#ignor the rants of water drowning terror

[artcalledky]

Lollipop not a Cock

ArtCalledKY

Play ball

Mother became an addict provided for

By a State

They gave never watched

And UR mother is an addict

A play for state

Child Support Offices most likely gained votes in assistance by a bureaucrat sitting behind a desk, pushed in votes with monthly proceeds

Hey how’s that Weather

The wether or not you should of listened

Except the gains in Tornados

I pray for not and others around me pray for them to go away, it’s been the same since 2015

When I started praying against the Tornado

The one that touched after had no effect

It was probably just the wind

[breakandbuildfiction]

Another Rant About DPxDC Tropes

I didn’t write out all my thoughts on everything in the DPxDC fandom last time, so I decided to write this follow up with some more of them. This time I will primarily be focusing on how people go about using specific characters and their inter-character relationships.

Watering Down and Glorifying Female Characters:

I’ve noticed that this is a theme across a LOT of not only DPxDC fics and prompts, but across a lot of the fanworks for the individual franchises. People will ignore the flaws and shortcomings of female characters and overblow their positive traits purely to make them look more badass or scary compared to the male characters or to make other characters relient on them. Here are some examples:

Poison Ivy: People like to write Poison Ivy as some cool bad girl bent on environmentalism, that she’s pricily but full of ‘cool aunt’ energy. But they ignore the fact that her entire thing is drugging, mind controlling, sexually assulting, and murdering people in the name of environmental terrorism and in some itterations global genocide. She is not by any means someone a hero should be chill with outside of absolutly desperate situations, and even then she should be the second choice after Swamp Thing.

Harley Quinn: She is literally a psycopath suffering from an obsessive love disorder– that she has done a great deal to overcome– who has no problems maiming, crippling, and killing anyone who gets between her and whatever it is she wants at the moment. At her most ‘restrained’ she is working with Batman to hunt down the Joker– with her intent being to kill him– or is on the Suicide Squad taking some weird comfort in being around equally fucked up people and being assured in the knowledge that her murderous tendencies are being used for some level of ‘good’. She was also a very shitty psyciatrist who in many itterations slept her way into passing college and didn’t even last a full year as a lisenced practitioner before joining the Joker. Yes she is trying to be a better person, but she is NOT by any means a good person.

Black Canary: I think the thing I dislike most about how people treat Black Canary is that they hyperfixate on the pseudo-mom characteristics and emergency therapist role she was given in the Young Justice cartoon. I’ll admit that I haven’t read a ton of her comics, but I HAVE read some and I have watched the Justice League Unlimited cartoon as well. With that in mind I feel like people are tragically focusing on the wrong parts of her personality. She is shown to be stand offish, headstrong, confrontational, brash, and manipulative. She isn’t hero-mom coded, she is a femm fatal back street brawler who is fully open to playing off her allies ego to make them do what she wants if she can and leveraging her power and skill at violence to get what she wants. Yes she is a hero and yes she has a softer side, but god damn!

Wonder Woman: This actually goes for all Amazons of Themyscira but here it goes. Wonder Woman grew up in an extremely isolationist, xenophobic, and misandrist (Even if you ignore the run that said the island’s inhabitants are all literal murdering rapists who drown babies. I don’t think that run has been canon for a while anyways.) island nation that was literally blessed by the gods to never have to deal with things like political upheavals, drought, famine, foreign relations, or any other complexaties that real countries have to deal with. Now, to her credit, Wonder Woman isn’t NEARLY as bad as some of her countrywomen, but that doesn’t mean her upbrining hasn’t influenced her worldview and she certainly has never condemned the policies of her nation. She doesn’t treat men as scum outright by any means, but she DOES ignore the shortcomings of women and sees most if not all the troubles of the world as being the fault of the male sex. Just because the woman is empathic does not mean she isn’t a bitch. Also, base Wonder Woman would and has been dogged by base Superman many times. She is maybe the fourth or fifth most powerful JL member goes by base state abilities behind Superman, Martian Manhunter, Shazam, and maybe the Flash. That said, there are forms of Wonder Woman who would make all other base state JL members look like preschoolers pretending to be tough.

Jazz Fenton: Jazz is not a good psychologist or therapist in her teenage years. If you want to age her into her mid-twenties or later after she goes through a proper program, then by all means make her better at helping people with mental and emotional issues. But as a teen she is god aweful at those things. There is a grand total of ONE instance where she showcases actual skill at being able to pin down and identify someone’s issues and that was with Freakshow, whom in that very conversation she admits to having grown up with many of the same feelings he did regarding envy of ghosts and the attention people in her life give them. She never figured out Danny was a hero due to her skill at psychology or determining the cause of his stress, she stumbled onto him transforming after days or even weeks of forcing herself into his business and him asking and then demanding her to leave him alone. Not only this but, and I feel like this should be a very big thing with how much people love to shoehorn in trans-Danny stuff, she routinely calls people by the wrong name even when corrected by others and is told to her face by the people she is misnaming that she is wrong. Some of her names are even dehumanizing like calling Skulker ‘Ghost X’ like he’s nothing but a test subject!

Also, while I’m pretty sure she would qualify as a skilled CQC fighter, I don’t think she ever improved her aim. So while having her judo throw someone or deck them in the schnoz is good, she would probably miss if she had to shoot anyone with a Fenton Blaster at anything further than point blank range. And no, the Peeler doesn’t count, that shit was a full on mechsuit and shots that had a margin of error bigger than a car.

Valerie Grey: This one is a big one for me and probably the big reason I wanted to write this entire section so here it goes:

Valerie Grey ain’t SHIT as a hero.

Now, as a character, she is perfectly fine. She has a full arc with reasonable and understandable reactions to various events that shape her growth as a character. Granted these events make her into a shoot-first, speciesist, possibly slur-throwing, self-righteous, asshole for a while (you know how the ACAB movement sees cops? That was Valerie for a long time, just without government backing and with an oligarch sponsor instead.) but she did eventually get better after the whole thing with Dani and finding out that Vlad is Plasmious. So again, as a character she is good.

As a HERO however, she is really freaking bad. We never really see her do anything major after her revelation with Dani and before that she never actually wins any fights. Danny is always so far out of her league in fights that the only reason she isn’t dead is because he knows who she is under the mask and holds back because he doesn’t want to hurt her. He was capable of blowing up her original suit in a single blast for crying out loud! And even in her second suit he barely had any trouble keeping pace with her WHEN HE WAS ACTIVLY TRYING NOT TO HURT HER! We also never see her defeat any named ghost, I barely remember her even fighting anyone other than Danny, and she is overall just fodder as far as combat goes.

She isn’t scary, she isn’t intimidating, she isn’t the type of girl who could ‘kick Danny’s ass’, she is at best a pissed off woman with a lot of guns and fancy gadgets who thinks she's hot shit despite never winning a significant fight. 

Heroes are friends with all the Rogues… Except Joker:

Just… why? Why do people want the heroes to be friends with mass-murdering nutjobs? Be it Danny with Ivy who is basically Undergrowth with tits and a pulse, or Tucker with Technus, or Tim Drake with Harley Quinn it doesn’t make any sense! This isn’t a case of ‘Oh, when they aren’t on the job they are cool people’ like with Flash’s rogues. Nor do they have admirable moral codes or anything else. That kind of stuff is exclusive to Flash’s gallery. Why does everyone write hero or retired Danny as being friendly with villains and thinking they are cool people?! Killer Crock has a tragic backstory but he EATS PEOPLE. Scarecrow makes stuff you could call ghost drugs but he conducts routine chemical weapon attacks on civilian populations! Deathstroke is a pedo or groomer in at least two major timelines! Ra’s runs a cult that kills its OWN MEMBERS whenever they fail near-impossible tasks! Just because they aren’t as full on 24/7 creepy fucker murderers doesn’t mean they are any better than him!

On that note, why do people insist on having Sam idolize Poison Ivy or Jazz admire Harley Quinn? I don’t have a high opinion of Sam and how she goes about her activism and forcing her lifestyle and beliefs on others, but she doesn’t go around drugging people, stealing their money, forcing them to ruin their families, and then killing them! And I like to think that even if Jazz isn’t a good psychologist she would have better taste than to idolize someone who broke a very basic tenant of mental health professionals by getting too attached to her patient and went on to COMMIT MASS MURDER and help TORTURE PEOPLE in an effort of turning on her psychotic boyfriend! 

Hating Superman on Kon-El’s behalf:

I get that this trope stems from season 1 of Young Justice, which I will freely admit is an amazing season of a very good show, but I think people forget a few things: 1, Superman’s hatred/distrust of Conner manifests in avoiding him at all costs, not being rude or badmouthing him or anything of the sort, he just doesn’t want to deal with him and what Conner represents. 2, Superman grows out of his hatred/distrust of Conner in like, a year. It was an initial kneejerk reaction paired with extreme awkwardness and distress, but his stance on his clone-son with Lex does get better. And 3, the one who actually hates clones is Supergirl, Kara Zor-El. She straight up gave Conner his Kryptonian name and told him TO HIS FACE that it meant ‘Abomination in the House of El’. She basically named him a slur and said that was all he was. And as far as I am aware, she never apologizes for this nor does their relationship ever really improve beyond ‘we will work together if we absolutely have to’.

Dani and Dan call Danny ‘mom’ ((CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of SA!!!)):

Okay this one is a bit weird for this rant because I will freely admit that depending on if certain other tropes are used concurrently to this one, it makes sense, but by default I say it doesn’t. Ignoring how Danny is by default and in most cases male, his contribution to the ‘conception’ and gestation of Dani or Dan’s clone body (if you ignore A Glitch In Time and have Dan in his original body, Danny still didn’t do any gestation or anything, but things are admittingly different) only went so far as providing some DNA. Vlad did the whole cultivation thing and making sure the decanting happened safely and all that good, very important, stuff. So wouldn’t Danny be the dad in this scenario? Since the equivalent to a regular birth here would be Danny hitting and quitting with Vlad (que barfing reflex at the thought of Danny/Vlad stuff) purposely getting a baby made without Danny’s knowledge for his own benefit and desire for a child? Even if you go by the more accurate real life correlation to SA, Danny still played a male role here because he didn’t carry/grow the baby/clone.

The only reasons I can see for Danny to be labled the ‘mom’ in this situation are; Danny is more nurturing than Vlad– which by a sexist standard means he’s the maternal one–, Danny was the victim in the unauthorized baby making and is thus in the female role– again, a sexist standard–, or because people think ‘single parent’ and immediately assume ‘single mother’. (To be clear, I know that statistically women suffer all forms of SA far more often than men, which is beyond terrible, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen the other way around as well.)

Now, to be fair, if you are also doing trans-man Danny, none of this holds weight and them calling Danny ‘mom’ could stem from that, or because saying Vlad had a kid with a teenaged trans-man makes Vlad look SO much worse and by calling Danny ‘mom’ they are trying to imply that kind of narrative. Which is not a terrible way of writing a story where Danny, Dani, and Dan all hate Vlad, go for the throat and make him look as bad as possible if that’s your goal. I’m just saying that in the default state of Danny being male and Vlad being the one who looked over the cloning pods, Danny is the dad and Vlad is the mom.

[angelamajiki]

[ a father’s love ]

PARING: StepFather! Aizawa x StepDaughter! Reader

SYNOPSIS: Your stepfather took you in with open arms after the death of your mother. Depression gets the better of you and Shouta promises to take care of you. But just how far is he willing to go to see it through?

CW: yandere, pseudo-incest, mentions of stalkers, mentions of death, depression, mental health issues, pregnancy, noncon, somnophilia, bondage, daddy kink, praise kink, afab reader

AN: my first collab with the bnharem server!! the theme was roommates (i ran with the term loosely) read the other member’s takes here! mind the tags as usual and enjoy!! :)

The death of your mother shattered you. A freak accident with a villain attack had her crushed under rubble from a collapsed building. Your stepfather, Shouta, suggested that you move back home with him after her funeral. As tempting as the offer was, you were determined to make it through University and handle yourself like a big girl, an adult ready to take on the world. You had only moved out a few months before her death, independence calling to you after you received your college acceptance letter.

A few months and an eviction notice later, you crawled back to him, the only remnants of your family. Open arms enveloped you, bringing you solace and comfort in your dire time of need. You felt like a child, bundled up in his arms as you sobbed, screaming at the cruelty of the world. Depression hit you hard and deep, flunking you out of your classes and preventing the bills from being paid. You had no other alternative but to accept his offer.

“You time and space to grieve properly, kitty. The most logical thing to do is take a breather.”

Ah, kitty. He always knew that was your favorite nickname, calling you that ever since you were a little girl. He also always knew just what to say. Patting your thigh, he stood up and extended his hand to help you up as well.

“Let’s go step up your room. I'm sure you need a nap after that cry.”

He gave a wrinkly smile before disappearing down the hall.

Skeptical at first, you were unsure if it was the right move to return home. You needed time to figure out what you wanted, what you needed. A break from life would give you a chance to sort things out, right? And Shouta was more than prepared to use this opportunity to show you he would be all that you needed and more.

The man was nothing short of doting and generous. A shoulder to cry on, a good laugh, a friend, a father. He helped you piece your broken soul back together. Whenever he wasn’t patrolling, he was at home with you. When your depression seemed to drown you, Shouta was there to pull you out of the water. He made sure you ate, helped brush your hair when it was matted, and got you into clean clothes daily. It was the small things that he did for you that helped your demeanor change.

—

“Up and at ‘em, kitty. Breakfast is on the table.”

You grunted, burrowing deeper into your bedding. A chuckle reverberated in his throat as he rubbed your lower back soothingly.

“C’mon, I know you haven't been eating lately. Let's get some food in you. I made your favorite.”

—

But as time passed, his help could only do so much. Your mental health continued to dwindle, plummeting into the ground when her first anniversary passed.

—

Gentle strokes of a brush smoothed through your tangled hair. Shouta was kind enough to help you when your head got matted into a rat’s nest, being incredibly tender and gentle with you. Tears streamed down your face, broken hiccups and sobs bubbling from your chest. You were trying to hold it in, he could tell. A sweet kiss was placed on the back of your head as he enveloped you in a comforting embrace, letting his hands sip down to your hips to rub circles in.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

He was the only one that was.

—

The domestic dynamic the two of you fell into hardly felt like one of parent and child, but more as two lovers sharing a home they built together. The pair of you even adopted a new cat together in hopes of cheering you up. You can't say that you disliked it. It felt...nice to have your presence matter when it was a struggle even to be alive. Shouta always checked in on you; whether he sent you an update from work or shared a cat video. He really was the best father anyone could hope for, even when your depression got the worst of you.

Your depression started to manifest itself in many forms. Lately, you’d been having vicious nightmares, only to wake up with an unknown stickiness on your thighs. Recalling the night terrors was something that evaded you, but you knew you were being violated. Perhaps your body wet itself from the fear of the dream? It was the only logical answer you and Shouta could come up with. Depression sure had funny ways of physically manifesting itself. You thought that would be the end of it, putting the situation behind you.

It was until it started happening nightly. The nightmares only seemed to prolong themselves, worsening to the point where you could vividly dream of being assaulted. Your underwear was now soiled too, and it definitely wasn’t your doing. Fearing you had a stalker, Shouta installed brand new locks on your windows and doors, hoping to soothe you. He was a Pro-Hero, so he certainly had the means and know-how to protect you. It put you at some ease, but it continued to the point where your stepfather decided sleeping in the same room would help you feel safer.

It didn't.

The nightmares themselves only seemed to get worse, but Shouta was right there to comfort you as soon as you woke up shouting in a panic. He would take you into his arms and hold you until you fell back asleep. You felt like a child. But he didn't judge you.

After a month of strange behavior, the stress caused you to gain some weight. Visiting a doctor was your best bet to get an answer. He took you to your appointment, letting you hold onto his arm for comfort as his hand rested comfortably on your thigh. The two of you were mistaken for a couple by a nurse. What a strange, intimate relationship the pair of your tangled yourselves in.

The doctor ran some tests and had your blood drawn. The results were to be emailed to you in a few days. Shouta calmed your nerves with a tender kiss to the forehead, reassuring you that everything would work itself out.

The notification for the email came in a few days later while Shouta was at work and you were lounging in the living room. Patience was never your strong suit, so you took his laptop from the coffee table, only to open up to a camera feed. Coming from your room.

The blood in your veins ran cold as you looked into the memory drive of the feed. Maybe he set up a camera to see what was happening during your nightmares? That had to be it; how could you assume the worst of your sweet dad? The only saved footage to be found was him fucking himself deep inside of your sleeping body.

“I see the results are in.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. He always had a habit of sneaking up on you.

“What-” You couldn’t find the words to describe your anger. “What the fuck is this!”

Disgust. Rage. Dispair.

Your only family left had turned against you.

“You were upset at the loss of your family, kitty. So I decided to give you a new one.”

He couldn't possibly mean…

“You’re pregnant.”

Bile rose to your throat as you gagged at the mere thought of his words. Pregnant? With your father’s child? His betrayal cut you more profoundly than your mother’s death ever could have. But it couldn't have made more sense—his touches, his comfort, sleeping in your room, the nightmares that plagued you.

“You’re sick!”

You shouted, tears streaming down your face as you continued to pummel insults and nasty spats at him. You lost your voice by the end of your rant, panting and heaving while sweat beaded your brow. He just stood there, taking everything in with a grain of salt.

“I understand, kitty. I really do. I should have been straightforward with my intentions.” He confessed.

The capture weapon around his neck snagged you the second you moved on the couch.

“Let daddy make it up to you. I'll make everything better for my pretty little kitty.”

It secured you to the sofa, keeping your legs spread and your hands behind your torso. On his knees in front of you, Shouta was ready to serve his apology with his tongue. Panties and sweatpants were ripped at the seams before being tossed aside.

He caressed your thigh with a delicate touch, pressing his lips to the other side. A kiss was pressed to your clit before long slow strokes of a hot tongue lavished it in attention. He kneaded your thighs gently all the while, humming as he began to alternate between licking and suckling on your sensitive nub.

Your head thrashed about in your binds as you shouted in protest.

“S-Stop it right now! Get off of me, dad!”

In a desperate plea, you hoped that hearing you call him dad would force him back into reality. Instead, he groaned and took a breath.

“Call me that again, kitty.”

A hot mouth sealed over your wet cunt as he dove his tongue between your folds while sucking with his lips. The pleasure was undeniable; his tongue was too experienced to ignore how his ministrations made you feel. Toes flexing and curling, you cried out of a mix of frustration, disgust, and humiliation as he continued to work at your dripping hole. This pig was getting off on the fact that he was fucking his daughter. It made your soul shatter all over again, the one he worked so hard to rebuild.

You continued to sob, moans now added to the mix, as he worked a finger inside of you. He made a curling motion after plunging in knuckle deep. A pleasured shout broke between your cries.

“I'll take it that’s your sweet spot, pretty girl? Good to know.”

He continued to abuse that spot, slowing down just a touch with his tongue to drag out the ride to the peak. Can't have you coming too fast, now can we? Your moans and whimpers spurred him on even more as he wiggled another finger inside you.

Removing his mouth, he focused on stretching and loosening up your tense body. You were lax when sleeping, so sliding in was a pinch with his size. But now he has to deal with you thrashing and struggling against his bonds. Disgust and pleasure churned together in your gut, feeling the incoming orgasm approaching hard and fast. Shouta felt you clench around his fingers and added a third, using his thumb to swipe your clit back and forth. With a final cry, you came on his fingers with a shout as your body convulsed in the capture weapon. You found what little peace you could in your short-lived post-nut clarity, taking a moment to breathe and center yourself.

Your father gave you no such chance to do so, immediately springing his cock free and rubbing the tip against your clit to gather your wetness. A chuckle sounded in his throat as he watched you twitch even more from the stimulation that was starting to border on being painful.

“Relax, kitty. Being tense won't do you any good.”

He slowly nudged his cock into your hole, groaning as he took his time bottoming out inside you. Praise spilled from his lips as he let you adjust, feeling your pussy clench tight around him. Good girl, good kitty. He shushed your sobs, smoothing the tears off of your face with the pads of his thumb. Murmurs of good girl and taking me so well slipped your senses. The pace he set was slow and deep, letting you feel every agonizing inch of his rather impressive dick.

Your flowing tears were kissed away as he proceeded to thrust faster and deeper. The sound of skin slapping against one another filled the room, even above your now weakened crying and whimpers. Sweat beaded on your brow plastered your hair to your forehead. His breath was warm against your cheek, his moans of pleasure so close to your ear forced you to stay in the moment.

Shouta swallowed your cute noises with a kiss, cupping and stroking your cheek with his right hand while his left pinned your hips down into the cushions. He did his best to stop your tears, pushing the hair off of your sweaty face. A few minutes passed filled with kisses, cries, and deep thrusts before he maneuvered you to be seated in his lap. Back pressed into the cushions, he lazily thrust up into you, hands grabbing your now bouncing ass. His thumb made its way back to your clit as he rubbed it in small circles, grinning at your cries of pleasure that you couldn't hold back. Dark brown eyes fluttered shut as he groaned and moaned proudly, increasing the speed of his thrusts as he felt himself getting closer and closer.

He usually lasted longer while you were sleeping; he does have quite a bit of stamina from his hero work. But something about seeing your flushed, torn face, hearing your whimpers and cries, he can't help but cum rather quickly for his own record. The pleasure was manifesting itself within you again, a second orgasm hitting you like a speeding truck as you gasped and choked for air at its intensity. Shouta was soon to follow, grunting and moaning loudly as he filled your cunt with his spend. He rode out both your orgasms, relishing in the silence between the two of you. It was better than hearing your broken, choked up wails.

It was wrong; he knew that. Breaking your trust, violating you, sabotaging your personal life, he couldn't help but be selfish with you. But he always knew what was best for you, always knew how to take care of you when you couldn't.

Foreheads pressed together, he caught your sagging body against him in a warm hug, stroking your hair when you started to sob uncontrollably.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

[cunningambitousdetermined]

The Plan (Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader)

title: the plan

pairing: natasha romanoff x f!reader

warnings: mild swearing, mentions of homophobia, FLUFF with a dash of angst

summary: Y/N has been in love with Natasha Romanoff for a VERY long time and honestly, Tony is getting sick of watching it. Natasha has been in love with Y/N since the very first day and Steve can’t take the assassins obliviousness anymore. Steve and Tony, reluctantly of course, team up to make the pair notice how perfect they are for each other. (OH SHOOT IM SORRY I SUCK AT SUMMARIES WOW)

requested by @iamninaanna: 

Hey Sunshine, I love your writing, so I'm here to request something :) 

Can I please request a Natasha Romanoff × reader, where the Avengers are playing truth or dare, and somebody challenges Natasha to kiss the reader, or something like that, and then they confess their feelings to one another. I was having something in mind, I hope it's not to specific, that like Natasha rambles about the reader to Steve A LOT, and he's so sick of it, he has to do something about it, while it's the same situation with reader, just that she's talking to hers best friend, which can be any of the Avengers, you decide, and then Steve and the reader's best friend make a plan together, and well, you know the rest <3

Okay, that was a lot, but I'm really excited😊 Thank you if you write it!!

a/n (i think that's what i put when i’m responding, if i screwed it up please let me know, it would be much appreciated) :

hi taja! thank you so much, this is the first time someone has requested something and im really excited. but also terrified. more terrified. reader is a girl but if someone wants me to rewrite this as gender neutral, i can.  hope i do it justice and if your reading this, thank you for reading. if anyone has any feedback, it’s always welcome. okay here i go!!

the story: 

Y/N Y/L/N flopped backward on to Tony Stark’s bed, grabbed the nearest pillow and let out a angry scream into the unsuspecting piece of cloth and feathers. 

“Woah kid, what’d the pillow do to you?” Tony joked, his eyes still trained on whatever new gizmo he was working on, chuckling at his best friends antics.

“It’s fucking Natasha” Y/N mumbled quietly into the pillow, her voice muddled by the soft white sheets that she buried her head farther in. Tony was silent, the only sounds was the clinking of the Tony’s robots and tools working, so she assumed he hadn’t heard her. Not that she wanted him too anyway. 

Y/N was in love with Natasha Romanoff. Head over heels, fully in love with the assassin that she’d worked closely with for the past years. To describe how Y/N felt about Natasha in words would never to how she really felt in justice. Natasha was a tall glass of Coke: Orange Vanilla. Rare, unsuspectingly sweet, and utterly addicting. Her red hair, the black bodysuit, the way she fought, she could take down 10 men on her own, with her bare hands. She was sweet- always sharing her secret candy stashes with Y/N- smart -helping Y/N out when she was still taking classes. 

Sometimes Y/N really thought Natasha felt the same way, then she flirted with a guy here and hot girl there and the idea fled from her brain.  Y/N had never seen Natasha have an inclination toward women, she flirted with every living thing. Y/N liked to think it was a coping with feelings for someone and that's why she was so flirty but in reality, Y/N knew there was no way she felt near the same way. She was an extra to the Avengers. And besides, no one even knew she liked girls. 

“It’s what, darling?” Tony had moved and was now sitting in front of Y/N, spinning around in his chair like a little kid in their dad’s office.

Y/N wanted to tell him how in love she was with Natasha, she wanted to tell him all the little things she noticed, all the little things she loved. But she couldn’t. How would Tony take it? Tony might take it okay, but the team? Steve? Bucky? They were from the 40′s, women didn’t love other women openly back then, did they still think it was... unnatural? She didn’t think she could deal with being any more of an outcast. Did Natasha like girls? The thoughts were drowning her slowly, cutting off her air supply, the last bit of air building up into a scream that she would never let out. 

Tony coughed and Y/N realized she’d been silent for too long. “Tony....” she took a deep breath in, “I- uh-...,” Tony raised an eyebrow, waiting for to go on. Y/N coughed clearing nothing from her throat, elongating the silence before she just spit the words out like hot fire. “I’minlovewithNatashaandIdontknowwhattodo?” 

“You’re what?” Tony asked, having caught nothing of that sentence, something about Natasha but honestly he was still lost. 

Y/N felt a little better and slowed herself down. She trained her eyes on a seam in the comforter and whispered, “I’m in love with Natasha and I don’t know what to do”

There was a silence and Y/N could feel it smothering her, pulling her into the water, dunking her head under, she was drowning and, and and- Tony erupted in laughter. Y/N’s head shot up and she stared at him, color drained from her face. Tony rocked back and forth but when he came up again, he caught the absolute terror on her face and his smile dropped. 

“Y/N?” he asked softy, he stood up, plopping on the bed next to her, “Babe?” Tony tried to catch her eye, ducking his head but she turned away. He grabbed her chin in his large hands, “Babe, I wasn’t laughing at you. God, I’m such an idiot.” he blew out a harsh breath, “I was laughing because I already knew, not because you are in love with her.” Tony felt her face relax and he turned her chin to meet his eye. 

“You knew?” Y/N asked softly, tears still gathered in her eyes. Tony’s eyes softened as he saw the tears and he used the pads of his thumb to wipe them away. 

“I’m sorry Y/N. I don’t care if you like women. I’ve known you had some sort of feelings for Natasha for a while, you can see it when you look at her. I was just waiting for you to tell me.” Y/N laughed at this now and threw her arms around Tony, who wrapped her up in a hug. “Now, tell me more about Natasha and this ‘love’” he said, his voice muffled by her hair. 

~

“STEVEEEE” Natasha groans, letting down her normal assassins façade. 

“Mmm” Steve hummed in reply, motioning for her to come in to his room. She smiled and darted to the spinning chair in the corner, propping her feet up on the desk. It was silent for a little bit, the pair just enjoying each others company when Natasha spun her chair around and broke the silence. 

“Do you think Y/N likes women?” Steve already knew the Natasha liked women and he was totally cool with it. Nat has been surprised when he had been super supportive but was very grateful for all the love and reassurance he’d given her. 

“Nat,” Steve sighed dramatically, “She can’t NOT know your in love with her, unless she’s totally oblivious which she may be...” He turned to face her, jumping on his bed to be closer to her, “You should just tell her” 

“But...” Nat frowned, “what if she doesn’t like women? And I creep her out? And..” She stopped as she felt Steve lay a hand on her shoulder. 

“How could she not like you?” he questioned, “And trust me, it’s quite obvious how she feels.” 

“HOW SHE FEELS?!” Nat practically screamed, so unlike her that Steve leaned back. She cleared her throat, “Sorry- she feels...?” 

“She’s in love with you, obviously”

Nat grabbed a pillow from the bed and screamed into it, then looked at Steve, wary, “Really? Y/N with her...” Steve tuned out the rest of what Nat said, he’d heard it all before. Too many times. Nat sighed, in a happy way that Steve had never heard from her before, “Y/N...”

~

Steve knew that this had to end, Natasha and Y/N pretending they weren’t head over heels for each other. He’d heard enough of Nat’s wistful rants, it was so unlike her, it was starting to worry him. If he was correct in his guess, Tony was feeling the same way. So, despite Tony being, well, Tony, Steve sought him out to solve the mess. 

~

“Truth or dare, old man?” Clint smirked at Tony, all the avengers had settled for a night in and decided to play truth or dare. Y/N had rolled her eyes at this, they were too old for it, but settled in next to Tony anyway. 

“Dare, obviously” Tony rolled his eyes at Clint, eagerly awaiting his fate. 

“I dare you to stand on top of the tower and sing at least 30 seconds of ‘Rich Girl’ by Gwen Stefani and livestream it.” Tony laughed at this and stood up. 10 minutes and one livestream later, all of them were laughing harder then they had in a long time. 

“Okay, okay, my turn to ask,” Tony smiled, “Natasha, truth or dare?” Steve couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face, the plan was in motion. 

“Dare...” Natasha didn’t let her voice waver, her signature smirk on her face. 

“I dare you to kiss Y/N”

The whole room fell silent. Y/N’s face flamed and her eyes filled with tears. Was this a joke? Tony knew how she felt. How could he? The eyes in the room were on Nat and her but she ignored them as she got up and ran out of the room. Tony’s eyes widened as Y/N darted through the door. 

“Nice going, Tony. You upset her.” Natasha’s glared at Tony, angry. But inside she couldn’t help but wonder if she ran because she didn’t want to kiss her. Maybe she hated the idea. Maybe she didn’t like women after all. Nat got up, she had to face this. “I’ll go get her” She dragged her hand over her face and got up. Tony and Steve exchanged a glance as she left, hopefully this wouldn’t blow up in their faces

~

“Y/N!” Nat yelled down the hall, “It’s me, I’m sorry Tony was a jerk. Can we talk?”

Y/N heard Natasha’s voice and faltered, she had to face this at some point. She took a deep breath, letting the cool confidence she had on missions fill her. 

“Yeah, I’m here Nat” She called back and within seconds Nat ran around the corner. Nat’s eyes softened as they looked into Y/N’s beautiful eyes, still just as mesmerizing, puffy and red. Nat took an unconscious step forward, her thumbs caressing the hidden tear streaks. Y/N’s breath caught, her heart flipping at Nat’s touch. Before she could think about it, Y/N leaned up and let her lips meet Nat’s. Nat responded immediately, pulling Y/N to her, wrapping her arms around her, teeth tugging at her bottom lip. Y/N groaned into the kiss, letting her fingers card through Nat’s hair. They pulled away after a minute, smiling like idiots. Y/N looked down slowly before glancing back up shyly at Nat. 

“Um... I really like you Nat” She whispered, with a smile

“I really like you too Y/N” Nat chuckled, pulling her in again for a sweet, soft kiss. It said everything they hadn’t said. All the nights of longing, the confusion and the love. 

Tony, Steve and the rest of the team watched from the security room, smiling and high fiving at the happy couple. 

AHHH I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!! feedback is always appreciated!!

tagging: @iamninaanna (to be tagged when i write something just drop me an ask)

[tracle0]

Something was very, very wrong, and he was absolutely certain it had something to do with the fact that a heart was beating in his chest.

Loud, angry shouts echoed in the air, familiar voices clashing in fury. Someone stumbled on the ground, a few meters away, cursed and righted themselves, backing away from him. Beneath his fingers, the grass was cool and wet, painfully numbing his hands. Panic pounded at his ribcage, scraped at his throat, strained to free itself. It demanded an outlet for its energy, encouraged him to get up and run away, but refused to provide any reason for the fear.

With a throat too dry to scream with, he whimpered to himself instead, a tiny, pathetic noise. Amongst the shouting, it shouldn’t have been heard, and yet in a matter of seconds, someone approached him. “Keaton? Keaton, are you alright? Can you hear me? Keaton?”

Keaton. Vaguely, part of his head recognised that as his name, the word that he answered to, chosen after months of agonising and searching and responding to a name that was not his own. The rest of his head was pulling itself in a thousand directions, screaming, fearful, angry, confused, scared.

He peered up from his knees, where his head had been buried. Everything was white, smoky, a few dark shapes moving amongst the mist, jostling and shouting. Wincing away from the commotion, he lowered his stare to the floor, watching the white. It didn’t move like normal smoke – it coiled, crept, reaching out to him in a friendly, gentle way. After a moment of watching, he brushed a hand through it.

Touching it bought a new jolt of panic, confusion, fear, so overwhelming he was almost blinded by it. Jerking his hand away with a sharp hiss, he tried to slow his breathing to a normal level but found the smoke still snaking towards him, seeking him out, desperate to share its terror.

At first, he wanted to scramble away, but his head and body weren’t co-ordinating yet, and it was surrounding him from all angles. When it started to creep closer, enclosing him in a smaller and smaller patch, he instinctively twitched his hand, and the creeping tendrils were pushed away by an invisible force, leaving a small, round patch of grass clear for him to stay in. And stay he did, eye sockets pressed into his knees, heart pounding, thoughts moving far too quickly for him to keep up with.

Keaton. Him. His name. His body, stiff and awkward as it was. His hands, buzzing, burning, why weren’t they buzzing or burning? He could remember them buzzing and burning and something bad had happened.

What? What? What had happened? Where was he? Who was he? Keaton? The name tasted right, but unfamiliar at the same time. Why was he here? How was he here? He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be breathing. Was he breathing?

Someone. Next to him, the same voice as before, one he recognised but couldn’t place. Whoever it was, he knew he trusted them. Why? How? Doesn’t matter. They were saying something, had been saying something for a while, a low soothing mumble for his ears only, words that didn’t make sense yet, words that were trying to help him. The voice came attached with an image of someone tall, holding a long pole and grinning, as if having just delivered a terrible joke. Not helpful. Not useful. He ignored it.

How long had he been on the floor? How long had he been breathing, thinking, cowering? How long had his eyes been clamped shut for? It helped his breathing slow down. It helped his shoulders relax. He kept his eyes shut, hugging his knees, gripping his arms so tightly he could feel the outline of the bone.

Bone. Bone. His bones. Peeking through his skin, his skin coming undone, he had watched it unwind itself, oh god, oh god, what had happened to him?!

Around him, the shouting continued. Someone fearful, nearby, words translating into meaning in his head over the new wave of panic; “Get out! Go away! Leave him alone!”

Someone angry, further away; “You’ve fucked him! You’ve fucked him! This is your fault!”

Someone muttering, almost out of his range. “This isn’t right. This can’t be right.”

Someone speaking, right next to him; “It’s okay. You’re okay. Don’t worry. We’ll get you somewhere safe.”

A blink and the shouting was gone, the quiet murmur next to him gone, moved to a hushed conversation a few meters away from him.

“Is he alive?” The frightened voice, the person who had been shouting was asking, a much calmer, more feminine voice. He recognised it again, understood it was someone he trusted, didn’t know how or why. With a closer vocalisation, memories swarmed him; a dark and dreary seafront. Braided hair blowing in the wind as tired eyes frowned down at a folder. Ranting passionately together about something not very important. They were good things to recall, sweet moments in the confusion he was drowning in, even if they did raise more questions.

“He’s alive,” the first familiar voice said, a masculine voice. “I think he’s a bit scared.”

A bit scared. That was putting it lightly. Granted, the pounding panic had subdued into pressing anxiety, but he was still more than a bit scared.

“Didn’t expect this as an outcome,” the first voice continued, picking at his words. “Didn’t think he’d…”

“No, me neither,” replied the second. “It’s a miracle. Alhamdulillah.” A pause, a moment of quiet, a moment for his head to calm down a little, then again, “Is he… are you sure he’s alive? Definitely alive?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“I’m here,” Keaton said quietly, eyes still screwed shut, the words bitter and foreign on his tongue. The hum of sound in his throat made his pulse race, but he swallowed it all down. “I’m alive.”

Someone responded, but the panic was drowning out words again. There was peace in the blackness, calm in the quiet, even when it came from ignored speech and shut eyes. He took what he could get, kept his head lowered, kept his terror as low as it would go.

Blink. He was being guided to his feet, someone holding his arm, gently narrating what they were doing as he was walked somewhere. For a few steps, he let himself be pulled through the dark, but quickly found it was more dizzying to walk with his eyes shut than it was terrifying to look around. He could be guided into some of the white smoke, stumbling into a suffocating trap of unmanageable panic. He could trip and fall. It was safer.

Logic didn’t make it any less terrifying. Fear was not logical. Fear cowered at the tapping of tree branches at a dark window, and the shuddering settling of the house at night. Fear flinched away from the unfamiliar and unknown and hid behind a pounding heart. Fear coaxed and nurtured an irrational thought process that kept him hunched over, keeping himself as small as possible as he stared around.

The only relief was the white smoke was now gone, but that was barely a relief; now he could see everything clearly. Images sang at him, high-pitched and straining. Everything jabbed at him, demanding attention. Bush. Grass. Fence. Tree. Bench. Path. People. Stone. Stones, plural. Floating all around, every single pebble and rock that had been on the ground was held in the air, perfectly still, as if poised to fire.

Too much. He shut his eyes.

Blink. Opening them again as the panic started to die down, he glanced up quickly. Sure enough, the stones were still there, frozen in place. Watching. Waiting. The people with him – one tall and white, by his side, the other short and black, leading the way, both familiar, both unnameable – weren’t ignoring the rocks entirely, but also weren’t giving any indication that they were strange.

Maybe it was normal. Maybe he hadn’t properly loaded the world in his brain. Something was clearly wrong with him right now. His heart was still thumping in his chest. His head was still screaming in panic. So what if there were floating stones all around him? It was the least of his worries.

Their presence wouldn’t leave him alone. After a few steps, with his head lowered to the floor, he murmured, “Are the stones meant to be doing that?”

If there had been a conversation before he spoke, it died as soon as the first word left his mouth. “No,” the second voice told him, coming from the black woman. A name nagged at his head, out of reach, almost taunting him. “You’re holding them.” 

“Me?” His voice was barely louder than a breath. Eyes stuck to the closest stone, he flicked his wrist experimentally, dismissively, and sure enough, it fell to the floor. Every stone fell to the floor, in unison, leaving the air empty.

“There’s no other telekinetics around, Keaton,” she said kindly, casually, unaware of the explosion this new information caused in his head.

Telekinetic. Moving objects without touching them. Yes. Yes, that was what he could do. But to this extent? To this degree? To the point that every stone in the limited distance he could see had been held aloft, held still? That was surely too much. Past his limit. Past a limit. What limit? He had a limit? He had passed a limit. Passed a limit and watched his skin unravel to reveal the bones in his arms as a result.

Horror swept up his throat. The person at his side jumped as Keaton tore himself from their grasp, stumbled to one side and threw up, stomach acid burning his mouth and nose, eyes watering. He shut them again as if it would hide the fact he was sobbing.

Blink. He was in a vehicle, a van, being driven through the night. An endless whirlpool of panic frothed and spiralled in his head, unwilling, unable to stop. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t who he was. Who was he? A name, an ability, a wave of terror, that wasn’t what made up a person. There was more. He just couldn’t remember it.

Eyes open again, he was met with a wide array of small figures, mostly of rats, all perched on the dashboard of the van, watching him. For a moment, he stared back, then glanced to his right. Someone was driving him, someone was next to him. 

Stranger danger. A warning flashed in his head, delightfully normal and much quieter than the fear that pounded with his pulse, and it almost made him smile. These weren’t strangers, anyway. It was the pair from the park, unnamed but trusted, both engaged in a conversation that he chose to ignore.

Whilst they were distracted, he took the chance to study them, try and recognise them. Next to him, on the second passenger seat, was the woman. Her wide smile as she spoke was something he had many memories of, and the way she flicked a long braid behind her shoulder was comfortingly recognisable. She was dressed in a warm, fuzzy jumper, not unlike the material on the neck of his jacket, and looked tired. That didn’t seem unusual for her.

Next to her, on the driver’s seat, was the man, his eyes stuck to the road, listening. His long, blond hair was falling in his face. The sight of it pulled a memory, a moment Keaton had asked about it. Does that not get annoying? He’d gotten a tight smile in response, then almost deliberately, he’d shaken more hair over his eyes. Sweet memories. Confusing memories.

More notable than the hair was his choice of clothes. If a headache could be a person, it would look like him. Or, more specifically, it would dress like him; luring you into a false sense of security with a reasonable, if overly large sweater, then punching you twice in the face with trousers with such jarringly bright patterns they should be considered a hazard.

Lots to take in. Turning away from the pair before they noticed him staring, leaning his head against the window, a hand over his face, he peered through his fingers at the world passing by. His eyelashes blurred the streetlights into bright, spiking strands, dancing as he was pulled through the night. Did he know this place? This town, city, street? Its roads were flat, twisting around each other like snakes wrestling. It seemed quaint, familiar, out of his grasp like so many other things.

It was getting to be annoying that everything was staying away from him. After a moment, as the conversation died down, he dared to ask, “Where are we?”

“Oh, hey, you are awake,” the driver said, delighted. “Are you feeling alright?”

“No,” he said bluntly. The window was cold, numbing his knuckles, providing something to ground himself against the tide of panic. “Where are we?”

“We’re in Mika’s van,” the woman said, which didn’t help much. Although he had first heard her shouting, it seemed very unlike her to raise her voice much at all. Whatever had happened earlier, it must have been bad. “Heading back to the hotel.”

Mika. Not his name, the name of the driver. It slotted into place, filling at least one frustrating hole. There was barely time to relish in the relief before the next scrap of information clicked in his head.

The image of a hotel had very little attached to it – a few specific memories of this pair in a room, talking, laughing, arguing. Him, sitting at a desk, eavesdropping on them as he worked on something, the same sound replaying over and over and over. The two of them hunched over separate meals, leaning against each other as they ate. Friendly. Soft. Welcoming.

So why did the mere mention of a hotel fill him with so much dread, such an overwhelming feeling of wrongness? It drowned out even his panic, leaving him with just the sound of his thudding heart and the creeping sense he didn’t belong.

Blink. He didn’t notice the time pass, but the van was stopped, the engine still and silent. Someone was speaking to him, the still unnamed woman next to him. “When we’re in the room, we can get you some tea,” she was saying as if that would solve all his problems.

“We’re nearly there now,” she was saying.

“When we’re inside, it’ll be better,” she was saying.

“Can you get inside?” She was asking. It felt like a demand.

“Lynne,” came a gentle warning. He barely reacted to the name as it slotted into place. “Give him time.”

Keaton wanted to say yes. The part of his head that grasped at every fact he uncovered, holding onto them carefully and keeping them safe and secure wanted to nod, regardless of cold sweat that was making him shiver and the sense of foreboding that turned the air in his lungs into needles. Telling the truth would be making a fuss, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Or – no, that was the second to last thing he wanted, beaten only by the certainty that he would rather die than set foot in the hotel. Why? Why was this hotel so dreadful? What about it was making him hunch so small, so tight?

The van doors opened before Keaton could find an answer. Eyes snapping open, he stared at the building – all bright lights, walls of glass, white accents. Beyond that, out of his sight but he knew the details were there – a polished floor, the smell of industrial cleaning, cloying, clogging up the air. Vividly, hauntingly, the memory of a reception, a desk, a bell. Three images that made his hands buzz.  

“I can’t go in there,” he whispered into his fist. “Something’s wrong.”

Blink. “Wrong?” Came a confused echo. Mika, outside the van, holding the door open for Keaton. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” He kept his wide-eyed stare on the hotel in front of him, tried to keep his throat from ripping itself apart with the held-back screams. “But I can’t go in. I won’t.” A pause, and quietly, so quiet that he almost didn’t hear himself; “Please don’t make me.”

“We won’t,” came an almost instant response. Lynne’s voice was drowning in sincerity. “Of course not. What do you want to do instead?”

Blink. “I don’t know.” Seven of the rat figurines on the dashboard trembled, lifting a little, and Mika glanced at them, nervous. Forcefully, Keaton unclenched his fingers, settling them back down gently. “I don’t know,” he repeated, softer. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he was told, Lynne’s voice almost stern. “Take your time. Figure it out.”

Blink. He needed to be somewhere safe. Somewhere secure. Somewhere dark and quiet where he could curl up small and ignore the world. The answer brushed by his fingers, and he grasped it firmly. “Home,” he breathed. “Please, take me home.”

Blink. The van, rumbling away underneath him. He had no idea where home was, but he was being driven somewhere. Time had swept past him, leaving him in different moments with no idea how he had ended up there. He could only assume something had happened in the meantime. He could only hope this wouldn’t continue much longer.

Thinking into the future made his head hurt, but not as much as trying to dig into the past. The future was supposed to be confusing. The past was meant to hold facts, opinions, memories, not a murky haziness.

“What happened to me?” His mumble had to travel through his hands and compete with the rumble of the engine for attention. There was no chance anyone had heard it.

“You don’t remember?” He jumped hard at a response, fear flaring up in his chest. Lynne flinched next to him. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Moving his hands from his mouth to make it easier to be heard, he rested them on his knees instead, bouncing them up and down to expel some of the panicked energy. The trembling of the van under him provided a soft buzzing, nowhere near as insistent and urgent as he was expecting. His bones were stable under his skin and it felt wrong, but thinking about how they had peeked through his flesh, letting the meat crumble into dust as they grew more and more exposed – it made every disk in his spine shake.  “Don’t remember what?”

He was so distracted by the wrongness of his skin wrapping around him he almost missed Lynne’s careful words. “Four days ago,” she said softly. “You… You, uh…”

“What?”

“You died, Keaton,” Mika said bluntly. “You died.”

[akitokihojo]

Delicate - Chapter 3

Inuyasha was unsuspecting of his own actions as time steadily progressed. Without realizing, he'd begun to scan the school grounds for Kagome, feeling a little less edgy when he'd spot her walking along or standing by, listening to her friend rant about something. Instead of appearing unaware and self-involved in the corridor, if he caught her scent or her voice, he'd glance over at her. She was almost always looking back. The real kicker that knocked the air from him was his unconscious reaction to her greeting. When did he go from brooding grunts to smiling hello's? Where was the shift? How was it suddenly so natural to respond to the upturn of her lips when she traveled over to him with a grin of his own.

He was beginning to panic.

Clearly, she was a dangerous creator of emotional turmoil. The same witchcraft Sango casted on the flirtatiously-smooth Miroku must have been casted on Inuyasha. And she was cruel enough to do that idiotically cute cock of her head when she greeted him after her seance had been completed. The audacity of this woman. There was no evidence of ritualistic activities in her room, though, sans for a scented candle on her nightstand which could potentially pass for something, but with how often his dumbass of a friend went on about that being the only feasible reason to his own problem, it had somehow weaseled its way into Inuyasha’s head that it was a tangible possibility for his, too. What else would explain the half demon suddenly growing mushy and nice after claiming from the get-go that he wasn’t worried about developing any sort of connection with her? So, he made it a point to check for clues when he visited for their study sessions. Nothing. Not a gothic, ceremonial, sacrificial, or satanic thing in sight. She was the epitome of bubbles and flowers - until she was mad. It was bullshit. Because all that meant was he was becoming just as fucked in the head as Miroku.

He'd told himself, just stop reacting. Mind your business. Keep your head down and go back to grunting, and the sensations will eventually go away for good. This isn't anything to worry about. But, then his eyes landed on her right after school one day. Koga stood a little too close for his liking, and she was giving the wolf that same smile that made his brain a little foggy. He didn't like it. It was a stiff awareness that crawled up his esophagus, that heated him unpleasantly, that tensed his jaw and sharpened his sight. He was jealous, and unwillingly so. He was wrong to think opening up even the slightest was harmless with Kagome. It was always the other person he had to push away; it was never - not once - himself that he had to hold back.

Every day since, he had to swallow his growl when he saw the jock joke around with Kagome, give playful touches to Kagome, ask Kagome if she wanted to go somewhere with him. Especially when the stupid wolf grasped for any excuse to talk to her while she was hanging beside Inuyasha. He had to remind himself, and he hated that he actually needed the reminder, that if he didn't want anything from her, he was in no position to give anyone else shit. Nor did he plan on giving anyone any insight on the feelings he was currently attempting to subside. It was irrational. He felt utterly foolish. 

That was as far as he'd allow things to go. 

Hey, gotta cancel tomorrow's study session. I'll let you know the next time I'm available.

Kagome grew increasingly disappointed the longer she stared at the text message. He'd been coming over every week for the past three months, multiple times a week more often than not. It was easy to grow accustomed to, and if anyone asked her, she'd be willing to admit she enjoyed the time they spent together. She'd learned how to bounce off of his attitude with her own, how to get him to admit little things he was reluctant to at first, how to read his sloppy handwriting - which was a feat on its own. She liked his presence most of all, because he wasn't as hostile or grumpy as looks would deem, but she also liked when he came over during the weekend and he wore one of those casual, v-neck shirts that didn't sink too low but showed the edge of his clavicles. She liked the way cotton sweaters hugged him, and how, no matter the weather, he still rolled up the sleeves of the shirt of his school uniform. She liked the way he leaned a little closer when she had questions about a problem, and how she could catch his pleasant and unnerving scent. She only had to deal with the rampant fluttering in her belly during the first two minutes of being with him - yes, she'd timed it - and then things would calm and everything flowed rhythmically from then on.

He was busy, he had a life, she totally got that. She was just bummed that she didn't get to see him this weekend when it had been something she’d been able to look forward to for a while now. Even when she caught the drift of her studies and he didn’t necessarily have to help her with anything, they’d sit and do homework together, and sometimes watch a movie in her room if they finished before he had to get home.

No worries! Have fun doing whatever!

She meant it. She really did. No one had to know she was ready to turn on anything emo by Avril Lavigne to drown out her exaggerated letdown. She wasn’t so selfish that she’d act like he owed her his time or anything. Just dramatic enough to wallow in self-pity with her bedroom door closed while absolutely ignoring every freaking thought that told her he might, might, be out with another girl.

Kagome wasn’t oblivious to the exact moment she’d sunk so low that she couldn’t convince herself into thinking she didn’t care for him passed study buddy material anymore. It happened rapidly; like the Twilight Zone’s Tower of Terror dropping six stories kind of rapid. He’d come over after school for not the first time, he’d greeted her mom and brother for not the first time, he’d carried the waters up for the umpteenth time, but then once the door was shut and the books were out, he brought up a picture on her bookshelf in the far corner of her room. It couldn’t have been the first time he’d seen it, but he acted like it was. He asked who was hugging her, and she told him that it was her dad. She could see the question on his face, how he hesitated to ask, how if she didn’t proceed on her own accord or changed the subject, he probably wouldn’t have fought her on it. Kagome didn’t have a problem talking about it, though. She’d come to terms with what had happened, and she trusted him more than enough to tell him the truth. About how her dad had gone missing when she was seven and found dead a week and a half later. Truthfully, she didn’t know the nitty gritty details of the incident, nor did she want to. She preferred that the last image she had of him in her head was the framed photo there on the shelf. Furthermore, she’d explained that that was why and how she’d learned her mom’s little habits of making sure she was home by checking for her shoes or her keys or little displacements of items in the kitchen or bathroom. And, it served as incentive for her to be a little less discreet about those indicators, while also not being obvious that she knew her mother’s secret, overprotective habits. It helped soothe her worries. This was also why she’d often walk her brother home from practice after school, or why she’d head to wherever necessary if her mom was working late to pick her brother up from his friends. Sota was only eleven, and the boy couldn’t hurt a fly if he tried. To spare her mom the ulcer, she played backup guardian to the twerp with minimal complaint.

When you tell someone a story like that, it’s reasonable to expect a bit of awkwardness to linger. Kagome was fully prepared to wave off the subject and give him the perfect setup to return to normal and call her dumb for not understanding the chemistry assignment she’d been given. It’s perfectly understandable for a person to not know how to respond to the subject, but Inuyasha was different. He was watching her almost the entire time she spoke; his eyes not drifting down or to the side in the air of discomfort. He was tense, but in a sympathetic way. And, when she shrugged and smiled at the end, concluding her explanation, Inuyasha shook his head and stroked her hair, apologizing for bringing it up in the first place.

Of course, she’d dismissed his apology. There was nothing to be sorry for. His hand had landed on her shoulder, his fingers threaded through her hair, and that was it. She remembered feeling hot in that moment, short of breath, lost and found in succession. That was the first time he’d touched her, and it was unbelievably tender.

Did he feel the same way towards her? Yeah, right. Kagome was on a one-way train to Painsville no matter what, and this was just the beginning if she didn’t get a grip. Sango liked to feed her hope, and Kagome would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate it. That didn’t give her any reason to be obvious with her stupid, crippling crush, though. Anytime she wanted to get close to him, maybe graze his hand in a way she could pull off as casual, or even flirt like she had on that very first day, Kagome froze. Having feelings for someone was terrifying. You’re vulnerable and susceptible to unbelievable amounts of humiliation, and while Kagome was bold with her words, she wasn’t quite the same with her actions. At least, not in regards to this field.

Guys were supposed to make the first move, anyway. Not girls. Not her. And until then, until Inuyasha miraculously sprung some feelings for her too, she would be moping face-down on her bed.

Inuyasha only made it to her house once in a two week span. He hated admitting it, but it was hard to stay away. Kagome didn’t ask when he’d be able to again, and a small part of him wished she would. It was this nagging twinge in his heart wanting to know if she’d even cared or wanted him there, but no. He didn’t bring it up and neither did she. Of all the times for her to mind her business, this was when she chose to. So, he caved. He asked if she still sucked and needed help, and it seemed like her face lit up, his nerves grasping at any little cue that could spark needless anticipation. As if he wanted anything more to fuck him over. The original objective was to spend less time with her, and cut the chord he’s disturbingly developed. The former he was succeeding with; the latter was a different story, which became evident to him when she didn’t show up to school one day. 

Kagome never missed class. 

He told himself she’d probably caught a cold, but it didn’t help any. Answers were easily attainable, but seeking them out was too conspicuous; Sango was too clever not to immediately figure out his motive, and he could see her having too much fun taunting him before giving up an answer. Getting Miroku to ask Sango would send Miroku spiraling into a wild panic attack on the floor. Texting Kagome and asking, himself, was just purely out of the fucking question for no good reason other than preserving what was left of his sanity.

Throughout the day, his worry increased. Fuck if he knew why. He figured if Sango was fairing fine without her, he should be too. Right? But, her best friend most likely knew the reason she was out. He didn’t. He didn’t like that he didn’t know, either. Inuyasha liked knowing things. Kagome was fairly open with him. He should have just texted her. Chances were probable that she would have answered without skepticism. If he had just sent the damn message, he wouldn’t have felt so stressed right now. Yet, here he was, tapping his nail against the surface of the desk in his bedroom, knee bobbing erratically, completely frustrated - with his irrational mood more than anything.

“I’m going out real quick. Be back in twenty.” Inuyasha announced, throwing his jacket over his shoulders at the door. His uncle gave him a small acknowledgment from the living room, the words as horse and wheezy-sounding as usual, and the half demon slipped out the door without another word. 

Kagome bounced around the center of her bedroom, light on her toes, swaying to the intro music of her favorite show on TV while she scooped small spoonfuls of ice cream from the pint in her hand. A couple soft knocks had her stop, the taps sounding like they’d come from glass but her common sense saying that wasn’t possible. She waited to see if she’d hear it again, willing to dismiss the noise as a creak in her floor, but when it did happen, she turned toward her window, a chill shooting up her spine as she saw Inuyasha staring through. Her gasp was loud and high-pitched, but the swear she let out was murmured between other swears beneath her breath.

The hanyou gestured for her to open the window, perched on the small roofing available from the first story.

“What are you doing?” Kagome hissed after dropping her pint on her desk, opening the frame for him to come through. 

“I forgot something here. I wanted it back.” Inuyasha stated, keeping his tone casual.

“You forgot something here? Four days ago? And, you decided now is a good time to come get it?” She crossed her arms over her chest, watching as he twirled around the room to look for his object.

“Yup.”

“It’s eleven o’clock.”

“Yup.”

“What did you even forget?”

“My,” He delayed for a second, thinking. He’d rehearsed this the entire way here, yet he still blanked on his excuse. “Pin. Must have fallen out of my pocket.”

“Really? I haven’t seen any pins.” She mentioned, doubtfully.

“Oh, there it is.” He pointed to the small, golden crown pin stuck in her cork board. “You even made a home for it, liar.”

“That’s because it’s mine.” There was something off about him. Nothing that tipped her concern, but strange was strange nonetheless. She cocked a brow, and her lips inadvertently curved upward in response to it all. Even as he leaned over her mattress and stole the pin right out of the cork board.

“Oh. Well, does it have any sentimental value to you?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll just keep it to replace my own then.” He twiddled it in his fingers, shrugging resolutely.

“You’re being weird.” She pointed, entertained. “What’s wrong?”

“I told you, I forgot something.”

“Except you didn’t.”

“Except I did, and you weren’t at school for me to ask for it back. So, I took it upon myself to come get it.” His tone was slightly rougher than usual, gruff, and not cooperating to conceal his main purpose in the least. Was he worried about her, or just courageous enough to sneak over in the dead of night? “Speaking of which, you don’t look sick.”

“I’m not.” She disputed, a little surprised. “Sota tripped during soccer practice last night and broke his ankle. I stayed home to watch him so mom didn’t have to take off work.”

“Oh, shit.” Inuyasha’s brows pinched together. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah, he’s fine for the most part. Until he learns to crutch his way upstairs, the living room is his new bedroom for the time being.”

“Need any help taking heavy things down for him?”

“Nah, we got the important things down there so he’s comfortable. Besides, mom may not appreciate us making a ton of noise with that right now. But, thank you.” Kagome softly raked her teeth over her bottom lip.

He gave a slow nod, feeling a little stupid, wishing he’d just had the guts to text her. Seeing her, though, was so much more satisfying. His eyes travelled over her, taking in her camisole and flannel pajama bottoms, her bare feet, her messy waves, her makeup-less skin, and the glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. How did she still look beautiful? It was time for him to go.

“Alright, gramps, go to sleep. It’s passed your bedtime.” Inuyasha said huskily, brushing her shoulder on his way back to the window.

“Oh, wait.” Kagome went over to her nightstand, pulling the only drawer open and rustling through the miscellaneous belongings until her fingers pinched a small, rubber top. Turning back to him, she took the crown pin from his hand, pushing the sharp end through the top of the chest pocket of his jacket and fastening it there with the rubber. “There. So you won’t lose it again.”

“I’m not keeping it there.” Inuyasha shook his head, unamused. Still, she giggled, perfectly happy with her little stunt, giving it a pat for good measure.

“By the way, I won’t be at school tomorrow, either. Just in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” He lied, slipping through the window frame. 

“Just in case.”

“And, even if I was to begin with, is there any problem with me coming over to find out!?” There was the lick of defensiveness in his tone.

“Not really. Feel free to use the front door next time.” Kagome smiled.

“Yeah, because your mom would be so cool with me showing up this late at night.”

“Window’s fine, too.” She said, bobbing her head back and forth to agree with his point. 

“Lock the hatch. And, get some better dance moves.” He said, though his small grin robbed his joke of all harshness. The half demon was light on his feet, easily scaling a nearby tree to reach the ground silently, walking through her front yard and disappearing passed the neighbor’s house.

It was comforting to know he cared. It was warming to think that he’d worried about her to the extent that he had to come see her. The joyful smile on Kagome’s face cramped her cheeks, her face hot and blustery as she shut the window.

—

He smelled the wretch before he’d even walked through the front gate, his chest clenching and abdomen going uncomfortably rigid. It was like anxiety instantaneously washed over him, making him angry, his fingers furling into fists, and his upper lip curling in a snarl. He was so fucking tempted to slam the gate shut and turn around to leave right then and there, but the scent of someone else along with their uninvited guest had his curiosity rising. To top it off, after all these years, Inuyasha wanted to know what the fuck this bastard could possibly want.

Upon entry, his stomach was almost in complete shambles. It was like he could physically feel his blood coursing rapidly through his veins, boiling, hot. 

“Inuyasha, that you?” His adoptive uncle called, his elderly voice ringing from the living room. He didn’t answer. It was too fucking difficult to open his mouth without the threat of a fearsome growl coming out instead. “Come in here. I’m sure you’re aware that we have some visitors.”

The hanyou dropped his book bag in the entry hall, taking a deep breath that filled his tight chest as he moved his feet forward. Turning the corner, amber eyes immediately collided with matching amber before the opposing shifted away, utter disinterest marring his straight expression. His hair was nearly matching Inuyasha’s style, long and worn high, silver, straight, and making Inuyasha want to cut his length off entirely. Looking at him sitting there at the small table, the shape of his shoulders, his matured facial features, their numerous similarities, he realized how unforgivingly powerful their father’s genes were. He was glad, among all else, the big differentiation between the two of them were the ugly fucking facial birthmarks Inuyasha was spared. 

“You’ve grown up, little brother.” Sesshomaru claimed in his monotonous voice. It was insane to notice that despite their separation, the asshole still hardly seemed to have changed.

“Yeah, that happens when you haven’t seen a person in eight years.” Came Inuyasha’s venom-laced reply. “What do you want?”

“Now, now, Inuyasha. Civility.” The old man said from the nearest end of the table.

“I come with news. I’ve already told Totosai, but he insisted I stay for dinner and tell you, as well.” Sesshomaru still wasn’t looking at him. It didn’t even seem like he was looking at his uncle. The arrogant bastard was looking through the old man; like they were beneath him.

Before Inuyasha’s relative further explained, small footsteps padded down the opposite end of the hall Inuyasha had just come from, walking toward them, humming softly and attracting one of his ears to twitch in their direction. He turned, seeing a small girl no more than five enter the room, large eyes looking up at him with curiosity and ample amounts of excited wonder. Her hair was messy, wavy, and a deep brown, long but half tied back to keep loose strands out of her face and at bay.

“Rin.” Inuyasha’s brother beckoned, and the little girl didn’t hesitate to follow the call, crossing the room to sit next to him. “I am getting married. This is my fiancé’s daughter, which I treat as my own. Though, I couldn’t care one way or the other, Kagura, my soon-to-be wife, finds it important I indulge you two in our happenings and introduce you to your niece.”

“Isn’t that nice, Inuyasha?” His uncle asked, his tone one that pushed for pleasantries from the hanyou.

“Yeah, sure. It’s nice that you’ve found someone to whip your ass into a family you won’t desert.”

“It’s hardly desertion if I had no responsibility to you.” Sesshomaru coldly replied, now looking through Inuyasha.

The little girl’s smile had faded, obviously picking up on the animosity in the room. He whole-heartedly pitied her for the guardian she’d been bequeathed. Sesshomaru was flaky and more emotionally constipated than Inuyasha could ever be accused of. Children deserved love and attention, and from his own experience, he just couldn’t see the plausibility that his brother could ever be capable of giving that to anyone. Then, as he focused on the innocent more intently, details became a little more clear.

“She’s,” He paused, a heavy disappointment sinking into his stomach. Betrayal began to crawl its way up his spine, through his muscles, into his throat to create weight in his words. His eyes flickered back to Sesshomaru’s. “She’s human?”

“Mostly.” He responded with a single nod, not a shred of guilt in his tone. His hand rose to land on the top of Rin’s head, softly stroking her hair. “Her biological father was such and she did not inherit much of her mother’s demonic traits. But, that is unimportant.”

“Unim- Like hell!” Inuyasha barked.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Inuyasha.”

That was all he had to say? For all the years of shit he’d put him through for the blood coursing through his veins that he had no control over, that was all he fucking had to say? Like, it was no sweat off his back. When he said it was unimportant, what he actually meant was “unimportant” had two different definitions here. In terms to Rin, it didn’t matter that she had human blood. In terms to Inuyasha, he didn’t matter. 

“Go fuck yourself.” Inuyasha growled. Without missing another beat, he left the room, heading out the front door and slamming it shut on the way. Knowing the bastard, he had no intention to stay overnight, so he’d wait him out for as long as it took. Totosai would text him when the coast was clear, so until then, he’d walk it off. He’d get as far away as necessary until he didn’t smell either of the intruders anymore, until his justified anger was calmed, until Sesshomaru was long gone with his happy fucking family.

The sun had set, his feet carrying him to a part of town he often hung out in. One mostly populated with college students that drank coffee late at night for fun while hanging in The Square below strung lights. Hardly anyone was out at the moment. Anyone he knew, at least. He was thankful for that; the last thing he wanted was to socialize. It was unintentional that he’d come this way to begin with, he just needed ample amounts of air that still weren’t helping to quell his surging frustration. He was safe to go home; he’d received the green light already, but the fact that his breathing was still ragged, and his chest still felt heavy, and his nose crinkled with disgust every time he thought back to that brief conversation told him he was better off staying out.

With a dragged inhale, Inuyasha took in a lungful of Kagome’s scent, feeling a minute percentage of his stiffness falter. He thought he’d imagined it, but the further he walked, the more powerful she became. He looked over the surrounding area, trying to pinpoint her when she appeared from an upcoming corner, aggressively locking her phone and shoving it in the front pocket of her pullover hoody. As if she’d sensed someone coming - or heard his footsteps approaching, which was the more feasible option here - she glanced his way, her lips parting slightly as she focused on him.

“Oh, hey.” She smiled softly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to return anything half as welcoming as she’d mustered, his nerves still on edge and his agitation still roaring. “What are you doing out here?”

Kagome sensed his rigidness and noticed the way his ember eyes swept left and right over her head, landing on her momentarily only to do the same sweeping motion. His hands were tucked in his charcoal pant pockets, and he still donned his school uniform telling her that he hadn’t even been home. He seemed upset, but thankfully there wasn’t any visible evidence of fighting to serve as the purpose. For the moment, she brushed it off. She could be wrong, and if she jumped the gun and started prying too soon, she’d only make him mad. “Well, my friend, Ayumi, is going out with this guy for the first time. She wanted me to hang back and spy to make sure everything went smoothly, and if she gave me signals, I’d move in and give some lame excuse to end the date. But, she gave me the wrong address for their meetup spot, which is nowhere near here, so she’s on her own now.”

“This isn’t a safe part of town for girls to be alone. Go home.” Inuyasha ordered. She was sure he didn’t mean for the ice in his tone, but it was there. It was disconcerting.

“I - I was heading home.”

“Good. Head down the block and make a right at the crosswalk, and you’ll be on a straight path to - no, fuck it, I’ll just walk you.” He stepped to the side so their shoulders wouldn’t brush as he passed her, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“Wait, are you okay?” The question was properly warranted now. It was clear that he wasn’t. Far from it, she presumed. 

“Fine.”

“No, you’re not. Stop for a second.” Kagome sped to catch up to him, walking at his side with bared hands. He did as she said, irritation evident in his eyes as he looked down at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” It wasn’t believable in the least. There was no conviction in his voice, the word coming out forced and gruff. “Can we go?”

“No. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Kagome. I want to fucking get you home.”

She wrapped her fingers around his exposed forearm just as he began to continue walking, halting him mid-stride, his skin heated. If he didn’t want to talk, fine, but she didn’t feel comfortable with the thought of him being alone after dropping her at her doorstep. Most importantly, she could tell by his heightening levels of aggravation that being in the public’s eye wasn’t the best option for him. She knew if she were emotional, on the brink of losing her temper, and under the pressure of onlookers, her anxiety would spike and she’d end up in a preventably-critical state. So, she gave him a tug in the direction of the park.

“What are you -“

“Just come on. Trust me.”

Surprisingly, he hardly resisted. Surprisingly, he didn’t pull his arm from her hold, allowing her to guide him through the trees and along the cemented path, around the empty play area for kids and toward the large pond. Not a person was in sight to disturb their time. As far as she was concerned, Inuyasha was free to let it out. They stopped at the edge of the water’s barrier where she finally released him, the fingers of her right hand dragging down his skin to drop at the hem of his pocket.

“Something’s clearly wrong, so don’t lie to me about that. You don’t have to tell me what happened, but the option’s there. I’ll listen. If you’d prefer, I won’t even say a word while you tell me; I’ll stay completely quiet. But, if you’re not comfortable talking about it, I’ll just stay with you until you feel better.”

“I don’t need you to babysit me.” Inuyasha sneered, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not babysitting. It’s company. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

He knew she wasn’t going to give in. The girl was fucking stubborn and relentless. The trouble was, he didn’t have a good enough excuse to not open up at the moment. Her presence was already helping his tension levels decrease, and his brain was muddled enough not to fight anything more than he already had to.

“Don’t talk.” He grumbled, giving in. Kagome gave a nod of understanding, watching him walk passed her to pick some twigs off the ground, breaking them apart and tossing small pieces into the pond. “My half brother decided to pay me a visit. We’ve got a shit relationship. Always have. We’ve got the same dad, but different moms, and his is demon so that makes him full-blooded and better than me by default. When our dad died, our moms still attempted to help us establish this brotherly bond, but there’s a considerable age gap between the two of us so it was a struggle. Man, I still remember the first fucking time he said he never considered me his brother.” Inuyasha chuckled cynically. “I was, like, seven or something. He calls me ‘half demon’ like it’s disgusting. He looks down on me. I’m pretty sure he blamed my mom and I for dad’s death at one point. And then when he hit eighteen, the fucker was gone. Mom got sick and died when I was thirteen, and the only blood relative I had left was him, but where the fuck was he? I was in the system for half a year before my dad’s old friend showed up and took me in. Haven’t seen my brother in almost a decade, and he just waltzes in today like it’s an ordinary Friday playdate. Tells me he’s getting married to a woman with a daughter whom he considers his own now. And the kicker is, she’s mostly human. The kid’s mostly human!” The laugh that time was laced with his concealed pain, and Kagome’s heart was dropping, sinking, weighted with the grief he tried to swallow. “What’s even better is he hasn’t changed or anything. He didn’t come around to make amends, he doesn’t look at me any differently. Fuck, he doesn’t even look at me! I’m still this low-life half demon to him, and he’s still a piece of shit. The kid - it’s not her fault. I know that. But, for some reason, I can’t help but hate her, too.”

Because she’s getting everything he was robbed of. Inuyasha was an orphan. He’s had it so hard. Where he should have had familial ties and support, he had prejudice and heartbreak and scar tissue. He was left alone only to have it rubbed in his face.

Even if she was allowed to talk right now, what could Kagome possibly say to make him feel better? She didn’t understand the half of what he felt, and pretending like she did could potentially only serve as salt in the wound. He didn’t deserve that. She’d promised she wouldn’t speak, but allowing him to roost in the pain he felt, undisturbed, wasn’t okay with her. She wanted, among all things, to comfort Inuyasha. As he swung his last stick into the pond, Kagome stepped forward, gently grabbing his arm so he’d turn her way.

Years. It had been so many fucking years since anyone had hugged him. Kagome walked into him slowly, almost cautiously, her hands sliding from his waist to his back, holding him so securely as she tucked her face into his chest and pressed her body firmly against him. It was almost like he didn’t know how to respond to the gesture anymore, his muscles stiffening, his arms hanging at his sides. He felt her fingers clutch the back of his shirt, bunching the cloth, her breaths so deep and calming that they inadvertently began to guide his own. Three years since anyone had touched him so affectionately. He’d had his rendezvous, he’d kissed, he’d lost his virginity, but none of it meant anything. It was empty. To him, and even the girls on the other end of it, it was a way to kill time, none of them knowing how to fill the void inside. There was no touching outside of hookups. There was no security. There was no emotion.

Yet, with a single hug, something he hadn’t experienced in so damn long, Kagome had successfully breached every one of his defenses in the most peaceful of manners.

Inuyasha’s shoulders gradually lowered, his chest aching, his fear rising, his arms wrapping around her body - not quite holding but not quite hovering. He suddenly realized how much he trusted her, and he detested it. Trust could be broken. Bonds were indefinite. People leave on a whim. They could get into accidents and leave their families behind, they could be careless and  get themselves murdered, they could get sick and die, or they could just decide they’d had enough of you and disappear. Relationships, in any variation, would always be seen as fragile and pitiful and pending for disaster to him. There was no stability. The farther he kept himself from all of which, the less disappointment the future carried.

He felt a numbness expand over him, dulling all sensations as his decision solidified. Kagome couldn’t matter to him anymore. Sesshomaru’s little visit helped magnify Inuyasha’s reasonings for always keeping people at a distance. He wasn’t going to go through it again. He was stupid for allowing it to have gone as far as it had. 

“You should get home.” He said, gently pushing her away from him. “It’s getting late.”

| 1 | 2 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

[the-jade-cross]

Burning Water - Chapter IX

Chapter 9

Maya sighed in contentment as she sank into the cool, crisp water of the large fountain that stood in the center of the garden. Bending back all the way until her head was submerged in the water the girl let the water soak through her long fire red hair and into her scalp. She could practically feel the dryness of her throat disappear and her painfully dry skin returned to its lusciously smooth state. This was precisely what she needed. After having experienced a very rowdy and embarrassing breakfast that morning thanks to Lily and later having spent the better part of her afternoon in town with Olivia , Lily and Mary, Maya was worn out and all dried up. She came up from beneath the water not even breathing in fresh air for she had found that breathing beneath the water was another way for her to remain hydrated. 

At least that was the case for her but if anyone else tried they would have drowned for there was only one person alive who could breathe like a fish and that was Maya . The girl suddenly sensed a presence behind her and spun around, her usually fluffy her lying straight and wet against her back which was barely covered by the partially skimpy dress that her sister had given her. The entire dress was like a large piece of silky purple cloth that had been folded in half with the corners tide around her neck with a silver belt her chest and her back were barely covered while a silver belt was wrapped around her waist the only thing keeping her top from exposing her breasts. The skirt was long and thankfully covered her feet but was incredibly narrow and only helped to accent her curves. Mayer resisted the urge to gasp or groan though the latter was harder to suppress. 

Those little demons! Lily and Olivia knew that she was heading to the fountain after their outing so as to avoid Cersei Lannister seeing her. They purposely did not warn her for standing in the gateway that led up to the Castle was none other than Oberyn Martell. He stood frozen with one hand on the gate and the other discreetly gripping the hilt of his dagger . He did not grip it because he felt threatened but rather because he needed something to keep him grounded to reality for having stumbled upon a lovely woman with perfectly smooth features, the body of a nymph and a dress that was doing nothing to hide the way her body was purposely made to seduce, he felt the need to gawk which would have only embarrassed him.

Oberyn composed himself 1st and released the gate and his dagger , he bowed his head but refused to break eye contact with the girl. “My lady. Forgive me for intruding.”

Maya was the first break the stare, glancing down to make sure her soaked clothes were not transparent and thanked the heavens that it was a deep purple. Stepping out of the fountain, she preceded to smooth her hands over her hair and dress, discreetly absorbing the water to dry herself. She felt her heart pound when Oberyn approached her slowly with a smirk upon his lips as he drank in the sight of her.

“Have we met before?” He questioned, “I'm Oberyn Martell.”

“I know who you are,” the girl mumbled.

Oberyn beamed and Maya instantly regretted her words, “so we have met before? I knew it. Not many have your eyes and her my lady.”

Maya shot him a deadpan expression, planting her hands on her hips which only helped by drawing Oberyn’s eyes away from her face to her hips. “Just because I know who you are doesn't necessarily mean you know me. You have made quite a name for yourself ...And a reputation.”

This only helped in making Oberyn’s smirk expand and Maya wish dearly to just smack it off …or kiss it off …oh gods! Not that! Shut up Maya! Do not act like a little lovesick schoolgirl! But his lips were so enticing at that angle!

“Now I definitely know we have met. No one could forget that sharp tongue especially from a lady. What are you doing here in Kings landing? You are too bold to have been living here of your own free will . The Lannister’s would have locked you up long ago.” The man chuckled as he leant against a nearby tree, arms crossed over his barely concealed tanned chest.

Maya had heard that question so many times in the past few days that her response was practically involuntary now and she blurted it out before she could stop herself. “I'm here for my sister’s wedding and what do you mean by my being a …”

the girl froze in her rant when she saw the man stand up straighter and his eyes widen. The smirk was gone from his lips and Mya mentally cursed herself for having mentioned her sister and a wedding in the same sentence. She might as well just mentioned that she was going to be the future sister on law of Joffrey Lannister!

“Lady Mayaka?” Oberyn asked in an almost breathy voice.

Maya swallowed and gave up on trying to hide the fact that she was evaporating water from her clothes and she transported the dampness of her clothes and her into the fountain. Oberyn watched this transaction before his eyes locked back on her, a smile lighting up his face when he realized that she was not going to hide her identity.

“Yes, your Highness ...it's me,” she muttered, feeling that she might as well give him one sort of identity . At least he did not know about the connection between herself and her other self that had been in the brothel a few days prior.

The smirk on Oberyn’s face never returned but he smiled widely , obviously more overjoyed than he had been a moment ago flirting with a beautiful girl in a silent dark garden.

“I can hardly believe it! The last time I saw you, you were such a little sweet thing …and definitely not in Kings landing.”

Maya rolled her eyes, “is that why you did not recognize me? I'm not little and sweet anymore but Big and sarcastic?”

Oberyn chuckled brightly, “actually no. You are still a little thing for a woman, and you had quite the tongue back in the day if I recall correctly …what threw me off was you as a whole. you have filled out …if you don't mind my saying so …matured …you are not a child anymore but ...a woman.”

gradually Oberyn had been approaching her and now he stood directly before her , headband to meet her ocean blue eyes with an unreadable expression on his own face. He reached up and was about to touch her cheek with his thumb when allowed bright voice called maya's name and the girl pulled back abruptly. Grabbing her shoes, she headed to the gate.

“Excuse me your Highness. I must go.” Without a glance back she was gone in a flurry of red, cream and purple.

It took Oberyn five whole minutes to register that she was gone until he saw that she had forgotten her Lacy purple shawl. Despite the fact that Oberyn would have been writhing in guilt an embarrassment should someone had caught him, he fell asleep that night with the shawl gripped in one hand, falling asleep to the soft smooth texture of the fabric against his face and the strong scent of crashing waves at the seashore, damp rain covered grass and water lilies filling his breathing. Mayaka Tyrell was back.

*********

Maya reached blindly for another grape from the bowl that rested in front of her on the table. She was so ruined. Being the idiot she was, she had forgotten that Oberyn Martell would be making an appearance at the wedding banquet, so the girl had selected to wear a floor length golden dress that looked like pure molten gold with straps holding the top up but with sleeves that hung behind her arms. Atop her head sat a matching head dress made of soft golden jewels and golden chains. Attached around her neck was a thin golden necklace and attached to the necklace were multiple chains that hung down her partially bare back and underneath, a whole suit of chainmail. If Oberyn so much as caught a glimpse of the chainmail, Maya’s presence at the brothel would be known and there was no guarantee that Oberyn would keep such a discovery a secret. Lillia had purposely changed her dress color to something that wasn’t yellow just for the sake of aggravating Maya’s little brother and had been accepting the attentions of Sir Henry all day. Loras was seething in the corner, trying to act like Lillia ignoring him did not affect him greatly and had been making smoldering eyes at any decent looking man within the ten-year range of his age. This attempt seemed to have failed for Lillia refused to even look in Loras’s general direction, meaning that she did not see Loras’s attempts at making her jealous or at least to notice him.

Maya was not sure if he did it on purpose or if he was so green with envy that he didn’t realize what he was doing but soon Loras was grinning seductively at Oberyn Martell while plopping grapes into his mouth. Maya understood her brother’s blind rage but he was very aware of the long term bubbly feelings that Maya had possessed for Oberyn. Her brother needed a little reigning in. Rising from her seat, she strode over to her brother and grabbing the nearest fruit, which happened to not be a fruit but rather a large walnut, she launched it at her brother’s skull.

Loras made a muffled yelp of shock and his hand shot up to his head before he caught sight of his sister. Immediately the blond went pale when he realized that his sister must have seen him gazing at the Dornish prince and he dearly hoped he would let it slide for if Loras was the Tyrell who tried to make someone jealous when he was jealous, Maya was the one who would personally see to the death of the one who made her jealous and Loras preferred to not die just yet and certainly not by his sister’s hands.

“Maya…” he squeaked, shoving a grape in his mouth to disguise the pure terror on his face, “Why aren’t you dancing?”

Maya shrugged as she came to stand next to her brother, plucking fruit into her mouth, “for the same reason that you have not yet asked Lillia to dance. I’m a coward,” she muttered.

Loras turned, an offended look on his face but Maya gave him an angry pointed look and he knew that she was letting him of easy just as long as he allowed her to tease him a bit. Loras sighed heavily.

“Or perhaps it is because you are otherwise distracted by another being within a fifty-mile radius and feel that not trying to be the man of the couple for once, you chose to entertain yourself in other ways that possesses extra parts below rather than extra above.”

Loras hung his head, “I have tried talking to her but every time I get within twenty feet of her, she heads the opposite direction. She exits her room through the window just so we do not see each other when we leave our rooms and when were you going to tell me that she was an elemental gifted?”

Maya rolled her eyes, “That was not my secret to divulge to others dear brother. If you took time away from your bed fellows and spoke with the girl then you might have heard of these things sooner.” The girl observe, making sure to keep her arms down for if she lifted them just high enough, the piercing eyes of certain prince who refused to tear his eyes from the Tyrell siblings, would see the chainmail beneath her dress.

Loras groaned and selected a violet carnation from a vase of flowers nearby and handed it to Maya who eyed it skeptically, “Give this to Lillia. Tell her it is a peace offering.”

Maya snorted, “You do realize that there are seven vases of purple carnations out here. She will know you just picked an already plucked blossom. You truly are a helpless case,” the girl chuckled before she took the flower from her brother who then strode off with his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Maya stared at the flower a moment before tossing it onto the table in front of her. Lillia would ring Loras’s neck if she received that flower. So, for Loras’s own survival, Maya chose to not deliver the peace offering. Perhaps she and Nanteza could come up with a better plan to fix the lovebirds’ love quarrel. She had barely poured herself a glass of wine when she heard a deep, sultry voice whisper so close to her ear that she wondered how he had snuck up behind her without her hearing him.

“Now I know why your voice sounded so familiar,” Oberyn whispered, one hand resting on the girl’s curvy hip and the other reaching beneath her sleeve to feel the chain mail beneath.

Maya mentally cursed herself. He had probably seen it when she took the flower from Loras. Damn it!

“Who would have thought that a masked vixen was in fact a pussy I already knew,” Oberyn stated, his lips brushing Maya’s ear lobe and she could feel his smirk against her skin.

“You would think someone as clever as you would have put the mysterious absence, sudden appearance in Kings Landing that went unnoticed by the Lannister’s and the red hair together. I guess I overestimated your ability to tell a fox from a cat.” Maya muttered back, refusing to acknowledge the way his breath and hands sent shivers straight down to her core.

“You seem mysteriously confident my lady,” the prince mumbled. “Not what I would expect from a lass who has lived the past few years in a brothel.”

Maya shrugged, “I am not the one out of the two of us who actually use a brothel for the purposes that it is created for… nor am I the one who tried to seduce a stranger in a mask at the dead of night.”

Oberyn’s chest rumbled with laughter, “Jealous little lady?”

Maya smirked and shrugged again, unaware that her wiggling was the reason why Oberyn had gone very still and refused to remove his front from her back.

“how could I be jealous of myself? You are the who will seduce anyone even if they are the same person and you are too blinded by lust to see it on the tip of your nose.”

Oberyn gripped her waist with both hands and pulled her hard against him and Maya gasped when she felt the evidence of Oberyn’s desire against her round buttocks. Oberyn leant forward so that his lips were so close to her neck that Maya could feel his breath and his lashes brushing her jaw.

“What has happened to the sweet, gentle girl I danced with at her birthday?” Oberyn whispered as Maya tried to pull away.

“You said I hadn’t changed. Are you a hypocrite now your highness?” Maya hissed.

Oberyn sighed, “You haven’t changed but you no longer accept affection… like you have an iron wall around your heart and refuse to let people in.”

Maya pushed away from the man and turned to face him, realizing that his smirk had turned into a grimace of frustration and almost…. Sadness?

“And what pray tell happened to the gallant, kindly polite prince who would respectfully speak to a girl and look at her like she was worth more than her skills in the bedroom?” the girl asked back, allowing the man the chance to see the disappointed expression on her face, laced with distress.

Oberyn’s eyes widened and he realized exactly why she seemed to be refusing his advances. She did not trust his intentions. Unable to stand the silence anymore, Maya grabbed the purple carnation and strode away, looking down and unable to meet Oberyn’s eyes. She eventually found a quiet corner and poured herself a fresh glass of wine. She had barely taken a sip when the purple carnation had burst into flames next to her. Shocked, the girl hastily doused it and looked around, knowing that there was only one person alive who could set something on fire with their mind.

Eventually her eyes caught sight of the dark crouching figure of Evelyn sitting up on the battlements amongst the white doves and pigeons. If Evelyn was here… that meant that something was going to happen.

“What you had said earlier… about something going to happen… it’s happening soon isn’t it?” the girl whispered, knowing that Evelyn’s intense hearing could pick up her voice.

As if responding, the carnation burst into flames again. Maya quickly bent some wine from her glass to douse it. “I’ll take that as a yes. You said there would be some bad effects… is there a way to avoid such effects?”

A final time, the carnation caught fire and Maya groaned, “For heaven’s sake! I get it! Just leave the flower alone!”

The girl had barely spoken those words when like clockwork, the blood curdling scream of Cersei split the air like a knife.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Nine

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Eight

Read here on wattpad

Word count: 4K

Warning(s): Explicit language, Drug abuse

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PMRC DEMANDS CENSORSHIP, DEVELOPES A LIST OF THE "FILTHY 15."

1. Prince, "Darling Nikki", flagged for sex/masturbation

2. Sheena Easton, "Sugar Walls", flagged for sex

3. Judas Priest, "Eat Me Alive", flagged for Sex/Violence

4. Vanity, "Strap On Robbie Baby", flagged for sex

5. Mötley Crüe, "Bastard", flagged for violence/language

6. AC/DC, "Let Me Put My Love Into You", flagged for sex

7. Twisted Sister, "We're Not Gonna Take It", flagged for violence

8. Madonna, "Dress You Up", flagged for sex

9. W.A.S.P., "Animal (Fuck Like a Beast)", flagged for sex/language/violence

10. Def Leppard, "High 'n' Dry (Saturday Night)", flagged for drug/alcohol use

11. Mercyful Fate, "Into the Coven", flagged for occult themes

12. Black Sabbath, "Trashed", flagged for drug/alcohol use

13. Mary Jane Girls, "In My House", flagged for sex

14. Venom, "Possessed", flagged for occult themes

15. Cyndi Lauper, "She Bop", flagged for sex/masturbation

Tipper freaking Gore, the wife of the senator at the time, Al Gore, and bunch of other political housewives got their panties in a twist in 1985 and decided to demand artists either censor themselves when creating music, leaving no room for even the slightest hint at sex, drugs, alcohol, satanism, occultism, violence, language, or anything else almost every artist uses one of to express themselves in their music.

When musicians across the board practically told Tipper, the other wives, and everyone else that called themselves a member of the Parents Music Resource Center, to go fuck themselves, they decided to slap censorship stickers on records that contained any of the mentioned offenses.

Even John Denver got hit with censorship for his song "Rocky Mountain High."

It didn't shock me when my mother was photographed with Tipper after attending one of the hearings.

Mötley was invited to a hearing to defend their content and speak their opinions with a handful of others being censored, but they never batted an eye when the news first came out because they knew having an "X" or "XX" or "XXX" rating for violence, language, sex, drugs, alcohol, etc. would only make kids buy the record more. And it did.

"It's bullshit." I state, tossing the news paper article aside.

"It's politics." Fred replies taking a bite of his bagel.

"These womens' sex lives must be atrocious or else they'd be spending more time on their husbands' dicks and less time on these people's." I motion to the article with the list on it.

"Babe--"

"If these polotical lunatics spent as much energy taking care of their own damn kids, as they're spending attempting to villainize artists who're expressing themselves, they would realize that it's not Mötley Crüe's or anyone else's job to raise their children. If you're so scared of your kids trying all this stuff, have a conversation with them about it and tell them about it, honestly, instead of relying on the music they listen to, to properly teach them about it. And at the end of the day, they're gonna buy the record whether their parents want them to or not, and they're going to try all kinds of stuff, no matter who talks to them about it, if they really want to try it." I continue my rant, Fred, Doc, Nikki, Vince, Tommy and Mick all looking at me, waiting for me to be done.

"Are you done, Sister Christian?" Vince asks me and I glare at him.

"Viv, it's publicity. Who gives a fuck?" Nikki asks me. "The kids are gonna go for the nastiest rated album anyway. The more 'X's the better."

"Yeah, but the audacity of--" Tommy's teaching his hand around my shoulder and covering my mouth before I can continue and I look at him where he's beside me.

"I've got a headache. I'm hungover, Viv. I love you, but I don't need to hear a Vivian Bitch Fit right now." Tommy explains to me.

I just look at him like he's lost his mind for shutting me up, and he cautiously moves his hand away.

I give him a ten second reprieve before shouting, at the top of my lungs:

"The audacity of these people pisses me off!" I finish what I was going to say and Tommy and Nikki are both jumping out of their seats a little at the sudden shouting, covering their ears, wincing, before Nikki's looking at me, sharply.

I roll my eyes at him and he grabs roughly at my thigh under the table, uncomfortably sinking the tips of his fingers into my flesh.

Ignoring him, I take a sip of my coffee, as he glances around and stands up.

"I gotta piss." He tells us, but I know why he's going to the bathroom.

I wait for him to disappear past the "Men's Room" sign in the Denny's before I get up and follow after him.

I walk in, catching the tail end of him snorting a line, and I cross my arms, waiting outside of the stall he's in.

I hear the familiar "click" of a needle being uncapped.

"Nikki. It's 10:00 in the morning." I tell him.

"Fuck off."

"Nikki."

"Fuck off."

"Nikk--"

"Fuck off."

"Make me."

I wait for him to come out of the stall and do what I dared him to, but I just hear the sound of him sighing out in relief as opiate hits his system, drowning out whatever argument we were about to get into.

When he didn't want to hear me complain or try to talk him out of stuff, he would run to his favorite room in his mind: his heroin den.

If we were at home, he'd lock himself in the closet, with me begging him to come out.

He'd open the door for me right before passing out so he could at least say he tried.

If we were in public or at a hotel, he'd lock himself in the bathroom and do the same thing.

The sound of vomit smattering the floor has me wincing as he mumbles "fuck it" and opens the stall door, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Don't fuckin' give me that hit dog look." He tells me, moving past me to the sink, splashing some water on his face, smearing his already smeared eyeliner that makes him look like a raccoon that's been digging around in a dumpster.

"I'm not giving you any kind of look." I mumble, forcing him to look at me as I wet a paper towel and wipe his black-coated eyelids clean.

The smell of his vomit infiltrates my nostrils and I throw the paper towel away before pulling at his wrist to leave. 

Being that he's perfected his magical potion, he isn't too jittery from the coke or nodding off from the heroin.

He's just quiet.

We leave Denny's and head straight to the airport to head back home, being they wrapped up the last show of the U.S. tour last night.

Next is Europe.

Once we land in L.A., Christmas music blares through the speakers of the airport and reminds me that it's already nearing the end of December.

Apparently Vince is reading my mind because he mumbles, "apparently time flies when you're in hell."

Amen, Vince. A-fucking-men.

The second Nikki and I get into the limo to take us to our house, he's busting out a vile of blow that's nearly empty.

"Fuck, I gotta get Jason over, asap." He tells himself and I rub my lips together.

"You know, we haven't even bought a Christmas tree since we've been married." I tell him, trying to distract myself from his previous comment.

"Yeah." He says, basically blowing me off and I reach the toe of my sneaker out and nudge him on the kneecap as he gets the tip of our house key and scoops some from the bindle, snorting a bump.

"Babe." I continue to tap his kneecap until he's got his hand around my ankle, loosely, stopping me.

"What, Viv?"

"What did I just say?" I ask him, crossing my arms.

He just blinks at me, smirking a little.

"I'll gladly tell you when I finish this." He holds the bindle up.

I lean forward and take it from him, holding it hostage when he attempts to take it.

"You'll get it back when I get a Christmas tree." I tell him, raising my brows.

"Are you fucking me right now?" He asks, chuckling, not thinking I'm serious.

"No...but now that you mention it, I want that, too. Then you can get it back." I add and he smirks.

By the time we get to a department store, get my clothes back on and his pants zipped back up, grab an artificial tree, lights and ornaments, and finally get to the house, it's nearly one in the morning.

"Okay, Saint Vivian, gimme my shit back." Nikki states, carrying the boxed up tree while I carry the bags of lights and ornaments.

"Put the tree up so I can decorate it and I will." I reply.

"That wasn't apart of the deal." He argues, his tone still light.

"Well now it is." I reply.

"That's cheating."

"I made the deal. I make the rules." I shrug.

"You're making me work for something that's already mine." His free hand pulls at my waist, turning me to him and I grin mischievously as he shakes his head a little. "That's it, Sixx." He tells me before crouching enough to wrap his arm around my thighs and throw me over his shoulder.

I laugh manically, partially out of fear that he'll drop me, but also because this is the Nikki I fell in love with.

Playful, lighthearted, aggravating but meaning well, Nikki.

He manages to dig his house key out again and unlock the door before stepping in and turning on the lights in the foyer.

"Baby, put the bags down for now." He tells me and I drop them as carefully as I can while he puts the box the tree is in, down.

He's walking us to the living room, laughing when he pretends to trip and I gasp, digging my nails into him like a cat holding onto its owner to avoid a bathtub full of water.

When he flips the next light on, he stops immediately.

My mind is in shambles for a moment as I try to put together why so many people are in my house once Nikki's nearly dropping me out of shock, not even hearing them all scream out, "surprise!"

Steven and Tansy are at the forefront of people as the explosion of glitter, a mixture of neon and pastel decor, an abundance of various alcohol options, scantily clad women, a handful of Nikki's friends he hangs out with outside of Mötley Crüe, and a big ass, two-tier cake with every curse word known to man written in pristine is cursive font on the sides of it is soaked in by mine and Nikki's eyes.

Steven's wearing a beer hat, smiling widely, while Tansy looks like a sallow Barbie doll, but she's still forcing out a grin for the sake of us, and everyone's waiting for mine and Nikki's reactions.

Nikki and I exchange looks, confused as ever.

"Why is it a surprise?" I finally ask, deciding it's best if I ask instead of Nikki, because all he wanted to do was come in, shoot up, have a few lines, fuck around with me some more, and pass out.

But instead he's being forced to socialize in his own house.

His safe place has been infested.

Steven and Tansy seem horrified that we don't understand the reason for the apparent party.

"...Because it's your birthday?" Tansy reminds me.

"And Nikki's was a couple weeks ago, but he wasn't here to celebrate it." Steven adds, his smile is long gone, his eyes focused on Nikki who looks like he could kill someone right now.

"Oh, right!" I pretend that I know that it's my birthday today, and everyone seems to let out a breath of relief. "It's been a long day." I explain, stepping to the two blondes, hugging them both tightly. "Thank you so much."

While everyone else starts going on with the party, music starting to blare throughout the house on the stereo speakers, cracking open beer, whiskey, and vodka, as girls strip down to bikinis to go swimming, Nikki's still standing at the door, the look on his face is a mixture or pissed off, disappointed, and "I need another dose."

"Babe." I say gently to grab his attention, hazel eyes looking to me as a jaw tightens. "C'mon, just for a couple hours."

"I'll be right back." He tells me, shoving through people to get to our bedroom.

I brush off his attitude the second I feel hands on my shoulders, squeezing them a little and I snap around to meet Duff's chest.

"Hey, birthday girl." He greets me cooly, and I'm hugging him before I can stop myself.

Something wet falls on my hand when I pull away, and just as I'm about to look around for whatever it was, his fingers that are sticking out of leather gloves that just cover his palms, are brushing at my face.

"What's up?" He asks me, furrowing his brows a little.

What is up? Why the hell are you crying?

"I-I'm happy." Is all I can say, chuckling, wiping more tears.

He knew it was bullshit. I was happy, sure. Happy to get the fuck off the road. Happy to get a break from Nikki and Tommy harassing Vince. Happy to get away from Doc's constant pressing for more tour dates to milk as much money as possible. Happy to be able to hangout with balls of optimism and sunshine like Duff and Steven and have Slash show me his pet snakes like he'd been meaning to, and for Izzy to tell me what music I should have been listening to, and for Axl to go on and on about Tansy but then completely deny he was interested in her because he was too much of a dork to just ask her out.

"I'll be right back, alright?" I tell Duff, looking around to see Nikki's nowhere to be seen.

"Okay." He tells me, swigging from a bottle of vodka.

I thread through people who tell me "happy birthday" and I thank each of them, genuinely, before opening up the bedroom door, and shutting it behind me, stepping to our bathroom.

"Baby?" I ask, seeing Nikki standing at the mirror, teasing his hair some more. "I had no idea they would do this." I tell him.

"I had no fucking idea it was even your birthday, apparently." He grumbles. "Shows how much I care, right? Husband of the year. Something else to be hung over my head anytime we get into a fight." 

"Hey, I didn't even know it was my birthday. The guys didn't either. You've all been busy and working hard and tired. I'm not going to hold this over you, Nikki." I assure him, fixing a piece of his hair for him.

I didn't realize his pride was so hurt by the gesture Steven and Tansy made.

I found out later it was Duff who brought up the idea to Tansy, who recruited the Ken to her Barbie: Steven, to help her orchestrate it.

That was another indication to Nikki that he needed to slow down, forgetting his own wife's birthday, but he didn't listen to it a bit.

"I really don't want to do this shit, Vivian." He tells me, rubbing his eyes.

"And I do?"

"They're your friends." He sighs.

"What's mine is your's." I say as I kiss his cheek and he groans.

"You owe me." He tells me as I step out of the bathroom. "Matter of fact, I want my coke back."

"Um, I can't hear you, babe. I'm sure I will when these people leave." I tell him.

"Viv--"

"I-I think you're breaking up, I'll talk to you later." I keep going, walking to the bedroom door.

"I'll break something up when these people get the fuck outta my house!" He calls back and I shut the door behind me.

The night goes on as people play beer pong on the dining room table, dance on whatever and whoever they can, snort lines off any flat surface available, and chug whatever is in their cups, drowning pain and becoming oblivious.

I hate to break it to Nikki, but I don't want these people driving in their condition, so they'll have to stay here tonight or call cabs.

After a few hours, people are either pairing off or grouping off to go get laid, passed out, or too high to function properly and are just chilling out.

Steven's observing his work, drinking from his beer cans perched in his hat when I approach him, looking for Duff.

"Have you seen Duff?" I say over the music and he nods.

"Yeah, I think he's by the pool." He tells me.

"The pool?"

"Yep."

I furrow my brows, stepping to the French doors leading outside, seeing Duff and Tansy sitting down on the pool deck, talking

"Is he pissed?" She asks me, referring to Nikki, after I sit next to her.

"I would say go see for yourself but I don't want to toss you into the lion's den." I admit. "He hasn't come out all night."

"I'll go talk to him." She says. "If he's mean to me I'll just cry and make him feel bad like I do to Vince."

Duff and I exchange looks at her confident words before she's walking away in her neon pink bikini.

"Everyone calming down?" Duff asks in a slur, and I nod, glancing through the doors to look at the guests for a few seconds. "How does it feel to be twenty-two?" He adds, rubbing his nose and I raise my brows a little, glancing at the bottle of vodka he's been working on all night.

"It's weird." I mumble. "I was a senior in high school five years ago." The reality hits me and he raises his brows. "God, I'm old."

"You were seventeen your senior year?"

"In pre-k my teacher decided I was too smart for the class and vouched for me to be moved up to kindergarten, and it didn't take my kindergarten teacher long to convince the principle of the elementary school to let me start in the first grade since they hadn't really started in on their curriculum for the year." I explain.

"I couldn't even meet the basic requirements of alternative school." He tells me.

"You're a freaking genius, you just didn't apply yourself." I tell him and he shrugs.

"I had more important things to get done.

"I guess you did." I agree, gently scoring the bottle of alcohol away from him.

"I know you're tired of me saying this, but, Viv, you gotta get back to dancing."

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah. I mean, imagine me giving up music for someone I'm in a relationship with so I can hold their hand or fucking babysit them or whatever. I mean, sure it shows I love them a lot, but it would just make who ever I was with look like a fucking bitch. And I've talked to Nikki before and he told me he didn't want you to quit dance and he wanted you to go to school." He explains. "Why didn't you?"

"I had more important things to get done." I repeat him.

"I don't know if you're selfless sometimes, or just not thinking." He says, before his face suddenly falls. "I sound like an asshole right now, I'm sorry." He apologizes and I shake my head.

"I'm not upset, I know what you mean." I assure him.

"Okay." He rubs his eyes again like a sleepy child.

"Do you need me to help you to bed?" I offer and he waves his hand at me a couple times.

"No, no, I got it." He assures me, standing up.

He nearly falls over.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do." I comment, helping him inside as he apologizes.

"I'm sorry I'm being out of hand right now, Viv, I don't get like this every night." He tells me as I open our guest bedroom and thank God nobody's in here, although it's obvious someone has been screwed to oblivion on the bed.

I just throw the blanket on the edge of the bed over the mattress and help him lay down.

"Thank you." He says as I pull his boots off and set them nice and neat on the floor at the foot of his bed.

"You're welcome." I reply, setting the garbage can beside him incase he needs it. "Goodnight."

I'm about to leave, but his hand gently grasps at my hand, stopping me.

"What is it?" I ask him.

"I'm really glad we met and we're friends, Viv." He tells me, grasping my hand in his like I'm going to walk out anyway and not listen to what he's got to say.

"I am, too, Duff." I say back, smiling a little. "Sleep tight, okay?"

"Yeah." He nods his head.

"Alright, goodnight."

I go to kiss him "goodnight" on the cheek, but my entire system and body locks up the second he misreads my intentions, and kisses me.

This sounds so counteractive to who I am now and what I stand for currently, and it was ignorant of me to think such a way back then, when so many people close to me were heavily affected, some of them even dying, by drugs and alcohol...but I use to wish I liked alcohol or drugs, or even felt drawn to them.

By '87 I'd had several miscarriages, my marriage was hanging by a thread after only being married for four years, I was having an identity crisis and my entire world was seeming to fall apart and it became routine to buy a bottle of vodka or whiskey, or pills, or blow and just stare at it--trying to convince myself to go for it--for an hour before pouring it out or flushing it.

The people around me, which by that point was mainly Duff and his band, started to pick up on this struggle I had. And although they knew I had to be in some kind of extreme pain to be considering reaching such lows, they carried an "if you don't laugh about it, you'll cry" method of pulling me out of such spells.

Anytime we would be hanging out and I'd opt to try something they were doing, they would call it the "Golden Question Game" because the "Golden Question" was always "is Vivian actually gonna do it this time?" and they wouldn't argue with me about it or try to stop me because they knew the answer would always be "no" even if I didn't think it would be.

I even made the reckless suggestion to try heroin, and got as far as Izzy getting it in the syringe for me, trying to explain to me how to shoot it, how to angle it, how to know I'd hit a vein, with Steven, Slash and Duff all waiting to see if I was that desperate for an escape.

Like everything else I would think about doing, I just sat on the floor next to Izzy and stared at the golden liquid in the syringe and thought, "who the fuck are you to get pissed and angry at Nikki and Tansy for their addiction to this shit, and how it's destroying them, and then turn around and do it yourself?"

I shot it into the air away from me, handed the empty syringe back Izzy, thanked him for letting me waste his time and dose of smack, went to the bathroom with Duff at my heels, and cried.

I never went through with any of it because I knew I would never, ever, come back from it.

I would've drank myself to death or drugged myself past the point of no return and would have ended up a statistic.

I just needed a new escape because my original high became a heroin addict, and December 23, 1985, had me realizing more about Duff than what I had noticed before: Vodka was a hell of a lot easier to be around than heroin.

[evengayerpanic]

Beyond the Hollows [Week 1]

Read Another Part: [One]    [Two]    [Three]    [Four]

_________________

The end of the world came about so subtly that unless you were watching out for it specifically, you probably missed all of the signs until it was too late.

Sarah Anne Murphy, better known as Sae, was one of the one’s who was unlucky (or lucky) enough to be blindsided by the chaos that was about to engulf her. 

As she hurtled down the highway going 100kms an hour, her car screaming 90′s hit songs almost as loudly as the excited chatter from her 1994 Honda Civic’s three other passengers, there was only one thing that actually occupied her mind.

How she was going to come out to her older sister Katherine with as few victims as was possible.

One victim was inevitable, Lukas Keizerfjord.

He was a sweet boy, only three years older than Sae herself. He had a decent job in construction (which was what Katherine’s fiancee Curtis also did), appeared to be clean-cut, and had been nothing but respectful since they had picked him up in Hamilton on their way to the resort they booked in Niagara.

Sae knew what her sister and her sister’s fiancee were thinking... he was perfect for her. Maybe he was?

But he wasn’t Kristin Reynolds from her Gender Studies course; who had kissed her in her dorm room while they had been studying for their final assignment, who had held her hand when nobody was looking, and who was waiting back in Toronto to spend two weeks alone with her figuring out what they were before she started Teacher’s College.

This trip with the four of them was supposed to celebrate Sae’s graduation from Queen’s University, the young blonde woman just hoped they’d still be celebrating once she shook up the picturesque double-date that Katherine had set up for them.

The what if’s roared through her head as their journey came to a close, her GPS signaling that they were less than twenty minutes away from the resort.

It overwhelmed Sae; more than the news reports of a strange illness spreading city to city, more than the stress of her last year of university, and more than her unconventional childhood experiences.

Katherine had been her only constant growing up, and the very thought that her big sister might be disappointed in her for who she was, tore Sae up.

“Sae...” A voice came from beside her, so quiet that Sae’s busy thoughts drowned it out. “Sae.” The voice repeated, once again to deaf ears. “Sarah Anne!”

As the last call of her name came out more as a shout, Sae jumped in her seat, the car swerving slightly before the young blonde was berating her sister. “Kate, what the hell! I almost crashed the car!”

“You missed the exit.”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll take the next one.”

Katherine narrowed her eyes at her sister for a second. “What’s wrong, you look upset.” At the silence, the brunette leaned over and nudged her sister’s shoulder as she drove. “You don’t need to be nervous, I’m sure he’s going to really like you.”

“He’s not the one I’m worried about.” Sae mumbled under her breath, her eyes trained on the road ahead of her as she followed her newly recalculated GPS.

“What was that?” Kate feigned confusion as her gaze lingered on her little sister for just a little too long.

“I asked what the plan was for tonight?” Sae recovered quickly, throwing Kate off. “After we get to the hotel, I mean, where are we going tonight?” 

“Oh! Dinner at Copa Cabana, then the Casino!”

The conversation between the two sisters died down as Sae turned off onto the next exit, the resort popping into view, and the mood in the car changed.

The rest of the drive was full of excitement; the two men in the back chattered away about the games they were going to play at the casino, and the attractions in town they wanted to visit, Katherine ranted about all the stores she wanted to check out, and Sae... Even Sae couldn’t escape the excitement over getting to take pictures of the Falls up close.

_________________

The excitement was indescribable. Whether it was the look of the main street as they passed it to the resort; a cacophony of screams coming from the arcades, casinos and funhouses that littered Clifton Hill, or perhaps the beautiful views of the water as they passed through the more residential side of Niagara... there was a magic in the air that took away all of Sae’s self doubt and anxiety.

The resort, if possible, looked even more amazing than the views that they had passing it, and as Sae parked the car, she felt the light and airy feeling of vacation wash over her in a rush.

It was vacation, her graduation vacation.

Tones of blue, and accents of silver flooded the quartet as they brought their belongings from the car to the bustling front desk. Sae let her eyes wander as Katherine took over checking in to the resort, like the older and in charge sister that Sae knew and loved.

If there was anything wrong going on in the world, then this resort was far from it; a huge fence closed them off from the outside world, and the televisions littering the main foyer, had all been switched to some sort of aquarium channel, anything to further solidify the feeling of being in paradise.

“We have three hours until our reservation, what do you say we get ready as the boys check out the resort?” Katherine would tease once they got up to their rooms, and for a little while, Sae would feel normal about the whole adventure.

The girls took turns helping each other with their hair, practically wrestling to straighten Sae’s natural blonde waves, and add a bit of crimping to Kate’s naturally pin-straight auburn locks. Make-up was done together as well, Katherine taking on her duties as the older and more feminine of the two, and carefully giving Sae a smokey eye look that rivalled her own.

“We’ve got to impress Lukas, right?” Kate smirked, bringing Sae’s mood down from the vacation-glazed excitement she had been in since arriving.

“Actually...” Sae whispered, as she helped Kate finish gluing on her lashes. “I wanted to talk to you about-”

A loud bang on their door cut the blonde off quickly, and made both girls jump. “Must be the boys.” As confident as Kate was about that, Sae didn’t share the same idea as her sister moved to the door.

“Are you sure? It’s kind of early for them to be back.”

“Who else would it be, silly?” Popping open the door, the two girls shared a moment of confusion when there was nobody there, only to jump as a door down the hall slammed and a shriek was heard behind it.

“A bit early to be playing around like that, but hey, maybe someone is on their honeymoon.” Kate raised an eyebrow playfully, even as Sae’s eyes narrowed in worry as she scanned the empty hall.

“I don’t think that sounded playful at all.”

“Don’t be naïve, besides we should go see if the boys are back, it’s almost time for our reservation.” Kate chastised her, turning back to grab her purse and fixing Sae with a look that meant no nonsense.

The uneasy feeling didn’t shake off of Sae, even as she grabbed her own cross-body bag and followed after Katherine closely, her eyes not leaving the door that had slammed shut and her ears not ignoring the sudden silence that came from that suite.

_________________

“Something’s up, Kate, they won’t let us leave the resort.” Curtis’ words rang in Sae’s ears as her and her sister found the boys among the crowd that had gathered haphazardly in the lobby. 

A feeling of dread was palpable, especially as Sae looked around the crowd to see the worried faces of both staff and guests alike as they looked around, trying to find some answer of what was going on.

Her gaze lingered for a moment on a little girl, no more than eight years old, being held by her Father, the child’s arms wrapped tightly around the man’s neck, a look of terror and confusion on her face.

She tried to smile but all that came out was a grimace, especially as she heard Lukas cut Curtis off with something even more terrifying. “There was these two brothers behind us maybe 200 yards back, only teenagers, they weren’t allowed back in. The resort locked the gates soon as me and Curt got in.”

“Why wouldn’t they let a couple kids in?” Sae wondered out loud, before a loud voice came from the front of the room, effectively quieting over half of the murmuring from the crowded room.

“Everyone!” The voice boomed, Sae strained her neck to look overtop of the crowd at the man (she recognized him from check in) that it came from. “We understand you are scared and confused right now!”

“What’s going on?!” Came a yell from behind Sae.

“Why did you lock the gates, my wife is still out there shopping!” A voice sounded to the right.

“Please! We need everyone to stay calm!” This time a shrill voice came from one of the waitresses of the resorts restaurant. “Let Thomas explain!”

The murmuring of the crowd died down again, the man stepping on top of the check-in desk so that he could be seen by everyone in the crowd.

“It appears that there is a riot going on downtown.” Sae glanced around, stepping closer to Kate and taking her hand tightly, noting as several others seemed to be getting closer to their loved ones too.

“We don’t believe that we are in any danger, but there are reports of people fighting, and-”

He was cut off by another staff member, a parking valet. “There’s even been reports of a few deaths.”

A gasp ran over the crowd.

“We understand you are afraid, but it is our job to keep you guests safe.” 

“I recommend everyone return to your rooms, lock the doors and wait for more instructions.”

At the sound of a scream from the rear exit, Sae turned to see a man climbing over the gate, and her heart thudded into her chest as he dropped down and immediately began stalking towards a young woman who was busy on the payphone.

“Kate... I think we need to go.” Sae tugged at her sisters arm, noting that both Kate and Lukas seemed to be staring in the opposite direction.

As she turned her head to see what they were looking at, a scream popped out of her mouth as another man leapt onto the reception desk and tackled the manager to the ground with an animalistic shriek.

Curtis, seeing this as well, leapt to action, grabbing a chair and breaking the leg off of it, brandishing it in front of him before shoving Kate and Sae towards the staircase. “Get to our room, now!” He yelled as the screams began to erupt around them as people started to catch onto the chaos.

_________________

The next few moments seemed to take forever as the terror set in and people all began to try to get away from the carnage that was happening at the reception desk.

Sae found herself fixated, staring as the man who had knocked the manager to the ground, began to dig into his chest with his fingers, tearing chunks of flesh away from the poor man as he shrieked at the top of his lungs in pain.

It was a mix of confusion and horror that held it’s grip on Sae before her soon to be brother-in-laws hands shoved her into action, breaking her glance and snapping her into focus.

“Run!” He screamed again, right in her ear as she began to take the stairs by two, her sister almost half a flight ahead of her, screaming for Sae to hurry up.

The group ascended the stairs quickly, few other guests following their actions as they all rushed to their rooms, to some preconcieved notion of safety that would await them as long as they could get behind a pair of locked doors.

The chaos was ringing in Sae’s ears, screams coming from the left and right of her as more and more guests were both attacked, and caught on to the attacks happening to the people around them.

As they cleared the first flight of stairs, the small group broke off from the pack of resort guests just in time to start sprinting down the hall to their room. The boys were in lead, trying to clear the way, their keys out to get the door open when Sae ran past her sister, frozen and staring at an open door.

“Kate!” The blonde screamed, skidding to a stop and turning back to her sister. “Come on!”

“That’s the room.” Kate yelled back, her voice weak and small. “The scream from earlier, it was her. Look, she’s hurt, Sae, she needs help.”

“What are you talking about?” Her voice is scared and hoarse, and it’s only when the silence sets in that Sae realizes the screaming she heard earlier was her.

Thats when she sees her.

In the doorway across from Kate, the room that they had heard screaming from what seems like forever ago, a woman stands in the doorway and shakes.

“She’s hurt Sae, I can help her, I’m a nurse.” Kate demands, and Sae freezes like ice when she sees the blood dripping from the girls finger tips.

“I don’t think we can help her Kate, we need to go.”

The boys have already reached the room, and are fumbling with the door key, they haven’t noticed that the girls have stopped running... not yet.

“I’m a nurse, I have to help...” Kate says, her voice is fierce and determined and yet Sae can sense just the slightest hint of fear.

“We need to get to safety.” Sae tries to talk her down, tries to talk her sister over the guilt she has that what she thought was a playful sexy scream earlier was anything but playful or sexy.

Kate takes a step forward, hand out to the trembling woman. “Come with us, we’ll help you, I’m a nurse.” 

Sae sees the expression on the woman’s face change just a second too late before she’s grabbing onto Kate’s hand with full force, pulling the brunette closer and sinks her teeth into Kate’s shoulder. 

The sister’s let out a scream in unison, Kate’s in pain, Sae’s in horror as the woman tears a chunk from Kate’s shoulder and begins chewing on it desperately.

“Kate! Kate!” She screams, the boys finally noticing and running back towards the girls in defense.

Lukas runs at the girl who attacked Kate, and Curtis begins to use the chair leg like a bat to beat the woman away from his fiancee and her sister as Kate crumples to the ground and Sae rushes towards her.

“Kate... Kate, please talk to me, please!” Sae begs, cradling her sister’s head in her lap and trying to stop the bleeding of her shoulder by pushing her hands against the wound, blood seeping between her fingers and staining her hands and dress a bright red.

Life flashes before Sae’s eyes; her and Katherine as children, holding hands and sobbing as their Father is put into the ground, the moment that their Mother brought home her first boyfriend, coming home from elementary school to find her sister nursing some fresh bruises from that very same boyfriend, and finally, promising each other that they’ll always be there for each other, no matter what happens.

It’s those words that she repeats to herself as she desperately tries to stop the bleeding. “I’m right here Kate, I’m right here!” Sae cries as she can feel her sister shuddering underneath her, her wound pulses with every fleeting heartbeat that Kate has.

“Come on Katie, you’re okay...” Sae begs as she feels the stillness of her sister begin to settle in. Tears mix with blood as Sae drops her head over Kate’s and begins to sob, taking in loud gasps of air as her cries quickly become frantic and hysterical.

“Get away from her.” A voice warns from behind Sae, but she’s stuck watching as the life drains from her sister. “I mean it, you need to get away now!”

A gasp leaves Sae as rough hands pull her backwards, moments later that gasp is turning to a shriek as the young woman notices Katherine’s eyes are beginning to open again, only instead of the warm brown honey that Sae is used to, she meets a milky white.

“Kate?” She screams, a snarl leaves her sisters mouth as the brunette gains momentum, leaping from her place on the ground towards Sae. “Stop!”

A pair of rough and calloused hands shove at Kate, knocking her back to the ground, giving Sae a moment to look beside her and see the man from earlier who was holding his young daughter, standing in the doorway of a room directly behind them.

Sae can see the young girl just inside the room, screaming for her Daddy, but only briefly before another shout focuses her attention in front of her.

“No!” Comes the desperate scream from Curtis, his heart stopping as he sees Katherine, or what’s quickly become of her. Her focus doesn’t change from Sae.

“Move, now!” The man beside her yells, simultaneously as Kate once again lunges at Sae, stopped by his bare hands as he manages to grab her arm and keep her from reaching the young woman.

The next few moments feel like they go by in slow motion, stumbling away from her sister and the man, Sae watches as Curtis and Lukas both run forward.

While it looks as if Lukas is going to run for Sae, and Curtis for Kate, fate takes a strange turn and the two boys go for the opposite sister; Lukas runs full force at Katherine and the man, his lips screaming out a hoarse “Get away from her!” as he tackles Kate away from where she’s trying to pull towards Sae.

Curtis on the other hand slams full force into Sae, knocking her backwards into the open room. For a moment she tries to scream and fight against him that they need to go save Kate, but Curtis doesn’t listen past yelling at her to get inside to safety.

As the man is broken free from Kate’s hold by the flailing and fighting Lukas, he also manages to enter the room, turning to face the frenzied Lukas with a quick demand to “Hurry up and get inside!”

With Sae momentarily stunned, Curtis turns his head to watch as Kate grabs a hold of Lukas, and in a last minute decision, Curtis slams the door closed and throws a wardrobe in front of it.

There’s a second of shocked silence before hell breaks loose in a flurry of screamed threats and desperation.

“What are you doing, your friend is still out there?!” The man demands in a roar of confusion.

“We need to go back out there, Curtis!” Sae is shrieking in endless desperation, held back by her would-be brother-in-law as she tries to fight to the door. “We have to get Kate and Lukas!”

“She’s dead!” Curtis finally growls, managing to fight Sae onto one of the hotel beds in the room. 

She stills in fear, her eyes wide and red with tears.

“Kate’s dead, Sarah... Lukas is too. Unless you want to be responsible for getting the rest of us killed, including that man’s daughter, you’re going to shut the fuck up and just accept that your sister is dead.”

The room falls into silence as Sae turns away from Curtis, putting her face against the pillow and attempts to drown out the rest of her crying.

[t4tozier]

Going Home

The clown is gone. Eddie is too. Richie has a decision to make.

Read it below or on Ao3!

Please read the tags on Ao3 for warnings before you read :)

It hurt. It never stopped hurting. Richie drove all the way back to L.A., stopping only for gas. He wanted to get as far away from Derry as possible, fast as possible. But he didn’t forget. Even when he was so sleep deprived he nearly crashed on the highway, he didn’t forget the sight of Eddie impaled on one of Its massive claws. How the blood dribbled down his chin as he took his final breaths. How none of them would let him stay. He wanted to stay. He would’ve died with him. He wished he had.

He tried drowning it in liquor. Drank himself numb. All that did was leave him sobbing on his couch in the mansion that he’d bought after his first appearance on SNL. It had always been too big for one person. He joked that he should’ve bought a shack instead so people didn’t think he was compensating for anything. But it had always been empty. And it felt even emptier without Eddie.

He cried himself to sleep every night. He woke up in the morning with a stiff back from passing out on the couch and eyes so puffy he could barely open them. He had no energy for anything anymore. He got his groceries delivered, although he hardly ate, and slept through most of the day. He canceled all his shows and nobody knew why. The press speculated. What happened to Richie Tozier? He took a trip and disappeared off the face of the earth. He’d missed a show in the summer and never went back. What possibly could’ve caused it? His manager was furious, Richie remembered. They’d had to refund all the tickets. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.

His manager had called him repeatedly. Richie ignored him. Eventually, he stopped calling. He never cared about Richie. Only the money. The jokes that weren’t his brought in the money. He’d never been allowed to write his own material, not since he’d signed. The thought made him burst into tears again, remembering how Eddie could tell. He could always tell when Richie wasn’t Richie. When he was sunken into himself, subdued. He still made everyone laugh. That was his job. His specialty. Richie Trashmouth Tozier. But Eddie could tell just by the way Richie’s eyes didn’t light up when he cracked a joke about Eddie’s mom. He didn’t have to be Trashmouth Tozier with him. He could just be Richie. He’d never been more comfortable with anyone than he’d been with Eddie.

He’d had a fleeting crush on Connor. Always Connor, never Bowers. He hadn’t known. Not until that day at the arcade. Get out of here, you fucking faggot. You didn’t tell me this town was filled with little fairies. He was putting on a show for his cousin, Richie was sure of it. Even as a thirteen-year-old, he could see it. But for the rest of that summer, every time he saw him he got a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t like him after that. He’d been comfortable with him, too. But it was nothing like how Eddie had made him feel.

He’d been scared for anyone to know. The whispers in town of what happened to boys who touched boys. They’d know. If he touched the other boys, they’d know his secret. But he couldn’t keep his hands off them. Not even just Eddie. Mike, Ben, Bill, Stan—he touched them more than Bev. Not because he didn’t love Bev as much as the rest of them, but because she didn’t like to be touched. So Richie’s constantly seeking hands found the curves of Ben’s stomach, the dips of Bill’s waist, Stan’s soft curls and Mike’s strong biceps. He loved them all in the purest way, strong and clear and true. That was a love that he craved, that he shouldn’t be ashamed of but still was. These gentle touches found themselves in the dark, in the safety of the clubhouse or the empty barn. The only one who always responded with a snarky comment along with a dusty blush was Eddie. Richie never saw the latter. He only heard the stop, the don't touch me, the I hate it when you do that. It hurt, more than if anyone else had said it, because by thirteen and a half, Richie knew that he was utterly and deeply in love with Eddie Kaspbrak.

He’d looked at girls like that before. They were pretty. Hot, even. He’d stolen a porn magazine from the pharmacy once and spent hours poring over it. He liked girls a lot, there was no doubt about that. But they weren’t Eddie. Eddie was different. Eddie was a spitfire and a hypochondriac and if anyone had asked Richie who he thought he was going to like it wouldn’t have been him. But it didn’t matter who he thought he could maybe like, because he knew he liked Eddie more than he’d ever like anyone else. He did stupid shit to get his attention, like mouthing off in class and cycling in circles so fast he fell off his bike and had to get stitches in his chin. Eddie had been ripshit that day, going on and on about how many infections he could get and how he was going to have to take care of him because he knew Richie wouldn’t do it the right way and he was always getting into shit and why would he do that? And even though his face was bright red as he ranted, his eyes were shining with tears because Richie had gotten hurt and it looked really bad. And Richie just watched, for once saying nothing because he could listen to Eddie talk for hours. How could a boy be so pretty? He never understood that. Girls were pretty. Boys were handsome. Or strong. And Eddie was both of those things, too, but he was so pretty. He had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and Richie had never been a fan of his own until he saw Eddie’s. His skin was smooth and he somehow never had acne, which was crazy because he was on the freshman track team and Richie saw how much he sweat when he ran and even that was pretty, which he didn’t understand either. When Richie sweat, he looked—well, he didn’t look good. But Eddie just looked prettier. It wasn’t fair. And seeing him standing there, with tears in his eyes, had Richie’s chest aching with something he couldn’t describe.

It ached now, too. It felt like he’d been the one to be impaled. Richie found himself rubbing his chest often, something he’d never done before. The ache was deep down, and no amount of booze or weed or coke—he’d done coke until his nose bled and he couldn’t remember where he was—could drown it out. He wished he could do something—anything—to bring Eddie back. But he couldn’t. It was something that had taken him too long to come to terms with. He couldn’t bring Eddie back. But there was something he could do.

Once Richie set his mind to something, he stuck to it until it ended, for better or worse. That was how he found himself in his car, driving all the way back to Derry. Maybe if he was in Derry, it would work. It was crazy, but they’d been terrorized by an inter-dimensional killer clown for decades. Crazier things had happened.

——————————————————————————

When Richie arrived in Derry, he didn’t tell a soul. It wasn’t like he had anyone to tell. Bill and Mike were in Florida, Ben and Bev were sailing somewhere on their boat with their dog, and Stan and Eddie...Richie laughed dryly. Stan and Eddie were no help to him now. Not anymore. They’d all exchanged phone numbers before leaving Derry, but Richie never called. Never texted. They had their own lives, their own loves. Why should he bother them when he was so coked up he couldn’t find his way home, or when he slit his left wrist and then frantically pressed a towel to it as he drove himself to the hospital because going out like Stan did would’ve been too much for his soul to bear? They didn’t need the burden of his life on their consciences. They were better off without him anyway.

Richie parked his car and turned it off, leaving the key on the seat. Vandals could have it, for all he cared. He didn’t need it anymore. He got out and stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie—Eddie’s hoodie. He’d taken his clothes home with him when he left the first time. Nobody else was going to wear them. Sure, most of it didn’t fit—even as an adult, Eddie was 5’9” to Richie’s 6’1”—but he had a few sweatshirts that were just fine. Richie made himself cry over and over imagining a life where he got to see Eddie wearing them every day. Walking sleepy-eyed into the kitchen in a hoodie and boxers as Richie tried and failed to make pancakes, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck—

Richie grabbed the railing and stepped over the side. It was thin and unstable, and he wobbled as he looked down at the rushing water below. He ran his fingers along the splintered wood on the other side and made a choked sound when he felt it. R + E, carved by a terrified thirteen-year-old boy when he didn’t want anyone to know the way his chest ached with love when he thought of his best friend. Recarved in a silent declaration to the man to whom he was never able to say it out loud. He ran his fingers over it again and let out a shaky breath. He didn’t know if there was a Heaven, or a Hell. He didn’t believe in the whole all gays go to Hell thing. That’s not what he was worried about. He was worried about Eddie. If there wasn’t a Heaven—and Eddie went to Heaven, Richie knew that—if there wasn’t one, then this was for nothing. Almost. At least all the pain would be over. But if there was a Heaven, then Richie would see him again. He would get to be with him. He could confess his love and they could be together for eternity in the afterlife. And Stan; he could even see Stanley again. Bird-watching, puzzle-doing, got-pegged-by-his-wife Stan. There was no downside to it. Richie couldn’t see one. Everything would be fixed when he did this. Everything would be better. Richie closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then he let go.

——————————————————————————

The first thing Richie saw was light. Well, the first thing he saw was red, really. The backs of his eyelids were bright red. When he opened his eyes, though, he saw light. He couldn’t make out a single detail. He could hear something, though. Just barely.

“Richie?”

Richie frowned and pushed himself up. He looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. His stomach dropped when he realized where he was. It didn’t work. He seemed to have washed up on the shore of the quarry. But he didn’t feel like his body was broken into millions of pieces by the rocks off the kissing bridge. He had pushed himself up. He could look around and it didn’t hurt.

“Richie?”

There it was again. The voice. Where was it coming from? Who was it coming from? He pushed himself to stand and began walking. He should’ve been more concerned that it didn’t hurt, but now he was focused on finding the voice. He kept walking until he reached the top of the cliff, every so often hearing the voice call out softly. “Who are you? Where are you? What do you want?” he begged, looking out at the quarry.

“Richie,” the voice breathed behind him, and Richie spun around to face it. He stared for a moment before falling to his knees with a sob.

“It’s you. It’s you.”

Eddie stood in front of him with a mixture of elation and horror. It contorted his face in a way that made Richie laugh between his sobs. He was standing proud, eyes bright as they swam with tears. He didn’t have any scar from Bowers stabbing him, and there was no claw ripping through his chest. No gaping hole in the center like Richie had seen in his nightmares over and over. But maybe that was due to Eddie being fifteen again.

The boy stepped forward—stumbled, really—and then fell to his knees in front of Richie. Eddie wrapped his arms around him as he sobbed, rocking him back and forth. “It’s me. I’m here. I’m here, Rich.” He pressed Richie’s head to his shoulder, stroking his hair, and all of a sudden Richie felt very small.

“Am I dead?” he whispered, and Eddie’s lack of response was all he needed to hear. Richie took a gasping breath of relief. This wasn’t a dream. He was dead, really dead. And Eddie was right here with him.

“Why, Richie?” Eddie whispered, continuing to rock with him. “Why did you do it?” Richie could feel the top of his head begin to get damp with the other boy’s tears. He grabbed the back of his shirt and took a few deep breaths before he could respond.

“I couldn’t live without you. I couldn’t live in a world where I remembered you and you weren’t there. I remembered everything. How your eyes crinkled when you laughed. How your hair had gold streaks in it in the sun. How your voice did that thing where it went up when you got mad and then you got mad that your voice went up so it got even higher. How your lips looked so soft that I always wanted to kiss you but I was always scared that you’d slap me or something so I never did—”

And then Eddie was kissing him, his lips just as soft as Richie’d imagined they would be, and his glasses were chunkier than they used to be and bumped against Eddie’s face. Richie took them off and barely had enough time to recognize that they were his old ones before they were kissing again. Their hands were in each other’s hair and it was clunky and messy just like it would’ve been if they were teenagers because they were teenagers now and that made him pull back. “Do we get to stay like this?” Eddie grinned and nodded. “Forever?” He nodded again, and kissed Richie softly.

“I don’t know what happened between dying and coming here, but we’re alive and healthy and nothing’s wrong here. Not anymore.” Eddie stroked Richie’s face, laughing through his newly-forming tears. “I hate to say I’m happy—no, beyond happy to see you, Rich. I hate that you did this to yourself...but I missed you.” He pressed his forehead to Richie’s and sniffled. “I missed you, Richie.”

“I missed you too,” Richie whispered, then pulled back again. “Wait. Stanley?”

“He’s here,” Eddie confirmed with a grin. “We can go see him, if you want. It’s not just the quarry. We have all of Derry...but it’s not like how it was when we were there. It’s better. Just us. We have the whole town to ourselves.”

Richie wiped away more tears. Stanley. He laughed and nodded. “Okay. We can go. But hold on just one second.” He slipped his glasses on and cupped Eddie’s face, taking it all in. His freckles, the specks of gold in his brown eyes that matched his hair, his plush lips. The corner of Richie’s own lips quirked up and he kissed the other boy again. “Okay. Now I’m ready.”

Eddie helped Richie stand, looking up at him. “You did grow into your looks, like Bev said—in a scruffy sort of way,” he said fondly, making Richie laugh. “But I missed this. Your lankiness. And your big glasses. You always looked a little bug-eyed, but I thought it was cute,” he admitted. Richie’s eyes widened, and Eddie giggled. “Like that. Cute, cute, cute!”

“Hey, that’s my line!” Richie protested, his cheeks pink as Eddie reached up to pinch them. He laughed. God, he’d missed him. He missed the banter that came easy as breathing. He knew then more than ever that he’d made the right decision. This was all he’d ever wanted.

Eddie linked Richie’s pinkie with his own and began swinging it, as they started walking, nudging his shoulder. “Come on, Rich. Let’s go home.”

Home, Richie thought, smiling as Eddie leaned his head on his shoulder. You were always my home, Eddie. I’m already there.

[crack--attack]

An old photograph, a passing moment

I felt it

Under my soul, you know?

Right down in that deep dark part of me, blue and black and cracked but not broken

Flitting back and forth like a tennis ball hit one too many times

Crawling through dry mouths and behind heavy eyelids, eyelids hot from the inside, hot from the left side, from the right, from thoughts too often broken off on their own, thoughts shattered by the rocks of reality, thoughts screaming deep into the tortured night where no sound truly leaves, thoughts whispered on the wind and lost to a woman's hair, lost to cigarette smoke, lost to paint fumes, lost to the ranting of a crazed politician, lost to the gyrating of a man's hips, lost to body and mind and soul

There, on that teetering cliffside, I saw it

And I felt it

Old photographs

Echoing poetry in my mind

Behind my sunburnt eyelids

Deep within my cracked and patched soul, soul withdrawn and open and worried and unsure, soul buried deep within and desperate to get out, soul I tried to yank out once, soul that screams for more, for this, for that, for justice, for anything that is far too lofty for it to ever truly obtain

But soul all the same

I felt light hit my brain, and it cracked like a livewire, buried within dried wood, sending smoke up to a smoke alarm whose battery hasn't been changed since 1982

A calling, loud and visceral and screaming at me

A piece of my soul claimed, a piece found, a piece finally given a name

A smoke alarm, screaming, screaming, screaming out

This is it. This is it. This is what I want.

A blurry photograph. An old age of rebellion.

A time I can't understand. A vision I want to.

The tongue tastes of excitement, of fury, of leftover feelings from a past lifetime, of stale bread and fresh wine, of communion of rebels, of holy grins in a desperate night, of blessed chest and stomach and thighs, of worshipped words, of bated breath, of screams on streetcorners, of a worthy fight, of bravery, of worth, of half-frenzied dancing

Painted signs in the sunrise, painted faces of fury, painted mouths demanding equality, justice, freedom, freedom! Dear god, just give us freedom! Hands clutching hands clutching chests clutching us clutching graves clutching thoughts clutching action clutching change

Fingers dried carefully compulsively obsessively to not lose grip

Terror and horror and evil flinging water like it's tear gas, like it's pepper spray, like it's poverty, like it's violence death destruction denunciation ignorance

Mouths open wide to rebel only to drown, bodies becoming carcasses becoming bridges becoming ground

We walk on the shoulders of those who have fought before us, we walk with our noses just above the water, we walk to change to scream to fight

We walk on the shoulders of giants.

[politicalfilth-blog]

The Trump-Russia Conspiracy Campaign Collapses

We Are Change

Article via Zero Hedge

Is sanity finally returning? After weeks of ranting and raving about Russian “interference” and Putin-Trump conspiracies, so-called ‘intelligence’ agencies and high-ranking Democrats are quietly walking back their rhetoric and managing their base’s expectations – simply put: there’s no ‘there’, there.

‘Moon of Alabama’ reminds us that a while ago Matt Taibbi in Rolling Stone warned: Why the Russia Story Is a Minefield for Democrats and the Media:

If we engage in Times-style gilding of every lily the leakers throw our way, and in doing so build up a fever of expectations for a bombshell reveal, but there turns out to be no conspiracy – Trump will be pre-inoculated against all criticism for the foreseeable future.

And now, as The Intercept’s Glenn Greenwald writes, key Democratic officials are now warning their base not to expect…

From MSNBC politics shows to town hall meetings across the country, the overarching issue for the Democratic Party’s base since Trump’s victory has been Russia, often suffocating attention for other issues. This fixation has persisted even though it has no chance to sink the Trump presidency unless it is proven that high levels of the Trump campaign actively colluded with the Kremlin to manipulate the outcome of the U.S. election — a claim for which absolutely no evidence has thus far been presented.

The principal problem for Democrats is that so many media figures and online charlatans are personally benefiting from feeding the base increasingly unhinged, fact-free conspiracies — just as right-wing media polemicists did after both Bill Clinton and Obama were elected — that there are now millions of partisan soldiers absolutely convinced of a Trump/Russia conspiracy for which, at least as of now, there is no evidence. And they are all waiting for the day, which they regard as inevitable and imminent, when this theory will be proven and Trump will be removed.

Key Democratic officials are clearly worried about the expectations that have been purposely stoked and are now trying to tamp them down. Many of them have tried to signal that the beliefs the base has been led to adopt have no basis in reason or evidence.

The latest official to throw cold water on the MSNBC-led circus is President Obama’s former acting CIA chief Michael Morell. What makes him particularly notable in this context is that Morell was one of Clinton’s most vocal CIA surrogates. In August, he not only endorsed Clinton in the pages of the New York Times but also became the first high official to explicitly accuse Trump of disloyalty, claiming, “In the intelligence business, we would say that Mr. Putin had recruited Mr. Trump as an unwitting agent of the Russian Federation.”

But on Wednesday night, Morell appeared at an intelligence community forum to “cast doubt” on “allegations that members of the Trump campaign colluded with Russia.” “On the question of the Trump campaign conspiring with the Russians here, there is smoke, but there is no fire at all,” he said, adding, “There’s no little campfire, there’s no little candle, there’s no spark. And there’s a lot of people looking for it.”

Obama’s former CIA chief also cast serious doubt on the credibility of the infamous, explosive “dossier” originally published by BuzzFeed, saying that its author, Christopher Steele, paid intermediaries to talk to the sources for it. The dossier, he said, “doesn’t take you anywhere, I don’t think.”

Morell’s comments echo the categorical remarks by Obama’s top national security official, James Clapper, who told Meet the Press last week that during the time he was Obama’s DNI, he saw no evidence to support claims of a Trump/Russia conspiracy. “We had no evidence of such collusion,” Clapper stated unequivocally. Unlike Morell, who left his official CIA position in 2013 but remains very integrated into the intelligence community, Clapper was Obama’s DNI until just seven weeks ago, leaving on January 20.

Perhaps most revealing of all are the Democrats on the Senate Intelligence Committee — charged with investigating these matters — who recently told BuzzFeed how petrified they are of what the Democratic base will do if they do not find evidence of collusion, as they now suspect will likely be the case. “There’s a tangible frustration over what one official called ‘wildly inflated’ expectations surrounding the panel’s fledgling investigation,” BuzzFeed’s Ali Watkins wrote.

Moreover, “several committee sources grudgingly say, it feels as though the investigation will be seen as a sham if the Senate doesn’t find a silver bullet connecting Trump and Russian intelligence operatives.” One member told Watkins: “I don’t think the conclusions are going to meet people’s expectations.”

What makes all of this most significant is that officials like Clapper and Morell are trained disinformation agents; Clapper in particular has proven he will lie to advance his interests. Yet even with all the incentive to do so, they are refusing to claim there is evidence of such collusion; in fact, they are expressly urging people to stop thinking it exists. As even the law recognizes, statements that otherwise lack credibility become more believable when they are ones made “against interest.”

Media figures have similarly begun trying to tamp down expectations. Ben Smith, the editor-in-chief of BuzzFeed, which published the Steele dossier, published an article yesterday warning that the Democratic base’s expectation of a smoking gun “is so strong that Twitter and cable news are full of the theories of what my colleague Charlie Warzel calls the Blue Detectives — the left’s new version of Glenn Beck, digital blackboards full of lines and arrows.” Smith added: “It is also a simple fact that while news of Russian actions on Trump’s behalf is clear, hard details of coordination between his aides and Putin’s haven’t emerged.” And Smith’s core warning is this:

Trump’s critics last year were horrified at the rise of “fake news” and the specter of a politics shaped by alternative facts, predominantly on the right. They need to be careful now not to succumb to the same delusional temptations as their political adversaries, and not to sink into a filter bubble which, after all, draws its strength not from conservative or progressive politics but from human nature.

And those of us covering the story and the stew of real information, fantasy, and — now — forgery around it need to continue to report and think clearly about what we know and what we don’t, and to resist the sugar high that comes with telling people exactly what they want to hear.

For so long, Democrats demonized and smeared anyone trying to inject basic reason, rationality, and skepticism into this Trump/Russia discourse by labeling them all Kremlin agents and Putin lovers.

Just this week, the Center for American Progress released a report using the language of treason to announce the existence of a “Fifth Column” in the U.S. that serves Russia (similar to Andrew Sullivan’s notorious 2001 decree that anyone opposing the war on terror composed an anti-American “Fifth Column”), while John McCain listened to Rand Paul express doubts about the wisdom of NATO further expanding to include Montenegro and then promptly announced: “Paul is working for Vladimir Putin.”

But with serious doubts — and fears — now emerging about what the Democratic base has been led to believe by self-interested carnival barkers and partisan hacks, there is a sudden, concerted effort to rein in the excesses of this story.

With so many people now doing this, it will be increasingly difficult to smear them all as traitors and Russian loyalists, but it may be far too little, too late, given the pitched hysteria that has been deliberately cultivated around these issues for months.

Many Democrats have reached the classic stage of deranged conspiracists where evidence that disproves the theory is viewed as further proof of its existence, and those pointing to it are instantly deemed suspect.

A formal, credible investigation into all these questions, where the evidence is publicly disclosed, is still urgently needed. That’s true primarily so that conspiracies no longer linger and these questions are resolved by facts rather than agenda-driven anonymous leaks from the CIA and cable news hosts required to feed a partisan mob.

It’s certainly possible to envision an indictment of a low-level operative like Carter Page, or the prosecution of someone like Paul Manafort on matters unrelated to hacking, but the silver bullet that Democrats have been led to expect will sink Trump appears further away than ever.

But given the way these Russia conspiracies have drowned out other critical issues being virtually ignored under the Trump presidency, it’s vital that everything be done now to make clear what is based in evidence and what is based in partisan delusions. And most of what the Democratic base has been fed for the last six months by their unhinged stable of media, online, and party leaders has decisively fallen into the latter category, as even their own officials are now desperately trying to warn.

This article first appeared on ZeroHedge.com and was authored by Tyler Durden.

The post The Trump-Russia Conspiracy Campaign Collapses appeared first on We Are Change.

from We Are Change https://wearechange.org/trump-russia-conspiracy-campaign-collapses/