unheard in this howling blizzard, escapes past her lips but it's enough. In a flash, the same deadly claws are raking towards her face to rip her head off in the same way it had to Chris.

And Ashley screams.

She screams and screams and screams, and screams only louder when a pair of hands cradle her face and a voice begs and pleads with her to wake up. Ashley tries to fight back against the hands and the voice, screaming for Chris to wake up and help her, but her own words keep getting caught on the blood that is bubbling out of her mouth. There's another scream, this one not her own, and then the hands have moved to try and open her mouth but she won't let them. She doesn't want her jaw ripped off like what had happened to poor Jess. Like what she had seen in the pictures that the rangers had shown her and Chris so they could identify the half naked body discovered in the mines. So she fights back even harder, trying to claw at the person or thing that killed Chris and Jess and everyone else. And then there's a cry of pain, and the hands on her face have vanished, appearing around her wrists so they could try and hold her panicked flailing back.

The moment the hands appear on her wrists, Ashley's eyes fly open and she can't breathe. She can't breathe because she's hanging in the shed, the wood cold against her back as saws whir menacingly both in front and above her as Josh hangs limpy next to her. The lower half of his body an impossible mess on the floor and the grey intestines that had managed to stay in his upper half hanging down towards it like grotesque party streamers. From behind the steel chain link fence that partitions the room, Chris stands looking straight at her as he holds a gun to his jaw, his face pale as he smiles shakily at her and pulls the trigger.

Somehow, the scream that finally manages to break through is louder than all the rest.

There's more begging and pleading that she can't make out against the loud mechanical whir of the saws. And then a phone chimes, only just managing to cut through all the screaming and whirring and echoes of gunshots. And then it chimes again, louder this time. And again. And again. And she realizes that she recognizes it, it's the ringtone that Chris had set on her phone for his contact ages and ages ago as a joke, and she had just kept forgetting to change it back until it just became his notification, joke or not.

Slowly, the shed fades away until all she's left seeing is her mother standing in her brightly lit bedroom, screaming at someone through her phone. But all Ashley is paying attention to is the repeated chimes going off constantly on her phone one after another, the screen never getting the chance to go dark before another text comes in, and Chris's name appearing for every single one.

Saundra seems to notice that her daughter has finally stopped screaming, and although she continues to plead with whoever it is on the phone with her, she reaches out a hesitant and unsure hand. Ashley notices none of this as blood continues to dribble slowly out of her mouth as she picks up and unlocks her phone.

***

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong and it isn't the fact that Chris is kneeling over the toilet as he retches into it for the second time tonight. Oh no, the something wrong is due to the fact that despite it being past midnight he can hear his mom trying frantically to calm someone down on the phone. It was the phone ringing that had woken him up in fact from where he had accidentally dozed off on the couch, waking up to find the old playstation controller hanging loose in his fingers and Crash idly spinning a piece of wumpa fruit on his finger in all his polygonal glory. Chris had dropped the controller the rest of the way to the floor in his rush to the bathroom though, startling poor Toby from where he had been snoozing the night away in his dog bed. He had only barely made it before he found himself throwing up what little food he had been able to eat during the day, and the coolness of the porcelain against is forehead was a balm of relief when compared to the burning in his throat and heat of his tears as they flowed slowly down his face.

He could tell the moment that Lilith had found him from the surprised cry of alarm behind him, quickly followed by a clatter as she dropped the phone to the linoleum floor in her shock as she reached out to take her son's face in her hands. Chris knew that he must have looked a dreadful sight, his face pale and drawn while his eyes looked at her with a glassy stare. The next second, she was yelling over her shoulder for his father to wake up now and turn on the car, but Chris wasn't paying any attention to that. Not when he was just starting to make out the sound of the voice through the phone, and more importantly, the screaming in the background of the call.

That was Ashley's scream. It was a sound he didn't think he would ever be allowed to forget and it hit him that she was screaming—screaming for him—and he wasn't there.

Clumsily, he ripped his face from his mother's hands and stumbled to the living room where he had left his phone on the couch. He had to help her. She needed him and he had to help her. The moment he finally had his phone in his hand he pulled up her contact name...and then he froze unsure of what to do. He couldn't call her, not because of this whole stupid break thing, but because the sound of her voice sobbing on the phone will cause him to break down with her and the last thing either of them need is to scream and cry while they're both so, so far away from each other. So he does the next best thing he can do:

He texts her.

C: what does a cloud wear under his raincoat? C: thunderwear C: why are teddy bears never hungry? C: cause they're always stuffed C: why do ducks have tail feathers? C: to cover up their buttquacks C: what kind of shoes do private investigators wear? C: sneak-ers C: why do i never tell jokes about pizza? C: they're too cheesey

And on and on and on. Even as his fingers shake he continues to text her stupid little jokes. The same ones he tells to her when he's there to hold her in his arms and remind her that he's still okay and that she’s safe. There's no describing the sob of relief he makes when she finally responds.

C: prime-mates C: what event do spiders love to attend? A: Cats C: webbings

There's a moment where he doesn't know what she means by that. How on earth could cats be the pun he was looking for in the joke? And then it hits him. She needs to know that it's really him telling these jokes and that she's not just making up everything she's seeing on her phone. Ashley is asking for the stupidest jokes about cats he knows so she can confirm that it's really him on the phone. Even tired as he is—and he is so so tired—they come naturally to him as only talking with Ashley and middle school dad jokes ever did.

C: what's a cat's favourite colour? C:purr-ple C: what do you call a cat that loves to bowl? C: an alley cat C: what's a cat's favourite tv show? C: claw and order C: what does the cat say after making a joke? C: just kitten

And so on and so forth. Ashley throws out a new topic for jokes and Chris replies with them as quickly as he can. He can hear his mom and dad talking in the next room, to each other and Saundra on the phone, but the only person he cares about is the one on the other side of his. He needs to call her. He knows what Ashley needs when she has a nightmare this bad, and the jokes are helping but she needs to hear his voice to be truly convinced that he's okay. But he can't hear hers without making things so much worse than they already are and he doesn't know what to say that would calm her down and—he stares at the last joke he had just typed out unconsciously it hits him.

C: what did the two volcanoes say to each other? C: i lava you C: i'm going to call your phone but whatever you do don't answer it C: just let it go to voicemail and please don't answer it C: please

Chris doesn't wait for her response as he shoves past his father to his bedroom, ignoring the startled shout as he slams the door behind him, and slumps against it to the floor. He doesn't want his parents to hear this. It's not anything that would worry them, but it's so so private and the only person he wants to hear this is Ash. He still doesn't look at her response as he frantically taps the call button and listens to the phone ring. And ring. And ring. And ring. And ring. And then, finally, he hears her voice for the first time in nearly a week.

"Hi, this is Ashley. Sorry I can't come to the phone right now but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Promise!"

***

Please enter your password.

6279#

You have one new voice message. To play your messages, press one. To record—

1

"I love you. I'm so sorry that I'm not there so say it to your face but I love you so much that I can't fucking stand it somedays and I should have told you ages ago. I should have said it five days ago but I didn't. I should have been saying it to you before falling asleep and after waking up every day. On the helicopter ride down the mountain. When you kissed me for the first time. I think I was lying when I said that nothing was wasted between us, because I should have been screaming this to you from the first moment you smiled at me. I wasted so much time not telling you this so I'm going to say it now. I love you, I love you, I love you, I lo—"

To replay this message: press one. To go to—

1

"I love you. I'm so sorry that I'm not there so say it to your face but I love you so much that I can't fucking stand it somedays and I should have told you ages ago. I should have said something five days ago but I didn't. I should have been saying it to you before falling asleep every night and after waking up every morning. On the helicopter ride down the mountain. When you kissed me for the first time. I think I was lying when I said that nothing was wasted between us, because I should have been screaming this to you from the first moment you smiled at me over that diner's table. I wasted so much time not telling you this so I'm going to say it now. I love you, I love you, I love you, I lo—"

1

"I love you. I'm—"

1

"I love you."

1

"I love you."

1

"I love you."

1

"I love you. I'm so sorry that I'm not there so say it to your face but I love you so much that I can't fucking stand it somedays and I should have told you ages ago. I should have said something five days ago but I didn't. I should have been saying it to you before falling asleep every night and after waking up every morning. On the helicopter ride down the mountain. When you kissed me for the first time. I think I was lying when I said that nothing was wasted between us, because I should have been screaming this to you from the first moment you smiled at me over that diner's table. I wasted so much time not telling you this so I'm going to say it now. I love you, I love you, I love you, I lo—"

To replay this message: press one. To go to the previous message: press one one. To pause during message playback: press two. To fast forward a message during playing: press three. To hear this message, and the time it was delivered: press five. To copy this message to another person: press six. To erase this message and go to the next: press seven. To reply: press eight. To save this message and go to the next: press nine. To—

9

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A: I need you A: Please A: Please A: I need you A: I need you A: I need you

Please enter your password.

***

The car ride over was almost unbearable. Chris wasn't driving himself fortunately, with how tired and anxious he had been feeling for days now it would have been an absurdly stupid idea that likely would have ended in his death if he wasn't extremely lucky. As it was, he had been ready to go and beg a ride from his parents but had found Gabe already standing by the front door with the keys in hand. His almost pure white hair messy from being pulled from bed unexpectedly and leveling Chris with a glare that brooked no argument. It wasn't an argument that Chris intended to fight against as he hugged his father hard in thanks before climbing into the back of the vehicle.

But the drive had felt so much longer than it usually did, and Ashley having stopped responding to his texts certainly hadn't helped matters any. He still sent them anyways, more for his own reassurance than hers now. Lilith sat in the passenger seat next to her husband, still talking on the phone to Saundra to give progress reports and reassurances that yes the three of them were on their way now, even as she sent the occasional nervous glances at Chris in the backseat. Though worried for him or for the car upholstery in case the movement of the vehicle set off his gag reflex was anyone's guess.

The moment Chris felt the vehicle slow down his eyes jumped to the window and saw the familiar and welcoming shape of Ashley's building and he was already fumbling with seatbelt and opening the car door before they had even fully stopped. He hears his parent's cry out in shock as he dives out the still moving (even if very slowly) vehicle and he's stumbling towards the door. Chris realizes in horror that in his hurry to leave he had managed to completely forget his keys by the front door, and in the time it takes him to realize that the door has already opened. Saundra is standing in front of him dressed up for her overnight shift at the dispatch center that she is now extremely late for, and phone held up to her ear as she stares at him with wide eyes.

Chris doesn't even bother to say thanks or remark about the deep scratches on her cheek, the pair still bleeding just a little, before he's shoving his way past her and up the stairs to where Ashley's room is. He trips on the last step and falls forward, his phone skittering across the floor, but leaves it once he gets to his feet and just about barges into her room.

He takes barely a moment to stare at Ashley huddled up on her bed, looking so small in his dark sweater, and her eyes squeezed shut as her phone is pressed as close to her ear as possible as she rocks back and forth. There's a thin streak of dried blood from her mouth all the way down her chin and her eyes fly open in shock when he takes an unsteady step towards her. For a split second he's too scared to move, he doesn't want to frighten her anymore than she already is, but then the phone drops from her fingers and she whimpers out his name like she can’t believe he’s really here and he breaks.

He's already fully crying as he collides into her on the bed, but so is she so there's no need to feel embarrassed about that. He can hear his own voice as a tinny facsimile from the phone as the voicemail continues to play out before starting off into the electronic drone of the operator, but he ignores it for the feel of Ashley's arms wrapped firmly around him, her hands clawing into the back of his shirt to try and hold him closer as they both sob bitterly into each others shoulders. Chris is the first to pull back, though it's just so he can hold her face in his hands as he presses their foreheads together, thumbs wiping away tears that won't stop falling even as he continues to cry himself, just soaking in her presence in front of him. Ashley takes no time for her hands to start roaming all over his skin when they snake underneath his shirt, just feeling the unmarked bare skin as she searches for wounds and marks that no longer exist or have never even existed in the first place.

The two of them sit there like that for an unknown amount of time, just confirming that the other is truly alive and safe. Until Ashley slowly removes her hands from under his shirt so she can drag him down and forward into a deep kiss. A kiss that is by all accounts is downright awful considering that Chris never got the chance to rinse out his mouth and all he can taste is the blood in Ashley's from where she had bit her tongue during her nightmare at some point. Neither of them care. And he still doesn't care when Ashley starts to leave what may very well be slightly bloody kisses as she trails her lips from his mouth to the corner of his lips, across his cheek, and down his jaw until she finds the spot she's looking for and stops there so she can feel his frantic pulse thrumming beneath the skin. She holds her mouth there for what many would likely consider to be an uncomfortably long amount of time, but Chris says nothing. Not when he's now too busy picking up where Ashley had let off, letting his hands skate over the area of her stomach and waist beneath her shirt and his sweater.

The moment the two of them have calmed down enough that the sobs have lessened into quiet tears, Ashley finally removes her lips from his jaw and lowers one of her hands so she can place it flat on his chest and can feel his heart thumping steadily beneath her hand. Chris lets a hand cover hers to hold it there while he carefully places the other on the back of her neck, this thumb soothingly rubbing back and forth to comfort her. And gently, so gently, he brings their foreheads back together as they let the last of their adrenaline run out.

She's safe. He's safe. They're both safe and that is all that matters right now.

"I'm sorry," Ashley is the first to speak and words catch and almost shatter on the way out. "I'm so sorry. This was such a stupid idea and—"

He doesn't disagree with her. This had been a terrible idea from the start and while she's not wrong that they need to get used to not being around all the time, this was too much too soon. For both of them it seems. "I can't do that again Ash," he says instead. "We'll figure something out. Make agreements with our dorm roommates if we have to, force the college heads to accept our emails and the doctors advice, or rent the shittiest and cheapest apartment we can find. I don't care. We'll figure it out, but I can't do that again Ash. I love you but I can't."

Ashley nods weakly against his head in agreement. She can't do it again either. The two of them had barely lasted five days after all, and this whole failed endeavour had probably sent them back months. "I love you too. I love you so so much. You can't leave me, Chris, please. You can't. Not tonight."

He has no intention to, he doesn't know what his parents intended bringing him here, or if they thought he'd be going back home with them after this, but he's not going anywhere. They'll have to drag him kicking and screaming from the bed if they try, and now that the adrenaline has finally worn off, the lack of sleep he'd been having the last five days is hitting him and he is just so, so very tired. So tired, that all he gives in reply is just a reassuring forehead kiss in promise that he won't be going anywhere, not for a long time if he can help it, and then starts to bring Ashley down so she can lay on the bed with him. She follows without a fight.

It only takes them a moment to settle, Ashley laying so her front is flush to his back as is physically possible with her arm draped over his waist and fingers threaded tightly through his. Chris takes her other hand so he can softly kiss her inner wrist and then holds the knuckles lightly to his lips. The two of them slowly drifting off as Ashley continues to softly whisper declarations of love into the back of his neck.

Chris's eyes are closed, just enjoying her whispers that are meant just for him to hear, and even then he can tell that someone is standing in the door and watching them. But even if he opened his eyes to see who it was, with his glasses now resting in their spot on Ashley’s bedside table, he wouldn’t be able to tell anyway. And he’s just far too exhausted to even try right now. It’s only her mom anyway, or one of his parents—quite possibly all three of them—and he knows that come morning and after hours and hours of sleep, that there are going to be some conversations and intense worried scolding that need to be had. But with Ashley's fingers squeezing around his, and him squeezing back just as firmly, he doesn't care.

For the first time in a little over five days, the two of them fall asleep peacefully. Secure and content in the knowledge that they’re not gonna have to do this again, not for a very, very long time.

[tngrace]

Firey Situation

TK & Carlos's apartment complex catches on fire trapping Carlos inside.

Pt 3 of my Tarlos College AU Series. Thanks as always to @moviegeek03 & @justkillingtimewhileiwait for their constant support on my writing. It means the world. 

Tarlos/911 LS Masterlist; Read on A03

TK had been on shift for the last twenty-four hours. The calls hadn't been too terrible, but he was exhausted and missed his boyfriend. Carlos had sent him a couple of selfies in their texts throughout the last twenty-fours hours, but it wasn't the same as seeing him in person. He knew Carlos was at home asleep even though it was only eight pm. He'd had a long day of classes and he'd text TK that practice had been brutal. TK thought Carlos’s allergies were acting up and he just didn't want to admit it, so he was hoping his boyfriend was getting some much needed rest.

When B shift arrived, TK slung his bag on his shoulder and headed out. He was very much looking forward to crashing alongside Carlos once home. What he wasn't expecting was to pull into their complex to see fire and smoke. Adrenaline kicked in faster than he thought possible, and he was out of the car heading for the crowds of people searching for Carlos. He was single-minded in his desire to find him. When he couldn't, when he didn't see those curls and brown eyes he loved so much, he ran for their apartment.

It was a challenge getting through the crowds, but non-ems personnel didn't even try to stop him. When he saw the front door already engulfed, he did his best to bite back a sob. He looked around one more time to make sure he hadn't just missed Carlos, but he still didn't see him. He ran around the back of the building; they had a back door and a window, and when both were still closed, TK felt his heart sinking. "Carlos," he screamed, the smoke outside already starting to get to him without proper equipment. He screamed his boyfriend's name again, but was once again only met with the sounds of the fire eating the building, the smoke alarms, and the sirens.

He knew all the firefighters would be out front working on putting out the fire and making sure all the apartments were empty. He knew no one would notice him on the backside of the apartments. He did his best to look through the window, not able to get in the backdoor having left his keys in his car. He banged on the window screaming Carlos’s name but nothing. He had to stop a few times to cough, but then he saw it. Carlos was laying in the hallway floor not moving.

TK's heart kicked into overdrive; he couldn't lose him. He just couldn't. He finds the largest rock he can and throws it through the window. His heart is racing, and the little smoke he is breathing in is almost too much. He takes his hoodie off and wraps his hand clearing away as much glass as possible. He grips the edges heaving himself up into the window. He just barely fits but he makes it. The living area is totally engulfed and creeping closer to his unconscious boyfriend.

He screams Carlos’s name as he rights himself in the back hallway, but Carlos never moves. There's no telling how much smoke he's inhaled. He scrambles to Carlos’s side once he's on his feet; he checks for a pulse first thing, relieved to find one, even if it's faint. He maneuvers Carlos over his shoulder and then he's headed for the back door. He throws it open just as the fire reaches where they just were. He gets Carlos outside breathing in his own fresh air. He's not sure how he got from their back door to the front of the complex so quickly, but the next thing he knows he's yelling for a gurney.

The next little bit passes in a blur for TK. They’re both loaded into an ambulance and taken to the hospital. TK tries to stay with Carlos, but they get seperated when TK needs to be checked out himself. He has some minor cuts from the window on his arms, and they put him on a little oxygen to help clear up the smoke he inhaled. He tries to get updates on Carlos, but he’s not his boyfriend’s emergency contact. That would be Carlos’s parents, and TK doesn’t know them. They’d never thought to change their contacts, never thinking they would have a need for it. TK is released in a couple of hours, and he moves to the waiting room unable to leave. He needs to see Carlos, needs to know he’s ok. He's been sitting there about an hour when Judd and Grace appear in front of him. TK gives him a confused look before Grace is pulling him up into a hug. TK is still getting used to relying on his fire fam, but he loves Grace and Judd treats him just like a brother.

"How?" He manages to get out when Grace passes him off for a hug from Judd.

"I took the call earlier, and we've known the Reyes family a while," she says when they sit down with TK between them.

"Of course," he murmurs as he runs his hands up and down his thighs. "I don't…. I haven't… we…"

"It's ok. Just take a breath," Judd tells him as he rubs a hand up TK's back to calm him.

TK gulps in a big breath and slowly let's it out. "I haven't heard how he is. He was… he was unconscious when I got him out. We haven't, we never changed our contacts so I can't get any information on him." His voice is almost a wounded whimper making Judd and Grace share a look.

Grace pats TK's arm and then she's up and moving. "You got him out?" Judd questions softly.

TK nods. "Yea I got home from shift, and the whole place was in flames. I couldn't… I couldn't find him so I went in."

"Without gear?! TK have you been checked out?!"

"Yea. Yes.. I was released about an hour ago. They cleaned the cuts I got from climbing in the window and made me stay on oxygen for an hour."

"Why didn't you call one of us?!"

TK looks at him like he's grown a second head. "We just got off a twenty-four. I wasn't bothering any of you."

"TK," Judd groans, running a hand down his face.

TK huffs and turns his attention back to trying to find Grace.

"Family calls family no matter what. You haven't slept either. Next time call ok?"

TK just stares at Judd for the longest as the reality of finally having a real family sinks into his exhausted worried brain. "Ok," he whispers with a nod. Judd ruffles his hair and TK is too tired to stop him. They sit in silence til Grace returns. "Come on," she says motioning for them to follow.

"Where are we going?" TK asks nervously, but he jumps up to follow her.

"You are going to see your boy," she tells him in that nonsense way only Grace can perfect.

TK stops dead making Judd run into him with an oooff. "TK," he grunts managing to keep them both upright. Grace turns around giving them both an unimpressed look. "Is there a problem boys?"

"I don't think they know Carlos and I are together. I mean… I don't… we haven't talked in detail… but he just… I can't."

"You can and you are," Grace counters, grabbing his hand. She's careful with his injuries, but she tugs him on. "You're his roommate right? If nothing else roommates check on roommates."

She leads him to Carlos’s room. Carlos is on oxygen and ivs, luckily he escaped without any burns. His parents are on one side of the bed, his dad's arm around his mom's shoulders keeping her close. TK can tell she's been crying. "Gabriel, Andrea, this is TK. He's Carlos’s roommate, and the one who got him out," Grace says quietly as Judd props up in the doorway as Grace drags TK further into the room. He's staring at her like she's crazy that she offered up that little tidbit, but she just shrugs and pushes him closer to Carlos’s parents before stepping back by Judd's side.

Andrea pulls him into a tight hug and repeatedly thanks him. "No thanks needed," TK tells her quietly. "Your son is amazing and means a lot to me. He'd do it for me."

Before they can say anymore, Carlos makes a whining noise catching all their attention. TK goes to step towards him before remembering he's just a friend in this instance. He let's Gabriel and Andrea surround him, and he barely holds in a gasp when Carlos’s first wheezy breath is TK's name. TK freezes as all eyes turn to him. Carlos wheezes TK's name again; "Shhh hijo, él está aquí*," Andrea murmurs as she runs a hand through his hair. His eyes are searching for him as Andrea replaces his oxygen mask. "I'll get the doctor," Gabriel says as he heads out the door. Andrea holds out her hand to TK to come closer so Carlos can see him.

"I'm here," TK says softly coming up on the other side of the bed opposite Andrea. "You're ok Carlos." He gives him a watery smile and grabs his hand before Carlos can connect with his face. He gives it a pat and then lays it back on the bed as Carlos scrunches his forehead at him in confusion.

"You rest. I'm gonna…. I'll go see if anything was salvageable from the apartment and let you know."

Before Carlos can say anymore TK is out the door. He doubles over in the hallway panting for air as tears stream down his cheeks. "Ok. Come on you're going to get some sleep," Judd says as he rubs TK's back. He knows it's hard only being Carlos’s friend that moment, and they've both been through a lot. "We'll sort the apartment later." He doesn't give TK a chance to protest, just leads him out to their truck with Grace following. Judd stops by the apartment complex and gets TK's duffle and keys from the jeep. It's hard seeing their home in ruins, but at this point he's too exhausted. He dozes off in the truck and only wakes when Judd shakes him awake. He takes his bag with a thanks, and follows Grace to the spare bedroom. He kicks his shoes off and falls face first into the bed. He let's the tears fall until he falls asleep.

The doctor checks Carlos over after Gabriel informed them he was awake. His eyes kept straying towards the door hoping TK would come back. They want to leave him on oxygen for a while longer and tell him he needs to rest and let his body heal. Carlos is too tired to question his parents on where TK went, and he falls back into a fitful sleep. The next time he wakes his parents are murmuring quietly over food. He still doesn't see TK, and it's really stressing him out. He doesn't know if TK was injured as well. He doesn't know where he's staying. He needs TK. He does his best to push himself up, but his body still feels exhausted. "hijo fácil. Qué ocurre?" Gabriel asks, having seen Carlos trying to move.

"TK?" Where's TK?" He asks before Andrea is putting the oxygen mask back over his face. Gabriel and Andrea share a knowing look. They had gathered from the brief visit with TK that he was more than just a friend to their son. "He's at the Ryders. He's resting. Judd said he was exhausted."

Carlos keeps looking between them; he knows what they're saying is true, TK had worked a twenty-four, but he needs to see him. "I'll call Judd," Gabriel says reading his son so easily. Andrea continuously strokes her hand through his curls to help relax him. A nurse and doctor cycle through to check on him. They step him down to a cannula and are hopeful they'll be able to release him tomorrow.

Once the doctor and nurse are gone, Andrea sits on the edge of the bed and resumes her hand stroking through his hair. "Carlitos you know you can tell us anything right?" She asks so softly. The look of panic on her son's face breaks her heart. "Baby. We love you, so much."

"I… I know." He won't meet her eyes as he fiddles with the blanket. "What…" he clears his throat and she holds some water for him to sip. "Gracias, mamà."

She gives him a nod and squeezes his hand for him to continue. "What do you think I have to tell you?"

Andrea let's out a soft sigh and before she can answer Gabriel returns. "Judd says TK is sleeping. Says he hasn't moved since he hit the bed. He'll wake him if you want, or as soon as TK's awake they'll go get his jeep and he can come down."

"It's fine," Carlos says shaking his head and clearing his throat once more. He inhaled quite a bit of smoke and it's taking some getting used to the hoarseness and scratchiness of his voice. Andrea gets him to drink more water as she shares another look with Gabriel. Carlos is too tired to deal right now, so after thanking his mother once more, he drifts back off. He wakes a couple of hours later, and his parents are still there. Andrea checks to make sure he’s feeling ok, and he gives her a nod. He can still feel the tension from their previous conversation, and he knows they're going to have to discuss it before TK gets there. “Mama? What were you thinking I had to tell you earlier?”

Andrea and Gabriel move closer, one on each side of his bed. Andrea runs her hand through his hair; it’s always calmed him, and she hates seeing this tension her son is carrying. “TK’s more than a friend, si?” Gabriel says just as soft Andrea had been talking earlier.

Carlos stares at his dad wide eyed; his body unconsciously tensed, panic flowing through him. He should’ve known though that his dad would be the one to figure it out. “It’s ok Carlitos. It’s ok,” Andrea says trying to help him relax.

“Si,” he barely whispers. “He’s… he’s my b…. B.. boyfriend. We met at ACC. He’s a dual certified EMT and firefighter. He works at the 126 with Judd.” He won’t look at them the whole time he’s rambling. He knows they love him, that’s never changed, but after he came out, they never said another word about it. He’s never brought anyone home to meet them, not that there’s been many to bring home, but he can’t lie to them about TK. Not when he knows they figured it out.

“Are you happy? Does he make you happy?” Andrea asks, picking up on her son’s nerves.

“So very much,” he doesn’t hesitate.

“That’s all we’ve ever wanted hijo. We just want you happy,” this coming from Gabriel.

Carlos finally looks up at them, tears swimming in his eyes. “You… you never said anything,” he hiccups, his breath catching on a sob. Andrea gives him some more water and then she pulls him into a hug to try and calm him. His breathing still isn’t the best, but the oxygen helps; she just doesn’t want him to stress himself out too much.

“We thought you would want things to go on like normal. Nothing changed for us. We didn’t realize that by not talking about it, we were hurting you,” Andrea said softly wiping at her own eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos whispers to which both his parents shush him. He hates seeing his mom upset though.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for son. Nothing at all,” Gabriel reassures. “How do we make this better?” he asks Carlos as Andrea wipes her eyes.

“Just be here, talk to me, love me,” Carlos says with a soft smile.

“Done,” they say at the same time.

They let Carlos rest for a few more hours before TK shows up. Carlos properly introduces TK to his parents, and he manages to catch his boyfriend when TK falls into his arms in tears. The last forty-eight hours had been really stressful on him, and he’s so glad to be back in his arms. Andrea and Gabriel leave for the night with the promise to return with breakfast. They also offered to let the boys stay at the ranch until they decide what they’re going to do for housing. Carlos feels like he’s living in a dream, but he couldn’t be happier. He and TK talk about everything that happened after his parents leave. He kisses TK in thanks for saving him, before softly lecturing him about coming in without gear. “I couldn’t leave you. You mean too much to me. I can’t live without you Carlos.”

“I can’t live without you either TK.”

Carlos is discharged the next day with an inhaler just in case. The doctor is almost positive his lungs are clear enough not to need it, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. TK promises to keep an eye on him, and Carlos gives him an affection eye roll knowing TK will be hovering for a little bit. They take his parents up on their offer to stay at the ranch just until they figure out their next move. Things aren’t perfect with his parents but it's a start, and with TK by his side, he knows they can tackle anything that comes their way.

*shhh son he's here

**easy son. What's wrong

[ethereousdelirious]

The bitch is back!!!! Finally!!!!

Fandom: C.ritical R.ole: E.xandria Unlimited

Characters: All except [spoiler for most recent episode]

Pairing: N/A

Tropes: College AU except with D&D races still

Summary: D.orian insists he's too sick to perform in the university's battle of the bands, then changes his mind and goes anyway. He was right the first time.

Notes: I was gonna take this in a different direction and make it longer, but I ran out of time and I really wanted to have it out today, so. Ta-da.

"I told you," Dorian rasped, pulling the covers over his head as if to shield himself from his friends' expectations, "I can't."

Dariax and Opal whined in tandem, nearly harmonizing through sheer, random chance. "C'mon, bud," Dariax pushed, "you're not that sick."

"Are you serious?" Dorian threw the covers off, the better to glare at his friend. "I have a 102-degree fever. I'm not doing it."

"A fever is good!" Opal said brightly, though her voice was a little muffled, as she was hiding the lower half of her face in her shirt to fend off Dorian's germs. "It means your body is healing."

"No, it means I feel like shit and I'm not going anywhere." Dorian huffed out a sigh that left his chapped lips stinging and scooted down the bed so he could lie down properly. His stuffed-up sinuses protested at the change, but he stubbornly ignored the throbbing and the post-nasal drip.

"Ohhh, I get it," said Dariax in a tone that suggested he very much did not get it. "So you'll come if you feel better?"

"Sure, Dariax." Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, wishing that his friends would take the hint and go away. Exhaustion made all his limbs feel heavy, made the idea of keeping his eyes open for even another second feel like the keenest of agonies. He shivered beneath his blankets despite the fever painting his cheeks an angry purple.

"You heard the man," Dariax said, turning to Opal. "Time to nurse Dorian back to health."

"You can't cure the flu in a day," Dorian said. The cough finally caught up with him and he rolled over, shaking with the force of it, covering his mouth with his hands. "Oh, god." He really felt awful and still, Dariax and Opal just weren't getting the message. Dorian flopped back over, gesturing weakly for one of them to hand him the glass of water on his nightstand. 

"Sure, we can buddy!" Dariax, seeing Dorian reaching out, took his hand in both of his own. "Let's see, how about I go make you some awesome healing tea, and Opal can…"

"I'll get all that hair out of your face," Opal said. Dorian's gradient locks were stuck all over his face, black and white strands plastered to his cheeks and stuck to his lips. 

"Great," said Dariax, making for the door. "Dorian, you're in good hands."

Dorian had never been more sure in his life that he was going to die. Leaving Opal to poke around his room for hair ties and a comb, he forced himself to roll over and grab the water glass. He was shaking so badly he could barely hold himself up to drink and even that slight movement took enormous amounts of effort. "Opal," he said, letting the glass fall as he flopped back onto his pillows. "If you're gonna stay, can you please--" He muffled a few explosive coughs behind his lips, sniffled. "Can you please get me some more water?"

"Sure!" said Opal, letting her shirt fall away from her face. "Maybe I should get you a plastic cup, though. 'Cause you don't wanna be cleaning up broken glass later if you drop this one. Do you have any plastic cups?"

"I dunno." Dorian hid his face in his hands, trying to rub away his headache. He had never considered Opal's voice annoying before, but now her words rattled in his head, drawing throbbing pain in their wake. "Orym might." That gave him an idea, albeit one he was almost too tired to pursue.

"I'll go look," Opal said. "Sit tight."

Dorian waited until he could hear the quiet sound of Dariax and Opal talking in the kitchen before forcing himself to sit up to search for his phone. He found it down by knees, thanking all the gods in the pantheon it wasn't dead, and sent a text to his roommate.

Dorian: IK you're at work but dear God pls come save me

Dorian: Dariax and Opal are here to "nurse me back to health."

Dorian: I May Die 

Then Opal came back with a plastic cup of water and Dorian shoved his phone back under the covers like a guilty teenager. The subsequent adrenaline rush robbed him of his breath until he felt faint.

"Oh, good," said Opal, setting the cup down on the crowded nightstand. "You're already sitting up."

Dorian's head swam. He opened his mouth to tell Opal that he'd prefer to not be sitting up any longer, but the words came out as hissing rasp. He cleared his throat. "Oh, fuck."

"Don't worry, Dariax's tea will help your throat," Opal said. She knelt by Dorian's bedside and started combing his hair out of his face. Dorian relaxed despite himself, happy to be rid of the unpleasant sensation. Opal noticed and smiled. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Dorian said begrudgingly.

"It's okay, I won't tell anyone if you moan."

"Jeeze, Opal." Dorian went to bury his face in his hands, but Opal stopped him with a quick tap to the chin. "Head up. How about a nice braid?"

"Whatever."

Opal was gentle with her touches, working out knots with a practiced hand instead of yanking through them like Dorian had feared she might. If it wasn't for the uncomfortable position and the chill in his limbs, he might have even fallen asleep. "This is nice," Opal said, stroking the nape of Dorian's neck. "I never get to play with other people's hair."

"Mm," said Dorian, his head cloudy.

That was when Dariax burst in cradling a mug of tea in his hands like it was something precious, and not over-steeped Throat Coat. "I made tea!" he announced redundantly.

"Can I drink it later?" Dorian mumbled, blinking slowly. Despite having been asleep for most of the morning, he still felt exhausted and sore. "Wanna sleep." He coughed a few times, too tired to even turn his head, let alone cover his mouth.

"But then it'll be cold," Dariax said. "And I saw you shivering, so I know you don't wanna drink cold tea."

Dorian thought he might have a rebuttal to that, hidden deep beneath the layers of fever-fog. Whatever it wasn't he couldn't reach it now. "Good point." He held out his hands for the mug, dimly annoyed that they were both still shaking. "I really don't feel good," he announced in case it might help.

It didn't.

"We know, silly," Opal said. "Drink your tea."

"Meds?" Dorian asked hopefully, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his nightstand.

"Gotcha." Dariax shuffled past Opal and dropped two pills into Dorian's open mouth.

Dorian nodded his thanks and washed them down with a mouthful of tea. "What time is it?" he asked, grabbing a tissue from the box tucked into the corner where his mattress met the wall.

"11:30," said Opal, who always had her phone within arm's reach.

Dorian blew his nose and dropped the tissue over the side of the bed. He had no idea where his trash can had ended up and wasn't about to lean over and look for it with his head spinning the way it was. "Ugh. Fuck."

"Orym's not off until 3:00, right?" Opal asked, cottoning on.

Dorian nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Don't worry, buddy." Dariax reached out to ruffle Dorian's hair, but stopped after a nudge from Opal, who glared pointedly at Dorian's braid. "You'll be aaaall better by then."

Dorian was most assuredly not "all better" by 3:00. After finally getting Opal and Dariax out of his room, he had slept fitfully until they had gotten bored and come to wake him to see if he was feeling better. Around that time, his fever had gone up and he had clawed his way out of his hoodie and tossed it aside, a move he would come to regret when he woke up to the sound of his friends joyfully greeting Orym at the door and found himself shivering again.

Unwilling to speak, he let out a long groan, hoping that the sound of his misery would draw Orym to his room. But this only made him cough, aggravating his stinging throat and sore chest.

"Jeeze," said Orym from the door. Dorian looked terrible and sounded worse, and there was nothing anyone could do about it but wait.

"Oh, good," said Dariax, "You're awake!"

"Are you all better?" Opal asked.

Dorian ignored their questioning and looked Orym dead in the eye. "Please explain to them that I'm too sick to go to the stupid battle of the bands tonight."

"But we need you, Dorian!" Opal exclaimed. "No other band has an electric lute player."

"Oh, and Fearne's so excited," Dariax added. "She's been practicing extra hard all week on those pan pipes you lent her."

"Guys, guys." Even Orym's gentle tones made Dorian's head pound. "If Dorian says he's too sick to go, then he's too sick to go. We should believe him."

"What do you mean 'believe me'?" Dorian demanded. "Oh my god, you think I'm being a pussy, don't you?"

Orym hesitated for a fraction of a second too long before responding. "No, no, of course not."

"You do!" Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, mortally offended. "I don't believe this!"

"Hey, hey." Orym put up his hands. "It's okay. You don't have to go."

"Nooo," said Dorian, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I'm going." He stood up and staggered over to his closet. He had thought he was being responsible and proactive, taking care of his illness instead of pushing himself too hard. But the idea of his friends thinking he was sheltered, soft, weak was unbearable. His hand trembled as he searched through his clothes for something suitably impressive to wear, and a dim thought occurred to him that he might be acting irrationally because of his fever. He wasn't usually quite so concerned with appearances. 

From the doorway, Opal, Dariax, and Orym watched. "Well," said Dariax, "that was easier than I thought."

"Yeah, Orym." Opal turned to him, impressed. "Where were you five hours ago? I could have gone home and watched The Bachelor."

"You still have" --Orym checked his watch-- "a good five hours."

"No, 'cause we're meeting Fearne for rehearsals at 5:00, remember? Once she gets back from visiting her grandma."

Dorian smothered a flurry of coughs into the crook of his arm, scowling when the colors of his shirts on their hangers began to blur in front of his eyes. "I need coffee," he announced once the fit was done, and marched off to the kitchen.

"Dorian, wait--" Orym said, but he didn't even pause. Orym looked between Dariax and Opal. "Is nobody else going to try and stop him?"

"Why the hell would we do that?" Dariax asked. "We've been here all morning trying to convince him to go."

"'Sides," said Opal. "You're the one who called him a pussy."

"I did not." Orym sighed and ran a hand through his hair. A sense of impending trouble prickled like static on the back of his neck. He really hadn't meant to make Dorian feel bad, even if he did think the genasi was being a touch melodramatic.

By the time they had finished with their pre-show dinner at Denny's, Orym sincerely regretted his harsh judgement of Dorian's condition. He had been quiet at practice, barely even saying hello to Fearne. She had given Orym a questioning look, and he had only been able to shrug helplessly at her. Dorian's cough got worse and worse all evening, culminating in a moment at dinner where he left for the bathroom and just didn't come back, leaving behind his mostly untouched plate.

Orym had found him leaning against the counter, breathing heavily and staring at nothing. The eyeliner Opal had so carefully applied was now smudged where Dorian had rubbed his eyes, and sweat stood on his brow. Orym had led him back to the table in silence after a few failed attempts at conversation.

By the time they got to the university's theater, Dorian could barely stand up straight. He was shaking so badly that his lute rattled in its case, and several passers-by did double takes when they saw him.

"Shit," said Orym, once they finally were backstage. "Fuck. I knew this was a bad idea."

"S'fine," Dorian rasped.

"I don't know," Fearne said. She studied Dorian's braid. "You're about the same color as your hair," she said, indicating the pale blue tips.

"Yeah, I think Orym might be right," Dsriax said, shifting uncomfortably. 

Dorian had to pause and catch his breath before responding, struggling to keep his balance on legs that suddenly felt too weak to support his weight for much longer. "You said…"

"Yeah!" said Dariax, turning to Orym. "You're the one who called him a pussy."

"Nobody called him a pussy," Orym said. He would have liked to have reached out to steady Dorian, who was still swaying dangerously, but could only reach about hip height. "Opal, Fearne, can one of you please get him before he--"

Dorian's knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, holding his stomach. "Oh, shit."

Noticing a few eyes on them, Dariax stepped away and began to pace back and forth in front of the group, daring someone to say something. "Fuck off," he muttered, replacing his concern with aggression at no one in particular.

"What hurts?" Opal asked, her fear of contagion forgotten. She knelt beside Dorian and put a hand on his back, and even through his thick leather jacket, the heat that met her hand made her gasp.

"Dizzy," Dorian said through clenched teeth. In a whisper, he said, "Please don't let me throw up in front of all these people."

"That one's kind of on you, buddy," Dariax said over his shoulder. "Try to hold still and look at something that's not moving."

Dorian swallowed hard and tried to focus on a distant guitar case. It was difficult to do with his head still whirling, and his stomach gave a dangerous lurch. He took a few deep breaths to try to steady himself and only succeeded in triggering a coughing fit that drove him sideways into Orym's chest.

"We need to get him out of here," Orym said, staggering back under Dorian's weight.

"Give…" Dorian's voice faded out. He cleared his throat. "Give me a second. I can walk."

"Here," Fearne held out her hand. "When you're ready."

After a few cautious breaths, Dorian grabbed Fearne's hand and stood slowly, blinking away silver spots. "Sorry," he mumbled into her shoulder as they started to walk out.

"Ah, don't apologize," Dariax said, swinging Dorian's lute case along with his steps. "Maybe we shouldn't have pressured you to come."

"More like definitely," Opal said. "We're sorry. I really thought we could have you feeling better."

"It's fine." Dorian gave a weak laugh and forced himself to pick his head up off Fearne's shoulder. "You're not the one who called me a pussy."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Orym muttered, privately grateful that Dorian was still mentally present enough to make jokes.

They all piled into Opal's beater, Fearne in the passenger seat and the other three crowded in the back. Dorian leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

[fatalelity]

“i said i love you.”

five word prompts.      accepting.      @trustschaos

night easily drifts into the scene much like the promise of dining at a dirty dive bar for the sake of satiating an appetite that doctors should not endorse. there is an element of unpredictability when it comes to lauren bloom; thus, it is no surprise when she waits in the lobby, watching the way how the skies change from soft hues of orange to a dark tinge of light polluted darkness hovering above the glass ceiling     [     sickening, really.     ]

by this time, she had figured the cause : it comes with the profession, it comes with the workplace, and it comes with the department she leads. so, with a deep breath addison inhales a sharp breath before she steps out the doors of the hospital. there is no visible displaying of annoyance ― mayhaps, a hint of disappointment but she knows the chaos that comes with the emergency department     [     or at least, her perceived degree of chaos, that is.     ]     thus, she leaves a message.

[ text ]  hey, i’m gonna head out first. lemme know when you’re done. [ text ] i’m not going anywhere. 😊

with that, she shoves the phone back into the pockets of her jacket. 

much like lauren bloom, she too is career driven ― after all, that is why she ended up neglecting her marriage with the man who she thought was the love of her life. yet, somehow... the expectations with her doesn’t feel unattainable. she couldn’t be everything for derek, she couldn’t be enough for him ― despite her fruitless efforts. then comes lauren bloom, akin to a wildfire that ravaged the chambers of her heart, leaving her with an ache like no others... and yet addison feels at ease with her in spite of all the signs pointing towards otherwise. 

perhaps, it is the lack of history between them. perhaps, it is the reality of them being two sides of the same coin : one is a latent manifestation of chaos / one is the covert manifestation of disaster. she’s unaccustomed to her love language at first : scared of rejection and terrified of the heartbreak that comes from the lack of affirmations. but it is with time that she begins to ease her mind again and slowly, but surely she could feel those cracks of her heart heal from the molten gold of lauren bloom’s affection. slowly, she’s buried the pain seattle left her into the cemetery of her past and now when she looks into those warm inviting eyes, all she could see is a future that she wants to build with their tattered hands ― a future built on love, a life filled with laughter, and communication. 

strange how she would consider a life with a woman she had yet to utter her love for.     [     i could fall in love with her. i could give her my whole heart. i could give her my whole life. i could take her hand in mine... but am i ready?     ]      for once, she thinks about the notion of loving her without the panic that once filled her veins as she panicked, as she choked and laughed awkwardly at even the mere thought of being in love with lauren bloom.     [     lauren wouldn’t be ready for her. lauren wouldn’t be ready to realize the true damage that lies underneath her skin. lauren would see all that hurt and run.     ]     but addison montgomery has passed the point of caring.     [     even if she doesn’t love me. it’s okay. it’s okay because she should know that someone does love her.     ] 

perhaps it is the selfish nature of addison montgomery that craves any ounce of affection she can grasp from a woman who could barely comprehend what that even means. after all, she knows of her family predicament ― addison is acutely aware of the possible ramifications of the lack of maternal love and the truth is, if not for that girl who was once her roommate and now her dearest friend, addison is certain she, too, would feel incapable of loving. perhaps her divorce and the series of disasters that followed suite led her to believe that ― and perhaps that was precisely why she ended up denying her feelings for lauren bloom ― the feelings of trust, of comfort, and of love. 

thus, when lauren arrives into the purview, addison almost bounces like an excited juvenile schoolgirl at the sight of seeing her personified heartthrob. there’s a grin that stretches across her lips that had been drawn taut all day ― and lauren? she looks exhausted, which is no surprise and addison witnesses an apologetic look that easily crosses lauren’s face as they meet in the middle. lauren doesn’t speak, or perhaps she’s not offered a chance to speak. 

❝     okay, so i went to that pizza joint you like so much �� funny story, matteo? the shop owner? he recognized me! kinda awkward that i had to tell him i divorced ‘boy with greasy hair’ ― well, that’s what he called derek. can you believe it, that place has been around longer than i have been practicing medicine ―     ❞      then addison pauses almost abruptly, remembering that in her hands she holds two very greasy bags containing the slices she went for. thus, before she speaks again her cheeks flush     [      thank goodness for the darkness     ]      and she allows an awkward smile to grace her lips,     ❝     a-anyways! i picked something up for you. i know the margherita’s your favourite ‘cuz we spent fifteen minutes arguing if the meat lover’s or the margherita is superior, but they were out so... i got you barbeque chicken instead. oops, maybe we should try getting it next time before they sell out right? anyways ―     ❞

i love you. 

in that instance, addison is convinced her mind is deceiving her. it had been a long day, she had been awake since 8 a.m ... the day before. it’s been more than twenty-four hours since the last time she got a full cycle of sleep. so her eyes widen, her smile drops slightly in favour of the perplexed expression that mirrors onto her face. 

❝      s-sorry... w-what did you just say?     ❞

her heart’s racing fast, her mouth’s gone dry at the words she believes she’s heard with her ears. now, addison montgomery is accustomed to disappointment ― for the time she’s spent in seattle, it’s the only thing she’s tasted. call her a cynic but she could not fathom the idea that lauren would even love her ― how could she love her despite knowing all the awful things she had done? how could she love her knowing that she’s hurt mark sloan the way she did or the fact she committed adultery, an act she could never forgive herself for? how could she love addison montgomery when she stands before her with all her faults to bare? 

i said i love you. 

it isn’t frustration in lauren’s voice but perhaps the nakedness of being vulnerable that addison perceives. her blood runs hot, her heart’s palpitating     [     and she could swear, her heart skipped a beat     ]     until it settles and it’s overwashed with a warm dizziness. there’s a look of disbelief on her face and despite her anxieties telling her how this is a lie and the voice of bizzy faintly mentioning her disappointment... addison manages to silence them all.

❝      you... you love me?     ❞      she asks with a trembling tenor in her voice before she settles the items clutched in her hand onto the closest surface. finally, this allows her to offer all her senses to lauren bloom as she watches her with watery cerulean eyes. 

the image of lauren bloom ripples in her mind’s eye, and in that instant they squeeze shut as a lone tear escapes her.     [      she loves me. she loves me. lauren bloom... loves me?     ]      with a shuddering breath, she lets her glassy eyes open as her trembling fingertips traces the shape of her lover, feeling the warmth beneath her extremities as if she’s searching for every and any sign that this is not a dream only to be shattered by her waking up. 

so she doesn’t speak at first before cupping lauren’s face into her hands eagerly before pressing a kiss against her lips. her chest is full with the warmth that she’s been desperately holding back, a love that she’s been too terrified of offering to a woman who might just run from her... and to hear a reciprocation? addison is overjoyed and overwhelmed with the emotions that run amok. so when she pulls back, she presses their foreheads together and only laughs briefly ― she’s so relieved. it’s as if a weight has been dropped from her shoulders, as if the pain and the burden she’s underwent had been worth it ― no, it was definitely worth it. 

❝      i... i love you too. i... i love you, lauren. god, i do. i really do.     ❞

[realityhelixcreates]

Beta Theta and Me Chapter 6: Land of Inequality

Chapters: 6/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now), 

Characters: Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags:  A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses, Loki Has A Throne Now, But It’s Not What He Wanted

Summary:  You and Loki discuss what brought you to your current situation. Promises are made, but they are not fully understood.

Your egg sandwiches seemed to pass Loki's test, as he didn't complain once throughout breakfast. He granted you permission to use the washing machine, and put you to work in what you felt would become your new routine. Dishes needed to be done, sweeping and vacuuming, basic home maintenance. He even bid you do his laundry, since it seemed that, even though he could change his clothes magically, cleaning them with magic would cost him too much energy.

Now that you understood, you'd try not to make him use magic too much. Not until he'd healed. You weren't willing to, as he had put it, wipe his royal ass, but you could do laundry. It was easy.

After cleaning the restroom, you returned to him for more orders, finding him next to the big fireplace again, reading his book. You still couldn't make out the writing; it was in an unfamiliar language, but it used a human alphabet.

“What are you reading, anyway?” You asked, craning your neck to try and read the spine.

“Over de Zich Uitbreidende Menselijke Wereld en de Vervanging Van het Spirituele Door het Materiële, wat Leidt tot het Verlies van het Zelf en tot Slavernij aan het Kapitaal.” He answered easily.

“Uh...”

“It's a text about the surrendering of the self to ever emptier pursuits, until every institution is given over to the production of capital for ruling elite, leaving every aspect of life nothing more than a shell.”

“Oh.”

You stood awkwardly for a few moments.

“You are still standing here?” Loki asked.

“I finished the bathroom.” You said. “I just needed to know what to do next.”

Loki sighed. “Can you not think for yourself? Perhaps I should make a checklist for you to consult, so you do not have to interrupt me at every turn. But for now...” He gestured to the carpet next to him. “Sit here.”

You did, though you couldn't fathom why he wanted you to.

“Now...Hmmm. Sing.” He commanded.

“What?”

“Sing. Humans have songs, do they not? Sing one.”

“But...” What song? Of all the millions of songs, which one would be appropriate to sing in the presence of an alien prince? And it wasn't as if you were a musician; you had no training, no practice.

You thought back to the music your parents used to listen to, that you listened to with them when you were a kid. Protest songs from the time of the Civil Rights movement, anti-war songs, hippie songs. You knew those by heart, even now. So you picked one that had a lovely melody and many simple verses, and began to sing.

He let you go all the way through it twice before stopping you, and he at least didn't insult your untrained voice, or seem to hate the song. He had closed his book, and closed his eyes, but now he reached down to gently fondle your makeshift scarf.

“An unapproved uniform change?” He asked.

“It's only temporary.” You said.

“It almost wasn't.” He rejoined. You both went quiet. The fire crackled in its gigantic hearth. Even though it was still daylight out, Loki had had you draw those thick blackout curtains, plunging this little section of the building into artificial twilight. The fire lit the area instead, lit Loki's book, lit his nearly inscrutable face. It was cozy, and you wondered if it reminded him of someplace he used to spend his time. A roaring fireplace, in a palace, somewhere in Asgard? His private room? A favorite lodging, somewhere in the Asgardian countryside?

You had no idea what Asgard had been like. You couldn't help but to picture equal parts rugged and sophisticated: Monumental architecture, and wide wilderness. Loki in the middle of it all, sitting in front of a fire, reading an overly complicated book.

“What do my hands look like to you?” He asked abruptly. You paused for a moment. “If you simply say 'hands', I will be cross.”

He held one hand out to you, for observation. You didn't know what he was going for, but you took his hand and studied it closely. Long fingers. Healthy skin, though extremely pale, still somehow you couldn't see the veins through it like you would have expected. Perfectly manicured nails. Little scars, and calluses here and there. A contradiction.

“They seem...Deft. Like someone who needs a lot of dexterity to do their thing, like a pianist. They've got the signs of being pampered, but they also show evidence of hard work.”

“Is that all?” He pressed. “Not drenched with the red of life? Not grasping? Not clutching, or corpse-fed, or wielding the hidden blade?”

“Um...Not really?” You said. “Were you looking for metaphor? I was just observing what was physically there.”

“My fingerprints are imprinted onto your throat!” He said heatedly. “How can you look upon these hands and not think of the merciless grip of a conqueror?”

“Dude, look. When I was out there, do you know how people treated me? I was kicked. I was shoved. People slapped me, spat on me, threw things at me. Mugged me, pulled my hair, full on tried to kidnap me into human trafficking once. What you did to me was bad; but you didn't do it on purpose. You aren't the first person to leave bruises on me.” You tightened your hold on his hands. “But you are the first to seem like you care.”

His expression went opaque again.

“You need not worry about that.” He said dismissively. “You are my retainer. My maid, my chef, my...everything else. No one shall harm you, for I am your ultimate authority, and they will have to go through me first.”

He flicked his hand, and a knife appeared. You jerked back, startled.

“I always wield the hidden blade.”

You swallowed. It made the bruises on your neck ache.

“Where were you?” He asked. “While I was in the sky, laying waste to your homeland, where were you?”

“Loki, are you sure you want to...” He seemed determined to talk about uncomfortable subjects. Maybe he just wanted to get them out of the way quickly.

“Dodging falling rubble and laser blasts?” He pressed on. “Trapped inside a ruined building? Chased by a Chitauri death squad?”

“No, no. I was underground.” You said. He seemed to be imagining it all as he said it, his expression growing sour. “I wasn't homeless then, but I was in the subway tunnels, heading to Central Park before work. Your soldiers never got down there so the drivers started taking whichever routes took them farthest from the city center. I wasn't hurt at all.”

“No? But your place of employment was? Your home?”

“Well, not really. There was some damage, but nothing that couldn't be fixed.”

“Where did you work?”

“Oh...just a bodega...you wouldn't know it.” You didn't like where this was going. It only led to bad memories.

“Then I am not the cause of your homelessness?” He sounded mildly disbelieving. You scoffed.

“Believe it or not, you actually aren't the cause of every misfortune in New York.”

“Then what happened? What is the chain of events that brought you to me?”

“Eh...that's mostly Mr. Stark's doing, you know?”

“You are deflecting. I am more than an expert in such things, I can tell. Why are you here, and no longer a bodegrkonur? If not myself, then what caused you this misfortune?”

“What does it matter? I'm here now.”

“And here you shall stay. But it matters because I asked you.”

“Geez, all right, it's just a boring story about petty bullshit, and I don't like thinking about it. My old roommate was an Omega, and her dad ran the shop, so we both worked there. Then she got herself hooked up with an Alpha, and he was an aggressive, controlling prick who wanted to cut her off from everyone else, so he kicked me out without letting me find another place first, and intimidated her dad into firing me. Didn't even let me get any of my stuff. I haven't heard from her since. I don't know if she's okay, I don't even know if she's still alive. And I don't want to try to contact her dad, because I don't want to cause trouble for her family. Dude was unhinged, seriously.”

“That is...Distressing.” He said.

“It's not uncommon. Alphas run the show, and they're never held accountable, so this shit happens sometimes. Anyway, you happy? You like the answer? It wasn't you, it was some other overbearing douche. Hooray.”

“No, that does not please me at all.” He said, in response to your bitterness. “I cannot help but to think of how this situation could be improved. Or at least mitigated. If I were in charge...Oh come now, do not look at me like that.” He said defensively at your side-eyed glance. “I was raised to rule, and cannot help but to think like this.”

“Is that what you're gonna do when your neck heals?” You asked. “Go back to Nova Scotia and help Thor with New Asgard?”

“Possibly.” He said. “Probably. My esteemed brother does want me to, but it might not be allowed. The land was bestowed on us in exchange for several promises from us, but the Canadian government hasn't decided what to do with me. For now, I am not allowed there unless incarcerated. They are taking the period of my convalescence as time to deliberate.”

Someday he would be healed, and he would go home. Well, to his new home anyway. What awaited him there? Jail? Or perhaps a high office, with a whole array of actually competent servants. One to cook, one to sing, one to clean, one to warm up his bed. Whatever he might need, there would be someone to do it. Heck, he was a prince no matter what; he might be stuck in a dungeon and still have all that help.

And you? After Loki healed and went wherever he was going to go, you would...do something. Could you put something like 'personal help to royalty' on your resume, if no one was supposed to know he was here? Surely his presence couldn't be kept secret forever.

Beyond that, there was the Stark name that you could plaster everywhere. He might not even dismiss you after Loki left, he might just send you to another section of the company, to clean up whatever messes might be there. You were finding that you didn't mind cleaning. There was a satisfaction in seeing it all come together, seeing actual progress. It was the disrespect heaped on the so-called 'servant class', the perception of being lesser, even if the whole world would fall apart without them.

“Are you shocked speechless, feral thing, or simply too far away?” Loki asked, and you realized he'd been talking while you had ruminated.

“Far away.” You admitted. “Sorry.”

“I asked if you would come with me. Tidy up my jail cell, bring me my prisoners meals. Polish my chains. It might make the whole dreary thing worthwhile.”

“You sound pretty sure that you're going to prison.”

“Am I not already in one? My recent life has been little more than one type of prison after another. Your philosopher Foucault seemed to grasp the concept.” He gestured a series of hardback books on the shelf, each in French. “That every social construct is a prison of our own making and maintenance. Even a being such as myself must exist in relation to these constructs, either within or against, but never free from.

And you, little thing, exist in relation to me now. You can continue to do that, if you wish, wherever I am bound.”

“What if you don't go to prison though? If your brother gets his way, and you get to be his right hand guy? Won't you have enough servants then? “

“Oh, there is always room for more.” Loki assured. “Worry not, anxious thing. There would be a place for you.”

“Not sure I want that.” You said. “I've only had this job for two days. I only had my prior job for a week. I want a little stability before I agree to go anywhere else.”

“A prison and a facade.” He pointed out.

“But it's mine to choose.” You replied.

He nodded sagely. You got the feeling that he knew that sentiment well.

[formerly-bunnydoll-gdhdgdfd-blog]

Rosewood - Chapter One

tagging @anipwrites @writerofwriting @mininsnow || let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Daphne doesn't know how long she's been in the forest. There's nothing to suggest the passage of time as her eyes search through the darkness, the treetops and clouds overhead obscuring most of the moon. Suddenly, a soft golden glow alights everything around her. She quickly ducks behind a bush, holding her breath. It saw her. Or maybe it saw Noah. She's not sure but she doesn't wanna find out.

The light softens to nothing and she hears the rustling of leaves under hoof. It doesn't mean they're in the clear just yet, but it does mean that the creature is no longer on alert, which is gonna make things a whole lot easier.

Daphne sits as quietly as she can, listening to the buzz and chirp of the bugs and her own thoughts. She gives it ten seconds. If Noah doesn't get a shot in by ten seconds, she'll just try it herself. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seve- Schwoop! An explosion of light fills up the forest around her, throwing shadows across the towering spruce trees and the dark sage-green pines, watching over them like guardians. Daphne instinctively shuts her eyes, falling to the ground as if she'd been hit by a shockwave. Looks like Noah got his shot. The light seeping through her eyelids dims to the soft glow from earlier. Daphne carefully opens her eyes and gets to her feet. A beautiful, shockingly silky golden doe, known simply by most as a Sun Deer, stands in front of her, bucking against the hold of a leash made of navy blue smoke and shimmer attached to the arrow dug into its neck. She stands there for a moment, simply admiring it. Noah stands at the other end of the leash, struggling to keep hold of it. "Are you gonna charm this thing or are you gonna stand there looking at it?" he asks. "Calm down, I'll do it," she laughs, pulling out her wand and pointing it at the deer. "Calmaitres," she whispers. A smooth flow of golden light emits from her wand, wrapping itself around and subduing the Sun Deer. It stops fighting against the leash on its neck and instead stands totally still. The light from before disappears entirely. Noah sighs. "Thank God," he mumbles. "Let's get this back to the stables, please, I'm exhausted." "Agreed," Daphne says, yawning. "Illuminere." The tip of Daphne's wand lights on fire as she moves out of the way to let Noah lead the deer. She sneaks a kiss on his cheek as he passes, making her boyfriend grin. "We make a good team, don't ya think?" Daphne comments as they make their way back to the stables with the deer in tow. "I think we do," Noah says, stroking the deer's neck. "But I think we make a better one when we don't have to go deep in the forest at midnight on a Tuesday." Daphne giggles. "I think you're right," she says. "I also think it's ridiculous that Sun Deer have such weird and particular sleep habits." "Y'know what I think?" "What?" "I think you should be quiet until we get back to the stables.”

Daphne smiled.

“Good luck with that.”

The Rosewood Academy campus is empty as Daphne and Noah walk the path to the stables. Daphne's always thought it was kind of creepy at this time of night; the five castle-like guild homes looming over the courtyard like monsters, enclosing it like a prison with only thin paths between them as escape.

Daphne shivers. She doesn't spend much time in the courtyard at night.

They use the path between the Otterstone and Foxcry guild homes to get to the stables. As they pass, Daphne spots a flier attached to the red brick wall of her own guild home, Foxcry.

She looks closer as they walk by, and realizes it's a missing person poster - the same poster that's been put up around the entire Rosewood campus.

Noah peers over. “What is it?” he asks, now too far away to see it.

Daphne shakes her head. “Just that missing person poster,” she says. “The one for that Otterstone girl, Hadley.”

Hadley was actually an acquaintance of Noah's - being both Otterstone guild members, they had a few chances to meet - although they'd never really gotten to know each other too well.

He frowns. “I really hope they find her,” he says. “She was really nice.”

“Do you think she really ran away?” Daphne asks.

“Not for a second.” Noah sighs. “Everyone says she loved it here. She didn't have anything to run from.”

Daphne glances to her side. The Foxcry gardens sit just to their left, but it’s guarded on all sides by trees. That's where Hadley was last seen, stepping into the forest behind. She shook her head, looking back towards the stables on the hill ahead of them. She'd rather not think of how a girl was possibly kidnapped at her own guild home.

"Oh my God, Apollo!" Daphne and Noah are just entering the stables when a black haired girl comes running up to them. Well, not really them - it's more like she comes running to the Sun Deer still leashed up by the arrow, throwing her arms around it. The girl pulls back and looks horrified when she sees the arrow. "Don't worry, Dakota," Daphne says. "Noah will heal it as soon as we know he won't run away." Dakota breathes a sigh of relief. "God, I can't thank you both enough for bringing back my baby," she says. "I thought he was gonna die out there, with all those creatures in that forest." Daphne smiles. This is why she does this. "It's our job, Dakota," she says. "You should go get something to hold him so we can take this arrow out." Dakota nods quickly, running off to a pen but not before giving Apollo a kiss on the forehead and whispering something in his ear. Noah raises an eyebrow. "You don't even love Cassie that much," he says. "She must've been dying waiting for this guy." "Hah," Daphne says, crossing her arms. "Like I wouldn't have the same reaction if she went missing in there." Noah laughs just as Dakota returns, a bridle in hand. "Now, he's probably gonna get spooked when I pull this out, so you should maybe shut your eyes," Noah explains as he grips the end of the arrow. Daphne covers her eyes with her arm, not wanting to get a second helping of the huge blast of light from earlier. The sound of the dart being ripped out would be brutal if it weren't for the fact Daphne's heard it a million times. Noah is whispering a healing spell with a worried Dakota watching intently when Daphne uncovers her eyes. The minor wound left behind by the arrow disappears, easily healed with nothing more than a bit of focus and talent from Noah. Dakota stares. "That was fast," she says. Noah grins with pride for a second, before yawning and remembering just how tired he is. "We should get going," Noah says. "We still have class tomorrow." Daphne nods as Dakota slips on Apollo's bridle and takes hold of him. "Yeah, it's been a long night," she says. "Well, don't let me keep you," Dakota says. "Thank you again. If you ever need help or advice or just someone to talk to, you have my number. I could give you two the world and it wouldn't be enough to repay you for bringing Apollo home." Daphne and Noah look at each other, then back to Dakota. "It's no problem," Daphne assures her. "This is just what we do." Noah nods. "Have a nice night," he says, and they both walk away, satisfied with their work.

Noah smiles at his girlfriend, putting an arm around her as they make their way back. “Proud of you.”

Daphne laughs. “You're the one who caught the deer,” she says.

“Yeah, but you tracked him,” Noah points out. “I can't do that stuff.”

“You underestimate yourself, I think.”

“Maybe. But I didn't track a Sun Deer, so.”

Daphne laughs. “Fine.”

Daphne yawns as Noah unlocks his room, ready to pass out. The light’s on as they walk in, with Noah's roommate Brooke sitting on her bed reading. On the opposite bed lays a large dog sized bunny with black, purple, and blue patterned fur, sleeping peacefully - Daphne's own familiar, Cassie.

“Hey Brooke,” Noah greets. “Why are you up still?”

Brooke shrugs. “Story hasn't texted me yet,” she says, referring to her eleven year old sister. “She usually texts me before she goes to bed.”

Daphne picks up Cassie, moving her to the floor. “Maybe she just forgot,” Daphne suggests, sitting on the bed and taking her shoes off.

Brooke sighs, putting her book down. “Maybe,” she says. “You guys going to bed?”

Noah nods as he slips his shirt off. “You should too,” he says.

Brooke yawns. “Guess so,” she says. “Turn the light off.”

Noah points his wand at the ball of yellow light illuminating the room. With a quick “Etedre”, it extinguishes, leaving them in darkness.

Daphne scoots over to give Noah some room, already under the blankets. Something about Story's silence still bothers her. While she's sure that she did just forget to text Brooke, there's still a part of her that says something's wrong. Maybe it's just seeing Hadley's flier that's making her paranoid.

She feels Cassie jumping back up on the bed, making herself comfortable at Daphne and Noah’s feet. It's a little more comforting to know she's there, calming her thoughts.

It'll be okay, she thinks. It'll all be okay.

She hope it'll be, anyway.

[willgayers]

saw this post by @fanficisgoodforthesoul and went;

this was fun to write!

Warnings; i guess this contains little mentions of NFSW stuff, but nothing major. also they’re college age here so pls don’t attack me thank u bye  also the f- word for gay sigh

It was October 29th when Eddie Kaspbrak was sitting on his high dorm bed and trying to read a magazine, but his eyes kept on flicking to the boy on his own bed, that was across the room next to Eddie’s.

The other boy wasn’t like Eddie; his hair was much more out of control, he was lanky, he had super pale skin and his hands were super bony— and cold, Eddie had learnt this when they accidentally went for the same tea bag once; so at this point Eddie was pretty invested on the thought his dorm mate Richie Tozier was a vampire.

Why?

1. He seemed to have no feelings whatsoever.  2. He was quiet most of the time (and Eddie had noticed this was only with him, because outside the room Richie was laughing and cracking jokes very much out loud) but when he wasn’t, he was extremely rude— and, Eddie hated to admit it,  3. he had picture-perfect looks.

But the reason he kept on glancing at the other teen was because he felt uncomfortable being in the same room with him; like he was waiting for him to offend Eddie at any second now. Because besides him most likely being a vampire, Eddie was sure he was also a homophobe.

It all started on the first day of college, when Eddie had already decorated his side of the room; he couldn’t wait to meet his new roommate. He was so excited thinking he was maybe gonna get a new best friend; his childhood best friend Bill had moved away from Maine all the way to Switzerland, Europe for college and even though they did talk almost daily, Eddie didn’t really wanna Skype his best friend half across the world every time at lunch because he didn’t have any friends at his school. Little did he know, that’s exactly what he ended up doing for the first couple of months.

As Eddie was on his bed writing to his diary, the door finally opened, revealing a tall, slender boy with black messy curls creeping from underneath the hood of his black, long hoodie. He had a pair of white headphones around his neck, ripped jeans covering his long legs, in his feet he had blue Converse, and he had a huge training bag with the Nike logo hanging from his shoulder.

Sure, not exactly the type of boy Eddie was expecting— because this one was hot. In fact he was so hot Eddie felt his cheeks fluster, but quickly he swallowed and jumped down from his bed.

“Hi! I’m Eddie!” He said, holding his hand out to the boy with a small on his face, but the other boy just glanced down at his hand and snorted.

“Fuck me.” He just mumbled as he made his way to his bed— and he didn’t mean it erotically; he simply meant that he was screwed.

Awkwardly Eddie dropped his hand and glanced at the boy, who had now started to unpack his sports bag, and Kaspbrak climbed back to his own bed.

Eddie cleared his throat before he spoke.

“What’s your… what’s your name?”

The other kid didn’t answer for such a long time Eddie thought he was gonna ignore him again.

“Richie.” He finally said.

“Richie.” Eddie nodded. He liked the name Richie.

“Wait—” the boy, Richie, said, and turned around to face Eddie now. Eddie, who raised his brows lightly.

“You’re Eddie Kaspbrak, right?” He asked.

Eddie was taken by surprise.

“Um, yeah.” He said. “Why?”

“Oh my God.” Richie mumbled, turning back around and now starting to throw his clothes to the boxes more aggressively.

“Is… something wrong?” Eddie frowned.

“I can’t believe I got paired with a fucking faggot.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped as he stared at the boy in disbelief— did he really just say that?

Oh yes, he did just say that.

He wasn’t surprised Richie had found out; because of course he had. Eddie knew that making out with some random boy at a kickoff- party before college started probably wasn’t the greatest idea. Now everyone knew Eddie was gay; but he never would’ve thought someone would take it this bad.

His words hurt, obviously, but Eddie didn’t say anything. He felt the urge to cry rise up in his throat and just turned to his side, not wanting Richie to see the tears that appeared into his eyes against Eddie’s own will; but he couldn’t help it. He was a sensitive boy, and he honestly hoped to make friends. Were all the other students going to react the same as Richie?

However— Eddie didn’t give up.

He knew that he had to at least try and be polite, even if Richie wasn’t. That’s just how he was raised.

So he made many attempts on talking with the boy; but they weren’t successful ones.

Like that one time Eddie was re-adjusting the stuff on his night table and kept on glancing at Richie, trying to come up with a topic— but Richie wasn’t paying any attention to Eddie as he was “busy” reading a comic.

“So… what do you like to do for fun?” Eddie smoothly asked.

“Fuck.”

Eddie would almost choke on air as he flustered, and Richie calmly flipped the page of his comic book.

“Where did you move from?” Eddie asked another day, when they stepped out of the dorm at the same time.

“None of your business.”

Rude, Eddie had thought and knew better than to ask him more questions that day as he watched the boy take rapid steps further; he clearly didn’t want to walk with Eddie.

But again, one day, he would try.

He was sitting on his bed, watching as Richie sat on his and tuned his guitar, when he decided to speak.

“You got any family?” He asked with a smile.

Richie smiled back; for Eddie’s surprise, but then he spoke.

“Again— none of your business.” He said, the smile then immediately washing off of his face before he then got back to his guitar.

Eddie’s smile disappeared too as he now realized Richie had just been faking his.

Even though Richie wouldn’t fill Eddie in on any details about his life, there were some things he’d found out himself.

He learnt to realize that Richie liked to do other things for fun too; like play his guitar, sing (in the shower) and make funny voices (that Eddie heard while he was in the shower.)

He also moved from New York, that one Eddie had found out when Richie once dropped his ID card. No wonder he was so rude, Eddie thought. He’d heard NYC people are a little shallow. Because hey, they do live in the Big Apple.

And about Richie’s family, Eddie had learned they were pretty much… not there.

Eddie remembers one time when him and Richie happened to walk back to the dorm at the same time on a Friday night, and the hallway was full of drunken teens; and for the first time ever, Richie spoke to Eddie without mocking him.

“I just don’t get it. What fun do you get out of drinking yourself to the point where you can’t remember jack-shit about it? Then you’re gonna wake up covered in vomit and piss and you’re gonna call it a great night out. Keep it up and you’ll end up as an alcoholic in no time. Really gives you a great future, not to mention your future kids.“

Eddie had just quietly glanced up at him, immediately turning his gaze away as the taller boy looked back at him.

“Yeah,” Eddie had then said. “Agreed.”

Then there was also the fact that Eddie had seen some pretty bad bruises on Richie’s body during the first few weeks, before they healed away; these were in his arms and Eddie had only seen them for the short few seconds it took for Richie to switch his shirt (and mostly he would mumble something like, “god, you wanna take a photo to make it last longer?” to Eddie, and he would turn his gaze away immediately). Eddie had obviously never questioned them, but something told him that there was a reason Richie turned his gaze down at that one psychology class when they discussed family violence.

That night Eddie heard Richie cry in his bed around one a.m, when he thought Eddie was asleep.

After November 4th, Eddie no longer thought Richie Tozier was a vampire.

He realized he did in fact have feelings; and hearing him cry in his bed, for what seemed like forever, Eddie felt his chest tighten— he wanted to comfort his dorm mate, tell him it’s okay, but he knew that Richie would probably punch him in the face if he even tried to.

Eddie wasn’t dumb. But he also wasn’t rude— that’s why he never once asked about his parents, not even after hearing Richie cry.

And even if he would have asked, he knew Richie would never tell him.

Eddie would still try and be nice to Richie, even more after the dramatic night; he’d hold the door open for Richie (never getting a thank you- though), he’d ask if Richie wanted the last slice of his pizza (he’d take it, again not thanking) and he’d again try and start chitchatting with him— mostly about annoying teachers or the weather, but it seemed that the nicer Eddie got, the meaner Richie got. He’d do little stuff; like if they walked out the same time, he would slam the door shut instead of returning Eddie’s favors and holding it open for him, and Eddie always stepped back just in time before it would’ve hit his face. Richie only ever boiled tea water enough for himself, and whenever Eddie was quietly chuckling to a text on his phone, Richie would mock his laughter in a super girly- way.

But then there were bigger things.

On November 16th Richie stumbled in to the dorm in the middle of the night with laughter, when Eddie was just about to fall asleep.

Eddie got up to a sitting position under his blanket, and he stared into the dark; the only light in the room was the dim blue moonlight shining through the curtains, and there wasn’t one, but two figures; making out.

“What the fuck, Richie?” Eddie blurted out, and the girl let out a tiny scream.

“Oh my God, who’s that?” She asked.

Eddie recognized her as one of the cheerleaders, but nothing more. For a moment he wondered if she was drunk; but he knew Richie didn’t drink, and he figured he wouldn’t take advantage of drunk girls either. Well, it’s not like he’d even have to. Girls were desperate for him.

“It’s just my roommate,” Richie said. “Don’t worry, you’re not his type.”

Richie wrapped his arms around the girl’s waist, before whispering—

“He’s gay.”

Eddie’s stomach turned around.

“Shit, really?” The girl blurted out, a tiny giggle escaping her mouth.

“Uh-huh.” Richie murmured, kissing the girl’s neck— and for some reason Eddie couldn’t look away.

“He’s staring,” the girl said, staring back at Eddie in the dark room.

“Let him,” Richie said, lifting the girl to his bed and leaning closer to press a sloppy kiss to her lips. “Lil Eddie-Spaghetti probably just gets very lonely.”

Eddie was on the edge of crying again because Richie was being so mean. The poor brunette had literally done nothing but tried to be a nice person.

However, he tried to not think of the hurt Tozier’s words caused (or was he hurting because he’d watched Richie kiss the girl?) he turned to his other side and pulled the pillow over his head, trying to ignore the giggles and soon pants coming from the other boy’s bed for the next thirty minutes; but Eddie could’ve sworn it lasted for closer to three hours— or at least that’s what it felt like.

On November 20th Eddie rushed back to the dorm after P.E— he never took showers in the mutual shower room because he was disgusted with the thought of sharing the room with so many people, naked.

He had to scrub the dorm shower from head to toe before using it because of Richie alone, so there was no way he was going to shower with complete strangers.

So he was covered in sweat as he stepped in to the dorm, not hearing a sound; Great, Richie wasn’t even here, he thought. He could take his shower in peace.

He only ever dressed or undressed in the bathroom, because he didn’t want Richie walking in on him naked— for Tozier this wasn’t a problem though, which was weird since he seemed to be pretty disgusted with Eddie’s sexual orientation. Richie was constantly changing his clothes in front of Eddie, and each time it was getting harder and harder for Eddie to not look at him as he sat on his bed and pretended to read a book.

So like every time, Eddie just grabbed the door handle and pulled it open— Only to find Richie standing under the shower, applying shampoo to his hair. Eddie gaped at him; even though Richie had changed his clothes in front of Eddie before, he had never seen the curly haired boy fully naked; well, not his front, anyway.

But now he was staring at it.

Yes, literally staring at it.

Because wow, Eddie thought.

“Jesus, Kaspbrak!”

Richie’s words made Eddie flinch back to the moment and he flipped his eyes up to Richie’s.

“If you wanna jerk one off go to Pornhub!” Richie blurted out, and Eddie still couldn’t say anything.

“Did you hear me—?” Richie asked, getting annoyed now.

Silence— the poor boy Eddie had lost his ability to speak.

“I am not fucking gay, Kaspbrak!” Richie blurted out, saying the word like it was the nastiest word ever to exist.

And after those words Eddie just nodded, mumbled a ‘sorry’ and shut the door rapidly.

He felt like staying in the dorm would be too awkward, so he walked out immediately, not exactly sure where he was going— but he knew it had to be far away from Richie because Eddie knew that now, once he’d seen it; he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Richie’s naked body.

November 22th Eddie was coming back from one of his classes and had just made it to the dorm room, when he stopped to stare at the door. There was a paper taped to it.

HERE LIVES

A FAGGOT

Eddie’s stomach dropped as his throat started to tighten with the urge to cry, and just then some students walked past him from behind, bursting out in tiny laughs as they looked at the paper. He wondered how many people had already seen it, and even thought majority of the students seemed to know Eddie was gay already, it wasn’t really none of their business. And this was just mean.

Eddie knew exactly who was behind this; which is why it hurt even more.

He ripped the paper off of the door and with intensity shoved it open, stomping in.

“Are you serious?!” He yelled at Richie as the door slammed shut behind him,  staring at the boy on the bed who had earphones in his ears.

He frowned and pulled them down, staring at Eddie.

“Huh?” He just asked.

“I asked, are you serious—?!” Eddie asked again, holding the paper up.

“What’s that?” Richie asked.

“What’s that—” Eddie mocked in a low voice. “Don’t act like you don’t know!”

“Jesus, Kaspbrak, I don’t know— what is that?” Richie was confused as he got up to a sitting position.

Eddie was furious as he squeezed the paper into a ball and threw it at Richie, who grabbed it and opened it, glancing at Eddie once more before he read it, a small frown still on his face.

Once he was done he lifted his gaze to look at the brunette, who had his fists clenched as he was breathing heavily through his nostrils.

“I didn’t write this,” Richie said.

“Then who did?!” Eddie snapped. “Because I know you hate me!”

“What?” Richie blurted out.

Eddie’s eyes widened; what the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just admit it?

“Oh my God, you’re unbelievable!” Eddie threw his hands up in frustration. “It’s so obvious, Richie!”

“What is obvious?!” Richie was so confused.

“That you hate me because I’m gay!” Eddie blurted out, staring at him.

Richie stared back, not saying a word. Eddie looked like he was gonna have his forehead vein burst at any second now, so Richie knew not to raise his voice or make sudden moves or anything that might just trigger Eddie and turn him into a small ball of rage that couldn’t be stopped; so slowly he got up from the bed, Eddie keeping a hawk-eye on his every move.

“You think I hate you because you’re gay.” Richie said.

“Yes.” Eddie answered sharply, watching as Richie made his way over to him, still with rather slow steps.

“And why is that?” Richie asked.

“Because you’re rude to me, you mock me, you act like you don’t know me outside this dorm room—” Eddie held a new finger up at every reason.

“Okay, fine, reasonable.” Richie cut him off, lightly raising his hands up in surrender and Eddie glared at him.

“But I don’t hate you,” the curly haired boy let out a small laugh, and Eddie’s brows shot up fast. How dare he laugh?

“You think this is funny?” Eddie asked in disbelief. “You think it’s funny humiliating me like that—?!”

He shoved Richie from his shoulders lightly, and this surprised the taller boy.

“For the last time, Kaspbrak, I didn’t do that!” He blurted out, pointing at the paper.

“Then who did?!” Eddie raised his voice again.

“Well I don’t know but it definitely wasn’t me!” Richie raised his voice a little too— now he was just getting pissed off.

“Oh— so it definitely wasn’t you?“ Eddie mocked.

"Yeah!”

“And why is that?!” Eddie was about to get furious; why couldn’t his stupid ass roommate just admit it and apologize?

“Why—?!” Richie asked.

“Yeah!” Eddie blurted out.

“You really wanna know?” Richie asked,  annoyed with the brunette, as he raised his brows.

“Oh, please, enlighten me!” Eddie spat— the conversation was heated and the tension in the room could’ve been cut with a knife, it had grown to that point.

“Oh I will!” Richie snapped.

“Great, then do!” Eddie snapped back, and suddenly Richie grabbed his face and smashed his lips to the other boy’s.

Eddie’s eyes widened in shock and he didn’t even kiss Richie back, and then the dark haired boy already pulled away. He was staring at Eddie who was staring back at him, and his facial expression was so freaked out it would’ve amused Richie if the situation that had caused it wasn’t the one it was.

But before Richie could apologize— or, whatever, he wasn’t really sure what to do— Eddie practically threw himself at Richie. He slammed his mouth on Richie’s, he shoved his hands in his thick curly hair, and Richie grabbed him by the waist.

They started to back out towards Richie’s bed, until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed— and Richie sat down to it, Eddie falling to his lap open legged.

The kiss was thirsty and desperate; both of them had been wanting this for so long, never admitting it to themselves and most definitely not to the other one.

Soon Richie’s hands sneaked under Eddie’s shirt, and he pulled his shirt up and tossed it to the floor— then he started to work on a hickey on Eddie’s collarbone.

“What are we doing—” Eddie breathed out, his eyes closed from the pleasure he felt when Richie’s lips sucked on his soft skin, but soon he pulled his lips away to answer to Eddie.

“Something we should’ve done a long time ago,” Richie murmured huskily, before he attacked Eddie’s neck this time, and a shaky breath left Eddie’s mouth.

“God, agreed.” He blurted out.

After approximately forty-five minutes— the best forty-five minutes of their lives, honestly— the both boys were now lying on Richie’s bed, under the blankets with their cheeks red, and Eddie was snuggled to Richie’s side, finger drawing lazy circles to Richie’s chest.

“So…” he started, and Richie turned his gaze to Eddie, a smirk rising to his face— and Eddie chuckled.

“What was that?” He asked.

“That was…” Richie was trying to think of what to say. “That was something I’ve wanted to do for a while now.”

“And what’s a while?” Eddie asked.

“Ever since I saw your cute ass for the first time.” Richie mumbled, gaze sliding down to Eddie’s lips.

The smaller boy felt his stomach fill with butterflies, before he leaned his head closer to close the gap between their lips for a soft kiss.

“I thought you hated me,” Eddie murmured quietly.

“Seriously? I couldn’t hate you if I tried. You with your weird little OCD’s and fucking adorable giggles…” Richie sighed, gaze focused on the smaller boy’s hair that he was softly playing with, Eddie’s cheeks blushing. “I just… I was confused. I’d never felt like that; because of a boy. But you… God, you sure fucked me up, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie felt his heart flutter at Richie’s words as a smile took over his lips.

“Well— you sure fucked me up too, Tozier.” He said and leaned to kiss him again.

“But you–” Richie started in between the kiss, before pulling away. “You shouldn’t even like me. I’ve been nothing but a asshole.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Eddie said, shrugging lightly. “I’ve caught you off-guard a couple of times.”

Richie frowned.

“Like when?” He asked, and Eddie just smiled.

“You don’t need to know.” He said, before snuggling closer to Richie’s side and adjusting his head to rest on his shoulder, as he lazily spread one hand across Richie’s chest.

Once he did, Richie felt a warm feeling brush all over his body from head to toes; he was the happiest he’d ever been.

He figured that warm feeling was love.

@superbyersbros @xbell22 @donthateonk8 @stenbroughbros @reddiebrekmyheart@itsgreywaterrichie @donvex @blueeyespurpleskies @ageorgymi @oh-youre-the-worst@eddiekaaspbraak @whipashwhipash @rissyq @richietoaster @edskasqbrak @urtury@bukiminajimu @kcutieeesblog @stansmansuris @adorefack @reddieaddict @icyeyes102@denbroughbill @graveyardshipper @taletellingsir @anxiety-freak-yuuri @rheddie@queertrashmouth @richiefreakingtozier @castletozier @tohzier @80soleff @lonewolfhard @80soleff 

[pippki-writes]

An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 12

NOTES:

Snippet 1; Snippets 2 & 3; Snippet 4; Snippet 5; Snippet 6; Snippet 7; Snippet 8; Snippet 9; Snippet 10; Snippet 11

Word Count: ~4.7k

Faoust belongs to @thebiggestnerd - she writes him and the healer; Isaiah, Cat, and Detective Voros here are mine.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

It isn’t long, but it feels too long when you’re in a crisis. Isaiah finds himself on the front porch of Faoust’s apartment, cradling in his arms a crow with a completely blasted-off right wing, and beats urgently on the door. Isaiah whispers the spells he knows, but healing magic isn’t his strong suit. Stopped the bleeding at least. Maybe.

Faoust is surprised to see Isaiah, blood everywhere, looking frantic with the injured crow in his hands.

“Hey, sorry, your healer? Can she help? Or can you?” The questions tumble out of Isaiah in a rush. “Shit, there’s several problems here but I need to make sure Cat’s gonna make it first and I’m not that good at healing.”

It’s late, but Faoust’s healer agrees to come, with the right financial incentives. She is none too pleased at the hour nor the particular company that has summoned her, but she’ll do the job. She works her healing magic, repairing the wound, stabilizing the injured crow.

“You should really get it to a vet or something. All I did was close the wound and heal any torn muscles. Can't replace the blood loss,” she says, holding out her hand to Faoust to take her payment. Cash in hand, she soon leaves.

The adrenaline starts to drain from Isaiah, and he wonders to Faoust about why his healer was so quick to leave. Almost imperceptibly, the crow begins to get bigger.

Isaiah stops rambling and considers a moment. “Am I hallucinating, or does this crow look bigger to you?”

Faoust looks at the crow, which has now doubled in size. “Dude, that crow is fucking huge.”

In the face of a lot of things he doesn’t know yet how to deal with, Isaiah decides to focus on the mundane. He continues to idly chat with Faoust about the fact that the healer apparently recently broke up with a roommate of Faoust’s that Isaiah didn’t even know he had, all while watching Cat incredulously.

The crow, as it has gotten bigger, has gotten significantly less crow-shaped and more human shaped, still mostly covered in feathers. The beak has become a nose, a mouth of dark lips. The face resolves into something mostly feminine, with olive skin and iridescent night-black hair, and dark-void eyes that stare up into the sky above. Isaiah is standing now, hands on his hips, staring in disbelief.

“…did I mention the officer?” Isaiah mumbles quietly. “That’s uh, another problem I need to mention…”

“What the fuck is happening?” Faoust asks.

Isaiah, as a practitioner of magic, has seen many strange things in his life. He’s never seen something like this. “Did that healer girl do something to my crow?”

“Want me to call her back?”

Isaiah shrugs, uncertain. “I dunno, Maybe? Ask if this is a common side effect?”

Faoust texts the healer, “hey why is the bird turning into a person?” and gets back a “???? Are you high????" for his trouble.

“…Cat?” asks Isaiah hesitantly.

Cat raises her left hand, which has resolved into a human hand with sharply pointed nails, and realizes she cannot raise her right, as there’s no arm there at all, and blinks.

“Uh, I’m gonna say it wasn’t our healer,” says Faoust.

Cat hums a single note, low, testing new vocal cords, and speaks very softly. “My true form, and an arm? The bastard god claims too much.”

Faoust stares. “Isaiah. Your crow is talking.” He pauses. “Are we sure we’re not high?”

Cat blinks again deliberately, and turns to Isaiah. “Isaiah, right? Your name? I would have named you for a star, but I couldn’t speak their names.”

“Wow,” says Isaiah. “Wow. I dunno man, maybe we are high.”

“I guess we aren’t taking it to the vet,” Faoust replies.

Cat shakes her head and stands, but wobbles a little as she does, lightheaded. Isaiah steadies her with a hand. She is taller than Isaiah, and shorter than Faoust. She looks between them.

“My blood will grow back fast. Faster still, with one less arm to fill, it seems. Thank you, my friend Isaiah,” she says, and pats him on his hair.

“What. Are you?” asks Faoust.

“I am not a crow, though I was a crow, and the bastard seems to have made it stick,” she says, and glances down at herself, most of her body still covered in feathers. She tsks. “I am, hm, a lesser immortal fresh from exile, shall we say?”

“Ah. Hmm.”

“I gotta say I was a lot more mentally prepared to handle this situation when I showed up at your door than I am right now,” Isaiah says to Faoust.

“I am a genius, and I've got nothin'.”  Faoust thinks a moment. “Speechless. Well, um, hi. Nice to meet the real? You?”

Cat shrugs. “This isn’t my true form. But closer than before, to me, sure?”

“Sorry we couldn’t save your arm.”

Cat shrugs again. “It has gone with all lost things. Fitting.”

“Yyyyes. Fitting,” says Faoust, with no idea what the bird is going on about.

“Holy shit,” Isaiah exclaims, “um, oh, I’ve got to get the fuck out of here Faoust, the officer, ah, fuck. No doubt she’s gonna come for you next, looking for me.”

“Ah, yes. That. Sorry for a moment, immortal being. Isaiah, what the fuck happened?”

“Damn, I’m sorry. It was stupid of me to come here, shit, ok.” Isaiah takes a breath. “We were sitting outside, just hanging out, and that officer showed up looking for her radio. Made it beep. I tried to stop her, bind her, and it just ...didn’t work?”

“The witch’s old curse?”

“No, no, my magic was there, this wasn’t like I didn’t have magic, it was just...like casting into a void.”

Faoust thinks for a minute, unsure of the solution.

“So I kind of maybe panicked a little and grabbed her leg,” Isaiah continues.

“I flew in her face in the ensuing struggle!” adds Cat triumphantly.

“I was going to try to kill her, but she got her gun out before I could stab her, and then she shot Cat, and I,” Isaiah waves his hand around, and second guesses whether he should have stayed to kill the officer. But how could he, when Cat had been shot? The officer could be dealt with later, but he couldn’t have dealt with losing his friend. “Anyway. I am probably in deep shit now.”

Together, Faoust and Isaiah hash out the details of getting him to lay low. Faoust will kill the officer if she shows her face around here, and surely she will, after what happened. In the meantime, Isaiah and Cat will find a hotel—not a motel, that’s been Isaiah’s go-to and surely she’ll start looking for him at every motel in town in the unlikely event she doesn’t come looking at Faoust’s first. Faoust fashions an eyepatch for Isaiah to cover up his scar, and Isaiah casts a glamor over Cat so that she looks fully human, and covered with clothes rather than strange feathers. They say their goodbyes and good lucks, and Isaiah takes Cat’s hand to slip them off through the shadows.

Detective Voros suspects that Faoust won’t answer a call from her phone. There are a few lone pay phones left in this town, and she dials his cell from one of them.

Faoust looks to his phone. No chance this isn’t some bullshit. He answers, “Hello?”

“Ah, solid citizen,” says Detective Voros, “Evening, hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“Hardly. I'm usually staying awake. Now what could you want from me when I told you to stay out of things?”

Detective Voros is sitting in her patrol car in the parking lot of the motel, recovered radio in the passenger seat. She has not started a call with dispatch, yet, for what happened, because what the fuck happened? She fought a suspect for a radio she’d failed to report missing, shot at him, and he completely fucking vanished? No. Absolutely not.

“Hate to trouble you, but I’m looking for your little friend again. He....vanished.”

“I've got nothing for you. I warned you, and you didn't listen.”

“He stole my radio, citizen. That’s all this is about.”

“I made myself pretty fucking clear, I thought.”

“I can arrest you for threatening me. I can do it in a heartbeat.”

“You can try.”

“Fine. Fuck you then,” she snaps, hanging up.

Detective Voros doesn’t like her options here. She’s dealing with very dangerous bullshit that she is not equipped to handle. And that no one would ever listen to her about. She searches in vain on her phone for things like “magic police” and “wizard for hire.”

She should make a report. She SHOULD make a report about what happened. But the longer she has waited and not made a report, the worse it is. And the more she leans towards, can I just not make a report about this at all? Hide what happened? At the very least until she can resolve it. Can she resolve it? Christ, what a mess.

Once checked in, Isaiah gets two of nearly every snack in the little convenience area of the hotel lobby and takes them up to the room to share with Cat. She opens up a mini box of Cheerios and eats a few dry.

“No meat cereal?”

Isaiah pauses with a Snickers halfway to his mouth.

“I am joking,” Cat says, with a wry smile.

Isaiah sits cross-legged on the end of his bed, watching Cat curiously and thinking up questions. Cat sits on her own matching bed, upright, and something in her posture makes it seem more like she is perching, surrounded by snacks.

“So, you were the crow this whole time? What’s your real name?”

Cat nods and shrugs. “My real name? Lost now, another tribute to the bastard god. Cat is good enough.”

“You could understand me the whole time?”

Cat nods again, and is about to eat the Reese’s cups with the paper still on.

Isaiah reaches out to help her. “Hey, hang on, you have to take the paper off those.” He helps her remove the wrappers, and sits back on his bed.

“Thanks, by the way, for helping with the officer. She would have shot me right in the face, or tried anyway. Not sure I could have shielded it in time.”

“You are my friend. I had to help.”

Isaiah lets a moment pass, thinking. “You know a lot about me then, and I have a lot to learn about you.” He sighs. “Does the, mm, me being a murderer thing bother you?”

Cat licks the residual chocolate off her fingers and shakes her head. “Do not worry. I have killed in my time. It does not bother me.”

Isaiah yawns. He misses the motel. An open door would let in fresh air and allow him to see and, if needed, easily flee outside. In a hotel, the windows don’t open, and the door leads out to a hallway of disorientingly repeating carpet, that hypnotic liminal space.

“Do you sleep, being immortal?”

“Yes. I need sleep to function properly. I just cannot be killed in any way that matters.”

“Hm. then let’s get some sleep. Ah, and don’t go out in the morning without waking me up first? You’ll probably worry people if you’re walking around in nothing but feathers.”

“Of course.” She gets under the covers of her bed, and Isaiah does likewise, turning off the lights. After a moment, Cat speaks again. “I miss the stars, in here.”

Isaiah turns onto his back, thinking for a moment, and then casts an illusion of stars along the ceiling, little twinkling points of light. Not a single one of the constellations is correct, but that doesn’t matter to Cat.

“Ah. Thank you, Isaiah.”

“You’re welcome...good night, Cat.”

Isaiah is up before Cat, thankfully. He makes two cups of stale coffee in the little machine, and uses magic to coax them into tasting better than such old powdered bean has any right to be, setting one on the night stand next to Cat with a spell to keep it warm. He misses the motel. If he were at the motel, or any motel really, he would sit outside the door now, watching the goings-on of the world. Hotels feel like traps. Looking out the window isn’t the same.

Cat sleeps more than Isaiah would have guessed. Being in the wrong form is exhausting. And though this isn’t the right form either, it’s much closer.

Once Cat wakes up, Isaiah offers to put another glamor on her if she wants to go out exploring, since she isn’t who the police were looking for after all. But Isaiah reluctantly admits that he should probably go out as little as possible. And perhaps do more to alter his appearance when he does. He is surprised at himself being so resistant to the idea.

But Cat demurs, topping her head from side to side. “I am still...adjusting,” she says, looking down at her hand, her sharp nails, carefully clenching and unclenching her fist. After so long in exile, Cat is most surprised that she doesn’t have more to say, right off. She feels a little disoriented, on waking, not totally trusting that this is real, that this isn’t a dream.

“Let’s get some pizza then. Have you had pizza?”

Cat nods, with a wry smile. “But not fresh.”

“Ah.” Isaiah is already looking up a place on his phone, and picking up the room’s telephone to place the call. “Freshest, crispest, most delicious pizza it’ll be then.”

They spend the day eating pizza, watching movies, raiding the vending machine for more candy bars, and occasionally trading questions. And occasionally bumping into questions neither wants to answer. Mostly around family, and where each of them belongs.

It’s funny, Isaiah thinks, that for all his crimes he’s never really been on the run from the police before. He’s done well picking victims, and more importantly, leaving no evidence. Previous versions of himself would have simply cut and run. It is so strange to him to have something, no, someone he doesn’t want to leave behind. He shakes his head and curses Faoust fondly.

Cat and Isaiah watch a marathon of Forensic Files in the hotel room, Isaiah all the while adding little judgmental comments against the killers and how they fucked up. But that is the point of Forensic Files, isn’t it? Dissecting the errors of the ones dumb enough to get caught. Isaiah has never been one to leave bodies, not where they would ever be found by the people who needed to find them. Just a random constellation of unsolved disappearances scattered across the country.

Isaiah lazily opens and closes his knife as he watches the tv, lounged in the desk chair. “What do immortals even do with all that time?”

Cat is sprawled on her bed, on her stomach, head propped in her hand as she watches tv. “Ah, what does a murderer do with his? We aren’t so unalike, you know. I watched you idle away your days. It’s like that.” She rolls onto her back and crosses her leg over the other knee, thinking.

“You persist. Eat, drink, sleep. Come in and out of lives like a comet, here and gone. Staying too many years leads to questions, so—“ she shrugs “—you don’t.” She pauses again, thinking. “It was perhaps easier, back then, to do. Become a part of the lives of others, and disappear when the time was right.”

The days pass, and they continue to wait, Isaiah on the run, certain he’s imminently wanted by the police, and Cat content to keep hiding at this hotel with him. They find things to keep themselves entertained.

Isaiah is waiting for the iron to heat up, and when it does, he’s got a small stack of cheese sandwiches wrapped in foil, ready. He’s googled this. It’s going to work. Of course, if it doesn’t, that’s what magic is for.

Cat is gazing out the window—longingly, Isaiah thinks. He’s told her she is free to explore without him, that he can put a glamor on her any time, but she is reluctant.

He’s acquired a pair of tongs, and clicks them together as he waits.

“Tell me about your life before you were a crow?” he asks.

Cat sighs, softly, and frowns. “It’s not...that I don’t want to talk about it. It’s....memory is hard, when you’re beholden to a god of lost things. When I slip from one life to the next, he slowly takes my memories as his due. All that remains are little bits and pieces, hazy fragments. Before I was a crow?” She shrugs. “I remember it was a hard time. I remember a few sentences and sayings, here and there. I don’t remember much.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“Tell me about your life before you were a murderer,” says Cat, still looking out the window.

Isaiah presses the iron down on the foil.

“I’ve always been a murderer. There was no before.”

Cat scoffs in disbelief, looking briefly at Isaiah, and back out the window.

Isaiah waits, flips the foil-wrapped sandwich with the tongs, and presses the iron down again. “Nearly always anyway. I would have been too young to have anything worth remembering.”

The thing that makes no sense to Detective Voros is that she searched the motel room, and aside from her radio, she found nothing unusual. Nothing criminal. Nothing suspicious.

So why the reaction she got? It made no sense. Though some people just automatically react a certain way around police out of proportion with whatever situation is going on.

She thinks to herself, he didn’t want me finding the radio. But why. What does the radio link him to?

She knows. But she doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t even want to think it, because what actual evidence does she have? How the fuck would she ever get a warrant for this?

Maybe if she’d reported what happened the other night, she could’ve gotten him arrested for assaulting an officer and some other shit besides. Gone from there. But she had covered the whole incident up.

But she knows, she KNOWS...he’s got to be her suspect. Without a shadow of a doubt. Her missing, no, surely murdered victims—and her suspect is surely Isaiah James.

Cat takes to Isaiah’s smartphone, though at first accidentally deletes half his apps, and takes several hundred pictures, only some of which were intentional. As more days pass with no sign of police interference, and no indication from Faoust either way that the troublesome officer still needs to be a concern, Isaiah starts to go a little stir-crazy. He decides to take the risk of slipping himself and Cat through the shadows to the nearest mall to get her a phone of her own.

Isaiah relishes being outside the hotel room, and tries to keep an eye out for cameras, subtly turning some and avoiding others where he can. It’s enough, and they return to the hotel, with a decent little haul of mall goods and without incident.

On the one hand, Cat thinks of the smartphone, what a small and easily lost thing. But on the other hand (though, she thinks, she only has the one hand, huh), she is enamored of the ability to take pictures so easily and suddenly, and look back at them, and there is a little frozen moment of what was going on. What she ate. What a place looked like. Ah, if only she even had a picture of what her lives had been like before. But even a picture would have been lost. Still, Cat takes many pictures with the new phone, and then scrolls back through them.

Isaiah lays on his bed, the frown on his face—thinking. The nervous energy as he stares at the ceiling, opening and closing his knife with no purpose to the motion. Cat looks up from taking a picture of him. She recognizes this look on him now, after so many times where she couldn’t say anything about it at all.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” his frown deepens. “I couldn’t have done anything differently. I was too fucked up. Way too fucked up. But I, hm. I wish...I wish some things could have been different, maybe.”

On a whim, Cat and Isaiah buy one of those Lego sets with an obscene number of pieces, and start putting it together to pass the time. Cat can see better, but Isaiah has two hands to help with the assembly.

Or, he would have two hands, if he weren’t using one to text obscene things to Faoust.

“You must be texting him,” says Cat. “Hold that piece more this way.”

Isaiah tries to suppress his grin. “Yeah, you got me.”

“It’s good. It’s good to have someone that will make you smile. No, this way,” she says, and moves his hand and the piece he’s holding where she needs it.

Isaiah has, for Cat’s own sake, tried to convince her to go out more. She’s gone out only to buy more Lego sets. There are several quite elaborate sets in the hotel room now. Cat has said she doesn’t want to wander too far, because she’s concerned the glamor will wear off if Isaiah is too far away. Isaiah suspects this isn’t the whole of it, but hasn’t pushed yet.

Over their usual breakfast (per Cat’s sleeping routine, breakfast is usually a noontime affair), Isaiah decides to press a little.

“You know you can go out without me, yeah? I’m the one that has to be careful being seen, not you. The police have never even seen you.”

“Hm.” She presses her lips together in disagreement, and takes a cheap danish from the pile on the styrofoam plate.

“Is it the spell? Are you worried about the spell? The spell isn’t tied to me or how close or far away I am. It’s fixed to time, not me.” He sees Cat looks perhaps unconvinced, or at least no more willing to go out. “We’ll test it then. Next time I go out, I’ll do the glamour and you stay here, and watch me be right. It doesn’t take my concentration. I’ll be out highly distracted and busy doing other magic, and your glamour will stay exactly the same.”

Next time isn’t a long wait—Isaiah has plans with Faoust that evening. Plans to be highly distracted. Very busy. And with most enjoyable uses of other magic.

Strictly speaking, it doesn’t matter what Isaiah wears, if it’s all probably just going to come off shortly, but he puts on the nice, simple sorts of clothes that best show himself off, then comes back out of the bathroom to Cat and claps his hands.

“Magic time, my friend.”

Cat puts down her phone and sits up expectantly as Isaiah casts the spell. She looks down at her nails, no longer looking so sharp, at the illusion of a shirt, pants, and most importantly, no feathers, and nods.

“Text me if you need anything. I’ll be back later.”

When Isaiah gets back to his room, Cat has already fallen asleep with the lights on. He grabs her phone and takes a selfie of himself in the foreground, pointing to the bedside clock as a timestamp, and her in the background, glamour still clearly in place.

The next day, Cat wakes up around noon, and Isaiah motions to her share of breakfast on the dresser.

“Check your phone, I took a picture for you. What’d I tell you? No problems with the spell.”

Cat looks at her pictures. “That is true.” She begins to tuck in to her pastries with gusto.

“So I’m thinking we should probably figure out somewhere to stay besides a hotel. Maybe we can find something abandoned I could work some magic on. But I’d need you to go out looking for a place.”

He watches her reaction. She hesitates for a moment before continuing to eat with a “hm.”

“What’s the deal, Cat? Why don’t you want to go out on your own?”

“....a few reasons.”

“Like?”

“Just because I’m immortal...the world is still a dangerous place. I can’t just fly away.”

“I can help, there are spells I can—“

“That’s not all. I....am worried about running into...him. The bastard god.”

She puts down the half eaten cinnamon roll, drumming her fingers against her lips.

“He usually shows up, at the end of an exile, though I, I’m not sure this exile is over, to be honest. I hope it is, even if I’m stuck like this, but..I don’t want to see him.”

“Ah. Hm,” says Isaiah, feeling a bit defeated. “That...I don’t know how much I can help with that.”

Isaiah starts looking around for a suitable abandoned property, taking Cat along with him. He hasn’t found one he likes yet. And he’s beginning to wonder if he isn’t wanted after all—not that he’s chancing it. He’s not looking to run into the officer again without a plan. But he’s used apps on his phone to listen to police chatter, and searched online to see if he’s wanted under any of his names, but found nothing.

Is the car stolen if he intends to return it? Isaiah is simply borrowing the vehicle. It’s one that’s been in the hotel parking lot without moving since they’ve been there, and quite frankly all these Lego sets aren’t going to carry themselves. And he wouldn’t consider leaving them behind, after all the work they’ve put in. So Isaiah hot wires the car, and fills it with the things they’ve accumulated, because he’s finally found a building he’s satisfied with.

Isaiah hasn’t lived somewhere with the intention of staying...pretty much his entire life. Even in his childhood home, he intended to get out as far as he could remember. Staying somewhere is risky. It invites scrutiny, creates a point a pattern might be drawn from. No one ever tracks down a loose killer roaming the country; it’s the ones who stay still that leave too much evidence. But he wants to stay here, in this town, if he can. He pulls the car up to the curb in front of a thick patch of trees and overgrown shrubs, where the hint of what might have once been a gravel driveway can be seen in the grass, if you don’t look directly at it.

“Don’t judge it by how it looks,” he warns Cat, “because this is exactly how we want it to look.”

It looks like a weathered and vine-crusted structure is hiding among the trees. Isaiah motions for Cat to follow him along a zigzagging path through the trees, obscured from the roadway, until they are standing in front of a very distinctly abandoned looking single story house. There is a porch that looks like it’s one good sigh from giving up altogether. The brickwork is stained. Cat looks skeptically from the building to Isaiah, hand on her hip.

Isaiah smiles. “Looks like shit, right? Come inside.” He steps onto the porch, the boards groaning beneath his feet. He pauses at the door, disabling the wards he has put up, and pushes the door open, motioning for Cat to go in ahead of him.

Isaiah has been working on this for several days now. Some of the work he did with magic, and some he actually did by hand. Inside the building is—Cat blinks in disbelief—clean. Lit. A smooth, dark hardwood floor throughout. A kitchen. Two bedrooms. Some simple furniture. She opens doors as she goes. A pantry. A bathroom. A basement.

Cat flips switches, and the lights respond in kind. “This all works?” she asks, still not believing.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll make it work,” he replies. Suddenly he feels a little self conscious. “Anyway, what do you think? Better than a hotel anyway?”

Cat nods, quite satisfied for now. “Oh yes. I think it will do.”

- NEXT SNIPPET -

[will-you-are-not]

Years

So the last couple years have knocked me down. Very hard. ROOMMATES To summarize the apartment living scenario: I was hurt, badly, by both people I lived with at separate times. First was like getting a divorce, second a possible brotherly betrayal. No need to go on, it would just be more whining than this is already. I may have deserved it...karma is quiiiite the bitch. ROBBERY Coming up on three years ago I was robbed midday in my apartment of nearly three years, dumb enough to chase them downstairs to where their vehicle was apparently waiting...I couldn't walk for about 5 months without some kind of crutch or brace. For the first two I didn't walk at all. HOSPITALIZATION The hospital? Meh. Had to have the first ER doctor dismissed. He said I was fine and should leave by days' end. Got angry and very physical with my crippled ass to the point that I (with parts of my feet dangling and skin just gone) got calm. I don't remember what I said, but it terrified the man and he left. Nurses? ASTOUNDING. Administration? Eh, the next guy I'm about to talk about was really nice after I made clear to them his actions. Though, they still kept me much longer than necessary. Pain doctor? Wouldn't prescribe me pain meds out of the hospital because I tested positive for Marijuana. Right wing religious type. I came to know this by two nurses whom were actively trying to get me better care. He yelled at me that he wouldn't give me anything unless I took some other pill he prescribed along with whatever. Legitimately, called me an addict, threw a fit, bursting into the room. To which I responded along the lines of: "Doctor, do I distribute the medication? Do I even know how to properly read that board? Tell the nurses or pharmaceutical staff. Not me." I do remember vividly saying for him to do his job and listen or fuck off. Now this...this changed me a bit as a human. He even refused medication after my back hadn't been treated in 5 days. It was just left, forgotten, until the smell was overbearing. Thought the picture they took would be a reminder...somehow that was left out of the file. I had to be skinned to prevent infection. Dad crying, nurses crying, blood everywhere. No shit y'all, no meds. From my shoulder blade to half my ass in a thick strip. Then I was questioned by detectives. ...it was a Thursday... TAKING IT FOR GRANTED Then I heal, enjoy life, get back in my swing. A year of fuck-all after those 6 months of pills, pain, confusion, and anger. I get lazy and desperate, honestly. Desperate for the freedom of living away from home, but too lazy to work hard enough to go at it alone. Looking to work at a distance to eventually move near wherever due to love interests...duumb. Never thought of the fact that there was no way I could break even with such a drive, tore my reliability apart for future jobs, lost my motivation, blah blah. Skipskipskip Then I finally get focused, even through a rough period for me emotionally. I see the goals, can taste it, after so long, I fuckin got this! HARVEY I told everyone it was gonna be terrible. Seriously. I had an emergency plan for us to go under completely. That's why I'm sitting on this mattress that I was asleep on when the water rushed in. Car? Insurance. House and things? Well... We were woken by the rabbit, well, I, by my father; rabbit by proxy. Desperately thumping the ground in hopes that someone would do something about the water lightly lapping over the lip of our front door. I moved everything onto a table I had ready. Bed boosted onto chairs. The water kept rising. I demanded my parents get a bag and pack 3 days worth of clothing. I had already packed the medical supplies. My mother refused, my father was stunned. I yelled, cursed, demanded reason. The water kept rising. Lightning strikes and the rain gets heavier. We don't know the status of the surrounding area but I try to make crystal that it doesn't matter. High ground. Now. Arguments ensue. The water kept rising. Daybreak. Organization. Elderly and children first. Screams. Electrified water. Fires. Floating colonies. Sudden militia. The water stops. The rain pauses. Everyone moves fast to the highway to family and friends able to assist. My uncle had a clear route and decided to brave the uncertainty to rescue us. I rounded my parents together, though reluctant, and tried to drive home the fact that this was our one chance. We used the sanctioned canoe for the center of Marlin; my father had just used it to save our neighbor from eventually burning to death in the attic... Rain falls again. We pack up, cover electronics, stop the dog's panic seizure, and I race. I pull the canoe far ahead, leaving my mother, then father behind. My uncle had been texting us impatiently before we had to go dark to tread. I knew there wasn't much time, though I didn't want to even pass the thought he'd leave us... The water is rising. I get to the front. No familiar car. My father runs from our civilian staging ground to the now empty military one on the other side of our sinking ship of a neighborhood. Only a few first responders remain to help in case of immediate emergency. No family. No national guard. Just us: Citizens, trying to save each other. It begins to pour. My mother cries. The dog whimpers. The eyes of the rabbit dilate. My father attempts to console... I. I am livid. I left my parents behind to stop an invisible train! I yelled at them! Me! Their son! They trusted me directing them, but I put my trust in a mirage. It never existed. I found, after digging for my phone, that the coward had left 30 minutes prior. Sent, "look for the national guard." that's it. Left us in rising waters, devastated neighborhood, roads disappearing, because he was afraid to get stuck...for even a moment. The water kept rising Complete strangers offer to take us down the highway to where we were headed in the first place. My father stays behind. He has to return the canoe and make sure no one else is trapped. I go with my mother and what remains of our possessions. I make sure no one sees it, but as I'm holding my large German shepherd/lab mix and shielding the rabbit from the torrent, I cry. I sob from my soul. It hurts. Gone. So much. So many. We were left behind. I had looked up to him for so long... then realized at that moment, thinking of the bigger picture... It was never action. All talk. Even helping me through my issues, he'd pass it off "above my pay grade" "I'll see what I can do" he'd say. I told him my darkest secrets, confided in him over my father. I was truly appalled. Crossing the bell tower, a coast guard chopper blazes by us. Low, toward the Bayridge that was. The water kept rising ... BUT NOT NEARLY ENOUGH. The route my uncle took to us, then ran from us by, was still completely passable. We get to the compound safe...but my father... Lightning causes the sky to rumble with anger. We wait. I download walkies that newly formed militias are coordinating with. There's no clear paths. I sit, frozen, as the scale of the situation finally settles in. My uncle, father's brother this time, braves currents, weather, and all odds to retrieve my father from the disaster zone. I can't stand idly. My friends, whom were deeper in the waterlogged zones and in a sedan, came to get me. We went through all of southeast Houston, and I broadcasted through public social media posts the roads passable. I cried once more, but not after, when I saw the Central Business District (one of 5 downtown districts of Houston proper) of my city DARK while radio chatter pleaded in the background... The sky began to darken Both of my friends risking their lives and possessions, I, simply navigating; it seemed so miniscule...but only after did I hear how much we helped. Curfew initiated Martial law in effect... Though... We took care of ourselves down here. It rained for three more days. AFTERMATH Bish, it's Houston, we good. BUT Personally, I just want to give up. Every time I get motivated, something literally cataclysmic happens on a personal level or otherwise. Now I've been caught in limbo, reconnecting with the other side of the family I distanced myself from due to religious and, in my view, character complications. But they took me in. No question, just love. Now we help each other in so many ways and speak philosophy and art. The side of the family I was always close to now pushes me away simply because I'm not letting it go. The man hasn't even apologized yet. Hell no. Y'all gonna cut me off, someone who's been through it, started walkin the walk, just cuz you think my current dreams make me a deadbeat? You know that man lives off ya daughter's paycheck and has for decades, right? Like fuck. Wanna utilize those certificates your wife got ya, pal? I see that car, that jewelry, cigars, his whole fucking lifestyle is a sham. Maybe if he actually closed on sales instead of bitching about them...UGH like...and politics. You know nothing. His politik is all politik. RAWR!!! Sorry y'all. Heated still. I JUST WANT "I'M SORRY". NO REASONS, NOTHIN. Then I'll legit be fine. ANYWAY I'm catching this semester at school, but after nearly having it down before and failing to launch over and over... It all seems so far away. Now, once again, it storms as I reminisce. Scarred and damp