#laying on the floor sprawled out looking up at the lights having a vague conversation sweaty and dirty and ruffled

[cowvboyenema]

// I need to hurry home so I can draw dave doing manual labor quick quick quick quick

[bau-bee]

hello, I was wondering if you could do a Dazai angst with prompt 6 and 4 and maybe some fluff at the end? But it’s ok if your don’t want to or your not comfortable doing it. Have a nice day!🙂🦦

☁︎𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲٫ 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞٫ 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞☁︎

Gn! Reader TW: Alcohol & Mentions of suicide

You were sure you knew what you were getting into when you started dating Dazai. You had known him for two years, all the time he had been at the agency. You two only started sdating around 5 months ago. At first, It was a grand and great thing to have him by your side, his silly remarks invading your life. While you could obviously tell how fake he was being you never let it deter you. “I hope one day you’ll get to be as happy as you seem,, you would say, never in public as to not ruin any facade he had on at the moment, you knew better than that. The first time you uttered those words he looked truly bewildered, not expecting you to know of his mask he used so often to save face. He never let those words get to him ever again after that.

After a few months his cracks started to leak out in front of you. His suicidal tendencies and jokes had always been made lighthearted at the agency but when he was alone it was truly a depressive and heartbreaking experience to watch. Along with that came the alcoholism, he would drink himself to sleep almost every night. Desperate attempts to distract himself you assumed. Anytime you would go to his dorm in the agency you would find him sprawled out on a futon with empty bottles of sake and a few empty whiskey glasses scatter around, ice inside long ago melted. You would clean up his mess, waking him up after with a worried expression. To which he always shrugged it off, the it being you.

This process repeated for two months, until now. You had been preparing yourself to talk to him about it, preparing for any response he may give you. Coming up with a retort and practicing it in the mirror later that night. But nothing could prepare you for the events of the night you worked up the confidence to confront him. When you went to stay over at his house you found him drinking, again. He didn’t usually drink whenever you came over so this was definitely out of the ordinary. Even though he was drinking he was barely even tipsy, despite the 3 servings of sake he had consumed. But you still helped clean him up. The words of worry and frustration creeped up your throat, you could feel your lungs squeezing together as you scooted the beverages out of the way and sat next to his spot where he was laying on the floor.

“Dazai?” You uttered, feeling the beat of your heart all the way up in your throat. He turns at the call of his name, offering a lazy smile. “Yeah [Nickname]” he coos. Your heart seemingly stops in your chest as you stare down at him. “We have, uh, we have a problem” you say, words finally making their way out. He looks at tou puzzled for a moment, not expecting that. “About what?“ your words are stuck in your throat at this point. “It’s uhm” you start “about you…” you murmur, almost scared to utter the words. His brows almost immediately furrow as his reply follows “That’s pretty vague don’t y’think?” he chirps in an almost light hearted tone. This topic was anything but light hearted though. You had no idea what to say, your throat ran dry. No matter how many times you practiced this conversation in the mirror nothing could truly prepare you for it. “It’s about your, problems.” You finally choke out, albeit. His face hardens instantly, but he stays silent, allowing you to speak. The word ‘problems’ sounded wrong, almost derogatory. Definitely not a word you ever thought you would need to use against him.

He stares for a moment before gifting a small boyish grin. “Which one?” he says, feigning innocence and playfulness. You knew that he knew this wasn’t going to be a very cheery conversation.

“Well, to start, the drinking.” You began “I love you, I really do but almost every time I come to get you in the mornings or just visit you at night I find you a mess and passes out on either the futon or couch.” you say, looking at him before continuing “It’s just so much and I worry about you.”

He stays quiet as he watches you, sighing before he retorts with a very clearly forced, tight lipped smile “Well if it bothers you as much as it does why are you still here? This is what you signed up for.” He wasn’t having it.

“Just because it bothers me doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you completely.” You sigh and move your hands to rub your temples. “I also didn’t know it was going to be this way”

”The leave.” He snaps, not loudly but you could feel the venom laced in his voice. “If it isn’t what you want then just walk out that door right now and you won’t ever have to come back.” It was all in a calm voice, but it was one that hurt your heart. More than you thought it would.

Along with the miserable mood that just put you in came stubbornness with it. So, you silently stood up with cold eyes, watching him the entire time as you made your way out of the room, and eventually out of the house. The whole time he watched you with cold and devoid eyes. Yet the moment you left they softened by a significant amount. Then once again he picked up the bottle.

[Current time. 4:37] After you left you ended up going back to your house. You weren’t very happy with the outcome of what was supposed to come to an understanding. You felt so bad for leaving, he was probably hurt that you left without putting up a fight.

At some point you felt so bad that you decided to just go back. Sliping a jacket over your baggy shirt and graphic design pajama pants and walking out the door to his agency issued dormitory. As you made your way you had time to decide what to say, that is if he was still awake. There was really no telling of that factor.

Once you made it down the block and to his apartment you struggled to open his door with the spare key. “Come over whenever you like!” He had told you a few months ago as he teasingly dangled the key in front of your face before trotting off on his merry way.

That was certainly helpful now. Once you shimmied the door open you made your way to where he last was. Then voilà there he was, right where you left him, the new half full whiskey cup was new though. You decided you would clean him up, just one more time before this all gets sorted out. So you start the process out picking up the bottles and glasses, disposing of and cleaning each properly before setting a water bottle next to him.

You had come to the conclusion that maybe you deserved a small nap for that. So, you glee fully layed on the futon next to him, clinging onto him from his back. As soon as your small, almost silent snores filled the room he peeked one mischievous eye open and looked around. He smiled contentedly before gently shifting himself over and pulling you into his chest. That bastard.

This story belongs to me, don’t steal and post as your own.

@kuro-chi69

I’m

[parkitaco]

19 byler for the kiss prompts ??

The house is warm and full of light, and Mike is happy.

He hadn't wanted to come home for winter break, on account of the fact that Hawkins during the winter generally tends to be sub-optimal at best, but Will had wanted to see his family and where Will goes, Mike goes, so that's how he's found himself lounging in the Byers' living room, along with, apparently, half the population of Hawkins. Nancy and Jonathan are here, along with the entire Party, Steve and Robin, and, for some odd reason, Murray Bauman. It's more enjoyable than Mike thought it would be, though that may be partially thanks to the definitely-spiked punch provided by Murray.

"Hey," Will says, flopping down onto the couch beside Mike. Though- beside may not actually be the right term, because Will's sort of- sprawled on top of him, legs thrown over Mike's lap and one arm wrapping around his shoulders as he leans in to press an overexaggerated kiss to Mike's cheek. "Having fun?"

"Yeah, weirdly," Mike says, grinning and pulling Will closer so that he's perched more comfortably in his lap. Will smiles and rests his chin on the top of Mike's head, watching Dustin and Max play a vicious game of Uno on the floor beside them.

Jonathan wanders into the room, Nancy trailing behind him waving a hand around animatedly as she rants about something.

"Hey, guys," Jonathan says, placing a steadying hand on Nancy's arm and guiding her gently down to sit beside Mike and Will. "Who's winning?" he asks, nodding to Max and Dustin, who both say "me" simultaneously and glare at each other.

Mike leans forward, chin on Will's shoulder as he peers down at Dustin's cards. "Play that one," he says, reaching around Will to point at a blue seven in his hand, and Will nods his approval.

Nancy glances over, smirking from where she's leaned against Jonathan's side. "You two are so ridiculous."

"Are not," Mike retorts, like the super mature adult he is, and Jonathan laughs quietly. He flushes, tucking his face away against Will's shoulder, and Will pats the top of his head absently.

"Are too," Max says without looking up from her cards, and then, placing down a draw two with an air of finality, "Uno!"

Dustin groans, falling back against the couch. "This game sucks."

"You're just saying that 'cause you're losing," Max says, grinning brightly at him, and Dustin flips her off.

"We're not ridiculous," Mike reiterates into Will's neck, which probably just succeeds in proving the opposite of his point, but Will is very warm and his sweater is soft and he smells like sugar cookies, so Mike can't really be blamed when he wraps his arms more firmly around his waist and snuggles closer.

Jonathan smiles good-naturedly. "Sure, Mike," he says evenly, in the same way Will does when he's being placating, and Mike huffs an irritated breath as Will squeezes his arm reassuringly.

Max lays down her last card, whooping victoriously, and Dustin tosses his remaining cards down in annoyance. "We're playing again," he commands, and Max rolls her eyes as she deals out another hand.

Will's fingers lace their way through Mike's, thumb brushing gently back and forth over the back of Mike's hand, and Mike curls closer, enjoying the solid weight of Will against him. Maybe he is a little ridiculous, but as Will presses a kiss to his knuckles, Mike finds that he doesn't really mind.

He relaxes into Will, who's still sitting halfway in his lap, and listens to Nancy and Jonathan make mindless conversation with Max and Dustin. Eventually, Lucas and El make their way into the room, followed by Steve and Robin, and they all form a half-circle on the floor, laughing and passing around cups of eggnog. By that point, Mike is half-asleep, slumped back against the couch and vaguely aware of Will chattering away, talking animatedly with Robin about something. Will's presence is always comforting, his voice soothing and warm. It's half the reason Mike had agreed to come back to Hawkins in the first place - being alone in their apartment for two weeks without Will would defeat the entire point.

"Mike," Will murmurs at some point, shifting in his lap so that they're sort of- perpendicular to each other, Will's side pressed against Mike's chest as he reaches over to brush Mike's hair out of his eyes. "Are you awake?"

"Mhm," Mike hums absently, as Will's fingers continue to wind through his hair, and the Party makes a collective noise of disgust as he leans into Will's touch.

Will huffs a small laugh, and his thumb brushes gently over Mike's cheekbone as he leans in to press a warm kiss to Mike's forehead, firm and gentle. Mike's eyes flutter open, and he smiles sleepily up at Will, pleased with himself.

"Ridiculous," Nancy huffs, and if Mike were less content and warm or more spiteful and awake, he'd flip her off, but as it is he just taps a finger against Will's nose, ignoring it when their friends groan again.

"Okay," Will laughs, kissing Mike's forehead again, right between his eyebrows, before reluctantly dragging himself off the couch and pulling Mike with him. "I think it's bedtime."

Mike whines in protest as Will drags him off the couch by the wrists, laughing as Mike nearly trips over El's socked foot.

"Sorry," she says, not sounding very sorry at all as she examines her fingernails, and Mike shoots her a scowl as he links his arm through Will's and follows him in the direction of Will's room.

"Goodnight!" Nancy hollers teasingly, and this time Mike does flip her off as Will tugs him around the corner of the hallway.

"I hate her," Mike mumbles, flopping down on Will's bed and holding out his arms for Will to crawl into, "She's so- I hate her."

"No you don't," Will replies, clambering onto the bed beside him and giggling as Mike shoves his face into his neck, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

"I love you, though," Mike amends, as Will tucks his head in beside Mike's and kisses his cheeks, his nose, and then his forehead again.

"Yeah, I know," he murmurs, lips still brushing his forehead. Mike smiles, wriggling closer, and Will murmurs a soft love you too in his ear as they drift off to sleep.

[confused-as-all-hell]

"i know we broke up, i know we don't talk anymore, but I still miss you"

@wesper-week i'm sincerely sorry for this chaos

Jesper Fahey's trade was humor.

His clothes were the colour of too much attention, his laugh limned in shimmering gold. He drew gazes and wistful stares like a lighthouse beacon called for drifting ships. The lines of his body were sharp, elegant, sprawling. When the corners of his mouth lifted in a grin, stars gleamed in his eyes.

He was so achingly beautiful, all tousled dark hair and broad shoulders and warm hands.

Girls and boys fell over themselves for one kiss, one little smile, one whispered word in their ear. How could they not?

Jesper was young and handsome and heady as a cup of evening wine, clever with his graceful fingers, wicked with his soft lips. His GPA was polished, his manners immaculate.

They hung on to his words, the cadence of them, the amused lilt that drenched every sentence.

Jesper had fallen in love with so many, men with rough laughs and kind smiles, women with curling hair and bright eyes. He had taken them over the world, to parks and monuments and cafes, kissed them in the shadow of history.

For every one of his lovers, he bought a ring.

Amethyst for the young lady who carried the scent of lavender.

Gold for the pretty girl whose lips tasted of joy.

Sapphire for the boy who kissed like a fucking god.

Ruby for the trickster woman who loved to laugh.

Copper for the handsome man who had a smile like late summer.

Jesper had cared for each of them in turn. He gifted flowers and jewelry and handwritten letters in his untidy scrawl. He had told them stupid jokes and held their hands and read to them in his unmade bed.

But one by one, they left him, and soon all that was left of their love were those glinting rings.

"Is there something wrong with me?" he whispered once, face shining with tears, head thrown back against the wall.

Nina rested her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around him awkwardly. "Of course not, darling."

He patted her cheek clumsily. "Then why does everyone keep leaving, Nina? Why does nobody stay?"

"Wylan—" she began, but shut her mouth instantly.

"Wylan is different."

And he was.

Beautiful, quiet, sweet Wylan Van Eck with his slender hands and paint-splattered face. He was everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, sketching the stars as they lay intertwined in bed, smiling over his cup of morning tea, dressed in his oversized shirts and plaid trousers.

His kisses were soft and tentative and tasted of tea leaves. His grins were slow and mischievous and bright as the damned sun. When he sprinted along the rim of a fountain, laughing and arms aloft, Jesper thought love might kill him.

He still dreamt about that day, Wylan leaping across the broad rim, his face upturned, sunlight brightening his hair to flame and gold. Wylan, paint smudged across his lower lip, hands stained with red acrylic. Wylan, pretty blue eyes bright with mirth, his panicked yelp as he nearly toppled sideways.

Wylan, Wylan, Wylan.

Sometimes, when Jesper was laying on the floor of someone else's bathroom, watching the ceiling spin and spin, he could still hear Wylan whispering, "And if I said I am yours, and there is no greater honor, what then Jesper?"

They had been so fucking happy, happier than Jesper deserved, all sticky orange juice kisses and skinny dipping in the ocean and opulent restaurants of ivory and gold.

And then Wylan had mentioned the gambling.

They had argued for days and weeks and then months, furious and bitter. Jesper used to live for the clink of coins and soft rush of the wheel and the elation that flooded into his eyes, ears, mouth, fingers. He loved the hum and chaos of the nightclubs, the frenzy of congratulations and drunken kisses and the retreat into those shadowed alcoves.

The scent of alcohol, the sounds of triumph, the press of hands on his body, the pleasure and ecstasy and joy.

But on their hundredth argument, tears were running down Wylan's face, distorting his freckles and widening those fucking blue eyes. He'd whispered he wouldn't stand for it, and Jesper had woken alone the next morning.

His bed was too empty, his kitchen was too quiet, the room where Wylan painted was too fucking much. All that remained was the hole in Jesper's heart and a sketch of the water fountain Wylan had drawn so lovingly, each detail of the scene preserved forever within charcoal. The ice cream parlor. The sunlight. Wylan, laughing and trying to keep his balance, eyes bright bright bright. Jesper, staring at Wylan as if he had never seen another quite so magical.

The memory of those eyes haunted him, every damn day.

He found himself writing essays on Wylan's long, copper lashes. His eyes, the blue of tranquil oceans, of the clear winter sky, of salvation. The glints of silver shining within, a quiet intelligence that so few had glimpsed. The way he would shyly glance away whenever Jesper grinned at him.

How many times had he stared into those eyes, while the two of them lay bare and exhausted among his own silk sheets?

How many times had he looked up after a kiss to find Wylan smiling back at him?

How many times had he nearly drowned within Wylan's gaze, steady and thoughtful and really fucking hot?

But slowly, agonizingly, bitterly, he grew used to the silence.

He stopped texting Wylan in the middle of the day, face damp with tears, hands shaking with misery.

He stopped accidently brewing a second cup of coffee at breakfast.

He stopped glancing to his left, searching for a glint of red hair in crowded spaces.

He stopped seeing Wylan when another was beneath him.

But sometimes Jesper wondered if anything could make him stop loving the boy with pretty blue eyes and a heart of gold.

And if sometimes he glimpsed Wylan in the halls, or at a nightclub, or sketching with those fucking charcoal pencils, he could wave. Smile. Pretend he wasn't going to take another home just to ease the day's pain.

'Why won't you go back to him?" Kaz asked once, barely glancing up from his phone.

"He doesn't want me," Jesper said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief. "Jes, I have it on good authority that Wylan Van Eck hasn't dated a single soul after your breakup."

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody," Kaz said airily.

"Nina?"

"Nina."

Jesper attempted a loose smile, but it drifted aside easily as a gauzy veil twitching in the wind.

Wylan Van Eck, kind and brave and good.

Wylan, with his inquisitive eyes and thoughtful conversation.

Wylan, lonely and miserable because one stupid fucking boy had broken his heart.

He could barely stand it.

In some hidden chamber of his mind, he had locked away Wylan’s laughter, the tide of his amusement, inexplicably bright and wondrous. It felt like gazing at one of his softest paintings, a lush blend of ivory and blue and gold, like glimpsing something raw and beautiful and secret.

A burning star.

A miracle, spinning through the galaxy, leaving nothing but light in its wake.

A memory, and no more.

Wylan had once laughed so freely, snickering over an amusing quip, or stifling his smile when Jesper read to him late at night.

That sound of joy and delight. . . it was the brightest damn thing in the world.

And Jesper wanted to know that somewhere, in some other softly lit room with a man looking up at Wy like he was the sun, that laugh was sounding again.

He wanted to know that even if Wylan didn’t shine for him, he shone nevertheless.

The next morning dawned piercing and cold, a bright jewel in the crown of winter. Jesper chose his clothes with unusual care, knotting the laces of his boots twice, cleaning his dozens of rings before slipping them on.

Once he had hoped Wylan would give him the last of the collection—the wedding ring.

Now, as he finished with the last of them, he left his fourth finger bare, a final shrine to the ghosts of their past.

The cafe where he had asked, begged, pleaded for Wylan to meet him was nearly empty, but for a handful of people. His gaze lingered on a young woman with curling brown hair who might have been Nina in a hat, and a man with his leg propped up that was almost certainly Kaz.

Even though he made a mental note to strangle them later, the gesture eased the pressure within his chest ever so slightly.

And there was Wylan, a cup of tea clutched between his slender hands, huddled in a soft brown sweater. He was staring out of the window, those damned blue eyes vague and empty.

Jesper slid soundlessly into the booth, holding his breath as if he could force the longing from his lungs. “Hello, Wylan,” he said softly.

When he glanced up, something in his gaze shifted.

A blossoming flower.

An easing rainfall.

Something wonderful and exquisite and otherworldly.

Hope, hope, hope.

“Jes,” he returned with a little smile.

And Jesper leaned forwards. He couldn’t help it, not when Wylan was there before him and his lips were curved so slightly and his fingers were wrapped around his mug like—

“Wy,” he said, clearing his throat, “I wanted to talk.”

He straightened slightly, that quiet peace dissolving. “Had I not wanted to talk to you, I wouldn’t have answered your text.”

They stared at each other silently, waiting; it felt like sitting in the living room together, huddled over a game of chess, Jesper grinning as he slid the first pawn two squares up.

But he was not nearly so confident about his play now.

“I’ve been talking to Kaz,” he began awkwardly, the words clumsy in his mouth. “He told me you haven’t been seeing anyone.”

“And I’ve been speaking with Inej,” returned Wylan, utterly refined and elegant in his simplicity. “She tells me you’ve been seeing everyone.”

Jesper felt like a child again, clutching a rifle in his inexperienced hands, brows drawn together in concentration as he replayed his mother’s instruction in his mind. His father was playing target again, brown eyes gentle with encouragement. He didn’t know what to do, he was going to shoot his father, he was going to harm harm harm.

The words in his hands, his throat, were constricted and awful and stumbling. He didn’t know how to shoot without hurting anyone he loved.

Wylan was still gazing at him, blue eyes dark, for the first time in memory. “Jes,” he said, “was I so easy to forget?”

“Forget?” Jesper croaked. “Like a stupid song or piece of information on the study guide? Like you didn’t shine brighter than the damned sun? Like there were days when I didn’t wish to capture the stars and give them to you?”

There was a strange, crackling rush in Jesper’s ears, as if the ocean had swelled too high and now he was drowning, drowning, drowned.

If Wylan wanted him back, if Wylan loved him still—

He could wake up every morning with soft limbs tangled in his own. He could kiss Wylan again, taste tea and sugar cookies and mint. He could marry him, live out a life with him, die on the bed beside his own, fingers interlocked tight.

The future was there, tangled and messy and uncertain, but there all the same.

But Wylan was shifting in his seat, almost anxiously. “Jes,” he said softly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

His eyes, his lovely blue eyes, were beginning to shine. “I know that look,” he said, almost bitterly. “I know that look damn well.”

Jesper’s giddy excitement was beginning to wither, and he clung to it desperately, a final shield against the darkness. “What look?”

Wylan reached out, fingertips stained blue with paint, hands still slim and delicate, a work of art. “If you think I want to… to get back together, I don’t. You and I, it was so much fun, and sometimes I wonder if everything was more than a college romance.”

He retracted his shaking hands, and ran them through his copper hair. “I wonder if another Jesper, who loved himself as much as his friends love him, and another Wylan, who was just a little bit of a better boyfriend, might have had their future together.”

Jesper could only stare

Wylan whispered, “Don’t you see it, Jes? We were stupid fucking collage kids who fell in love, but it was never supposed to carry on. I told you, that night in the club, I just wanted sex.”

He remembered.

Just sex, do you understand? No more, Jes.

But then, I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you just once.

And it kept going, spiraling, until one morning they were laying in bed and Wylan was wearing Jesper’s shirt, and Jesper was stroking Wylan’s hair, and it was much more than just sex.

One date, Wy. Give me a chance.

I love you, I love you, I love you, dumbass.

I want you to move in with me. I want you in my bed, my kitchen, my clothes. I want to see you tired and angry and miserable and I want to tell you you’re still the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

Jesper had imagined their wedding, every so often, a blazing pillar of hope lighting the path to the future. He had dreamt tailored suits and blue eyes and the final ring. He had planned every detail of his speech, his vows, his oath to live and die with Wylan Van Eck.

“Just sex,” he said at last. “We fucked it up, didn’t we, Wy?”

Wylan extended his hand once more. “I loved you, Jes, I won’t pretend. But I’m with someone else now, and I care for him, and I promised I would sort out the ghosts of my past.”

Jesper slid his palm over his, reveling in the soft skin, the gentle touch he would never feel again. “You’re happy?” he said softly. “He makes you laugh?”

He smiled, a secret, lovely smile. “Yeah. Yeah, he makes me laugh.”

And the sudden truth of it, the fact Wylan was someone else’s now, and he was laughing in another’s arms, hit Jesper. It sent ice through his veins, his mind, the final shattered shard of his heart, tearing through memories.

Wylan, brave and wonderful, laying on his bed. His hands were aloft, describing a particularly clear night sky, the shapes he traced in the stars. He had named one for Jesper, and he said it was shaped like love.

Jesper, doubled up in laughter as he flipped a pancake, listening to yet another one of Wylan’s rambling stories. He never tired of them. Those recollections, the happy lilt to his voice, the giddy, “There’s more, though!” were treasured beyond gold.

Wylan, working on some assignment or another, sprawled on the grass of a dewy meadow. His head was pillowed on Jesper’s hoodie as he wrote, filling the page with his elegant script. Every so often, he would glance over and point out a butterfly or shaped cloud with a smile.

Jesper, watching as Wylan leapt across the fountain. His copper head was upturned, sunlight streaming down onto the angles of his face, joy etched in his brilliant grin. He looked like a god for that one moment, frozen forever in a snapshot of peace.

“I will love you if the entire fucking world tells me not to,” Jesper had whispered once. “I will love you if the entire fucking world tells me to. I will love you, because I am yours, and there has never been such an honor.”

When the years whiled past, when the bone-deep sorrow lightened at last, did Jesper still love him?

That was the question he asked himself every morning over a cup of bitter coffee.

Twenty-four years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Thirty-one years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Forty-five years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Fifty-seven years old, and Jesper still loved him.

An old man, dying in his bed, and the laugh ringing through his head belonged to a boy with pretty blue eyes and a heart of gold.

A dead man, and Jesper loved him from the grave.

Love bowed to no one, and least of all death.

A collage romance was theirs, but their love was not that of two foolish young men, out for a kiss and in for a good fuck. It was carefree, happy, bright as the sun. It was etched in the stars, and it was doomed from the start.

Love bowed to no one, but perhaps it inclined its head towards Jesper Fahey and Wylan Van Eck.

[arya-skywalker]

We Break Down and We Break Through (Sanders Sides fanfic)

Post episode (WTIT)

Summary: Virgil goes to check on Remus in the dark side of the mind palace, worried about the latter despite himself. Things get a bit chaotic.

Notes: just a fun little thing to celebrate the recent episode

TW: allergic reaction, tentacles

AO3 Link

~*~

Virgil took a deep breath as he approached the door to the dark side of the mind palace, gripping a spray bottle of soap just in case Remus tried anything. It didn’t hurt to be prepared. He opened the door and stepped inside, blinking as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the void.

“Remus? Are you down here?” he called.

Something moved in the darkness.

Shit.

“I just want to talk, alright? And I’m willing to listen. Just—“ He froze when he accidentally kicked something down the stairs, starting a chain reaction of sorts.

Virgil ducked, just in time to dodge something splatting on the wall behind him. Probably something dead, but he really didn’t want to think about it. “Remus!”

Remus’s laugh echoed off the walls. “Welcome home, emo!”

Virgil rubbed his face, then gave up and flicked a flashlight on, carefully watching his step as he made it down the rest of the stairs to the dark sides commons. It was a mess. Far worse than he remembered. “Remus? Come out, please.”

“I’m gay!”

“Yeah, I know that. I meant, like step into the light? I know you’re down here somewh—”

Remus suddenly jumped out from behind a corner and screamed bloody murder, lights flickering on and off like haunted strobe lights.

Virgil hissed and stumbled backwards, spraying the soap on reflex.

Remus screamed again— this time in agony. “SOAP! Goddammit you know I’m allergic, you bitch! Fuck you!”

“Shit! I panicked! Don’t scare me like that!”

“Ow ow ow! Get it off! MOTHERF—“

“I’ll help you rinse it off and put some lotion on if you swear not to play tricks on me today,” Virgil said, trying to calm himself and Remus. “Besides, barely any of it got on you.”

After a long string of curses, Remus relented. “Oh fiiiiine!” Then he grinned and snapped off his clothing.

Virgil facepalmed, making sure not to look below Remus’s torso. “Just the shirt off! Put your pants back on.”

Remus stuck out his tongue. “Party pooper!” But he snapped his pants on.

Virgil rolled his eyes and followed Remus to the bathroom. “Sorry about the soap,” he muttered, turning the water on and grabbing a washcloth.

Remus lay on the dirty floor, sprawled out with his limbs at odd angles. “I’m dyyyyying!” he whined.

Virgil sighed and knelt next to him, making a mental note to take a long shower once he got back to the light side. “This might sting a bit,” he warned, dabbing at the soap to try to get it off without spreading it more. “Stay still.” Remus’s skin was already turning a nasty red where the soap had touched it.

Remus remained miraculously still as Virgil worked, whining and grumbling but not getting in the way. After the soap was off, Virgil added some anti-itch lotion, hoping it wouldn’t make things worse. “Alright.... how’s that?”

“I’m aliiiive!” Remus rose from the floor like a zombie from the grave— arms extended and everything.

“Great! That’s good,” Virgil said, stifling a laugh and giving an awkward thumbs up.

Remus cackled. “C’mon admit it, that was funny!”

“Better then your usual antics, sure,” Virgil replied.

Remus latched onto him like a demonic koala. “You’re staying, right?” His mustache tickled Virgil’s cheek.

Virgil stumbled before catching his balance. “I.... for a little bit. A few hours at most.”

“Let’s watch a horror movie!” Remus grinned at him.

A smile tugged at Virgil’s lips. “Alright. One movie. As long as it’s more spooky than slasher.”

“You got it emo!”

~*~

“So.... what was all that about? With Thomas yesterday?” Virgil asked after the movie was over.

“Ugh, you too? Gross.”

“Usually when you lash out like that, there’s a reason. So....? What’s up? Do you not like Nico or something?”

Remus shrugged, polishing his morningstar. “Nico’s sexy. Thomathy should fuck him before things go to shit.”

“But you didn’t send Thomas anything like that—“

“You’re right! I should go do that right now!” Remus grinned and hopped to his feet, starting to sink out.

Virgil quickly grabbed his arm. “Oh no you don’t! That’s not what I meant and you know it. We’re going to use our words and get to the bottom of what’s wrong. Got it?” He tugged Remus closer, trying to get the other side to look at him.

Remus pouted. “What if I don’t wanna?”

“I still have the soap,” Virgil warned, but he desperately hoped he wouldn’t need it again.

“You wouldn’t!”

“I might.”

Remus grumbled and practically melted to the floor— but at least he wasn’t trying to sink out. Virgil sighed and sat next to him, letting go of his arm.

After a few long minutes, Remus spoke. “It’s your job to worry about what Thomas should worry about. It’s my job to take those worries and create disturbing masterpieces!”

“Yes, but...”

Remus snickered. “Butt!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Look, you’re right— it’s my job to worry. That means I worry about... well, everyone.” He rubbed his arms.

Remus blinked one eye after the other. “Everyone?”

“Yeah. Which includes you, dumbass,” Virgil muttered, lightly punching Remus’s shoulder.

“Awwwww you do care!” Remus tackled him in a hug.

Virgil yelped upon being knocked over, but hugged back, blushing under his foundation. “Ugh don’t get all mushy about it,” he grumbled.

Remus released his tentacles and wrapped them around Virgil. “Like this?” he teased.

Virgil sighed in exasperation. “Whatever,” he muttered.

They remained that way for some time, curled into each other’s embrace. “I missed you, emo,” Remus finally said.

Virgil smiled wanly. “Yeah? I missed you, too.” A moment later, something clicked into place, and Virgil adjusted position to look up at Remus. “You’re lonely down here,” he said, somewhere between a statement and a question.

“No shit.” Remus gestured vaguely towards the orange door in the distance. “He isn’t great for conversation. Fighting, sure, he’s brutal as fuck and good for getting the blood pumping, but he doesn’t listen to a thing I say.”

Virgil bit his lip. “I thought D— Janus was visiting you?”

Remus shrugged. “He’s been spending more time up there. Busy little snake. Good for him.”

“Do you... uh... want me to visit? Sometimes?” Virgil asked. “I mean we had a bit of a rough start today, but after that it wasn’t so bad.”

Remus grinned ear to ear and leaped to his feet, spinning Virgil around. “We’ll have so much fun!”

[reyescarlos]

26, 65 or 74? hurt/comfort? i love ur style of writing and i wanna see where you take these 🥺🥰

this is just the sweetest. you’ve really been making me so happy with all your kudos and comments in this collection! thank you so much! this one kind of ran away from me and is a bit heavier than my previous fics. it comes with trigger warnings so... overdose tw, drugs tw

#26 “How did you find me?”

TK sits with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs as he looks out across the field. To any passerby this wouldn’t be anything remarkable. It’s nothing more than an expanse of dry grass but this particular vacant spot is arguably one of his favorite places in all of Travis County. This is the field where he allowed himself to dive headfirst into something real with Carlos, the two watching an anomaly in the sky above as something organic bloomed between them.

Austin has been leaving its mark on TK, the new memories and bonds forged here almost enough to eclipse all of the bad he’s left behind.

But there are certain aspects of his past that he can’t quite run from, despite his best efforts to. Life enjoyed playing with him too much to allow good times to last long. TK supposes he may be a touch melodramatic but after the last call he and his team were dispatched to, he can’t shake the idea that the universe likes tossing in harsh reminders of a life he’d rather forget.

The scene they were called to was far too similar to a scenario he had personal experience with. A worried mother stood watch for the crew’s arrival outside the door to her daughter’s apartment, tears in her eyes and she begged and pleaded with them to break down the door and get to her child.

The young woman was unresponsive, passed out on her bathroom floor. Beside her was an empty orange vial and two small clear baggies. It was as if seeing an alternate version of his life. Michelle bustled in, Tim and Nancy flanking her as they worked in tandem to save the woman. Narcan passed from Tim straight to Michelle in the blink of an eye, leaving her to administer the dose in almost no time at all.

TK was vaguely aware of his father’s voice but his ears were ringing too loudly to make out any of the words, let alone any other sound coming from the room. He could see Michelle calling out orders, see her team’s lips moving in response. But the dial was turned down to zero; TK was unable to register any of it. He could recall the touch of his father’s hands on his shoulders and hands, urging him away.

But it was all TK could do to stand there, feet planted like a formidable oak as he watched the young woman’s eyes flutter open, to hold his breath as she emptied out her stomach, her body too weak to even move herself away from the mess she’d made.

“TK,” his father had said a bit more forcefully in his ear, a hand on his elbow to take him away from the threshold.

He stumbled backwards as his father pulled him away, his vision of the apartment blurred as tears filled his eyes. The young woman would be okay but the image of her sprawled out against the tiles, TK knew, would always haunt him, never mind the sheer anguish on her mother’s face.

The ride back to the station was painfully quiet, the team—for his sake, more than anything— not saying a single word. But TK didn’t even feel like he was in the truck at all. His mind was somewhere else entirely, a thousand miles back in New York on his living room floor. It all came rushing back in such stunning clarity.

He’d gone through the motions of showering and dressing once they returned, enduring another quiet ride, this time home with his father.

TK had gone straight to his room though Owen tried getting him to open up and talk about what they’d just seen. His room made him feel like a caged animal as he paced the length of it. Before he could fully register what he was doing, TK was fleeing the house without saying a word to his father, hoping to find someplace where he could be alone and hopefully wind up feeling better.

TK’s top pick would have been Carlos’ condo but the last thing TK wanted to do was burden his boyfriend with this. He’s done his best to shield Carlos from the sordid details of his past, so keen he is these days on maintaining a brighter future.

He closes his eyes, listening to the sound of crickets hidden in blades of grass, feeling the soft evening breeze blow across his skin. This was the perfect place to settle on.

The road his mind wants to travel down is a dangerous one and it takes everything within him to keep on a safer path. The silence of the field helps. He tries to mirror it for himself, an open space and an open mind.

Out here with no one around, the noise in his head dies down long enough for him to steady himself and recalibrate.

His peacefulness is broken about twenty minutes later by the sound of tires approaching. TK scrambles to his feet quickly at the sudden intrusion. The car’s headlights make it hard to see much of anything but as the engine is cut and the lights are as well, TK feels his chest tighten at the sight of Carlos’ Camaro.

He stands frozen in his spot as he waits for Carlos to get out. When he does, his boyfriend’s eyes are locked in on him, his expression unreadable as he comes to a stop in front of him. Carlos doesn’t waste time with a preamble, jumping right into things.

“Your dad told me about the call you guys had today,” Carlos says delicately.

TK looks away, cracking his knuckles. His skin feels stretched too tight around his body. It’s a perfectly cool evening and yet he feels like he’s suffocating, his face and neck suddenly feeling hot.

“He was worried when you left and refused to answer his texts and calls. That’s when he reached out to me, hoping that you were at my place. He was worried sick...as was I.”

“I didn’t mean to make you all worry. I just needed...to breathe.”

Carlos frowns. “I know that call must have been horrible for you but you can’t go AWOL like that, TK,” he says, voice still gentle. “If you needed this time on your own, just say that next time, please. When you disappear, we can’t help but to get scared that you’re hurt or—”

“I didn’t do anything stupid. I didn’t, you know,” he concludes lamely, unable to even bring himself to say the word relapse.

“I didn’t think you would but thank you for telling me. I’m glad you’re hanging in there. I tried calling but it kept going straight to voicemail.”

TK’s brows furrow as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He touches the screen but it remains black. He hadn’t even thought to check on his phone, not that it mattered either way given he was practically in the middle of nowhere. It’s then that Carlos’ appearance really sinks in.

“How did you find me?”

For the first time since he arrived, Carlos smiles faintly.

“There’s a reason I still earn a paycheck every two weeks. You may think you’re a mystery but I know you,” he says, reaching for TK’s hands.

TK lets him hold on, realizing now just how cold his fingertips feel once he’s met with Carlos’ warmth. For as much as he wanted to be alone, TK is glad for Carlos’ presence now. It’s a powerful thing to be seen and loved by someone.

“I figured you’d go somewhere you could be by yourself, that’s nice and remote but also someplace that made you feel comforted as if you weren’t actually alone. That night we spent out here came to mind so I thought I’d check it out first.”

TK huffs out a sound similar to a laugh and shakes his head, looking back out across the field. “Impressive work, officer. But as you can see, I’m doing just fine so you don’t have to worry.”

“I wouldn’t call running away and isolating yourself fine, T. Please, can you talk to me about what you’re feeling right now?”

TK can hear traces of panic in his voice though, to Carlos’ credit, he tries to disguise it. But TK can read the strained look in Carlos’ brown eyes and the set of shoulders. This was precisely what TK was hoping to avoid, making someone he cared for so concerned. But he supposes he brought this on himself. Had he just spoken up when it mattered most, Carlos wouldn’t have had to go tracking him down.

Carlos turns and walks back towards his car, sitting on top of the hood. TK watches him for a moment, the man’s hand outstretched in invitation. This takes him back to that glorious night where there didn’t seem to be any limits to how happy and free he could be.

It feels like such a déjà vu. There may not be northern lights above them now but the stars shine so brightly that it’s captivating all the same. Carlos still looks at him with wonder and care in his eyes, just as he’d done months ago. The car is just the same, the spot beside Carlos empty and waiting for him.

But inside TK feels different. Something has monumentally shifted due to that call. So much of this scenario may feel familiar but he feels a long way off from the guy he was that night.

Something in his expression or body language gives him away; he knows Carlos can see his unease. The man lowers his hand and sits cross legged, just staring at him patiently.

It’s just one of the many things TK appreciates in Carlos. He never forces him to speak if he isn’t ready. He’s simply just there and that counts for so much more than TK can even say. It’s more than he deserves, of that he’s certain. But it’s exactly what he needs so he’s grateful.

After another moment, TK’s legs finally begin moving forward, the soles of his shoes crunching against the dried grass. He slides upwards onto the hood of the car, laying back wordlessly against the windshield. Beside him, Carlos follows his lead, reaching for his hand again. He brings it to his lips to kiss each of TK’s knuckles before resting his hand against his chest.

TK stays quiet for a beat, taking just a moment to relish in Carlos’ touch. A conversation is inevitable but before they get underway, he knows he needs to contact his father and attempt to put the man at ease. He dreads the thought alone but it’s the least he owes his dad now for bailing like he did.

“I should probably borrow your phone and give my dad a call. Let him know that I’m okay.”

“I sent him a text before I got out of the car. He knows you’re with me.”

A ghost of a smile plays at TK’s lips at the implication of that last sentence. Being with Carlos amounts to the same thing as safe.

TK pulls in a breath, trying to collect his thoughts but everything in his head is a wreck. He plucks out one thought and goes from there, just needing to get something off his chest so he could breathe a bit easier.

“Being on that call today, seeing that girl’s mom absolutely lose it....,” he trails off, closing his eyes to the memory but the images still flood him anyway. “It just made me think about my dad finding me when he did. If he’d come over to my place even five or ten minutes later, I likely wouldn’t even be sitting here right now.”

He has to stop short there, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat.

“I’ve put him through so much and I don’t ever want to do that again, cause even a fraction of the fear that woman had. Her daughter looked so helpless and all I could think about was ‘what if this girl doesn’t make it?’ Her mom wouldn’t have been able to survive that. And I thought back to New York, my dad being there, saving me. I’ve been doing well now but this thing is always going to be in me, no matter what and I hate that more than anything. One setback could undo everything. It’s happened to me before and I barely made it through that time.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Sometimes it seems like it’d be safer not to let people in just in case I relapse again. I don’t want to drag anyone else down this road. My dad, you, the family I’ve made here. You all are so important to me and nothing terrifies me more than the thought of losing you guys, one way or another.”

Carlos sits up at this and from his periphery TK can see that his boyfriend is looking at him but TK can’t bear to look back. Instead he keeps his eyes trained on the stars just wishing he could trade places with them now, be light years away from the troubles of this world.

“Hey, no. The people you have in your corner are going to be there for life. We all love you so much and will always stand with you.”

There’s such conviction in his words that leaves no doubt about his sincerity and commitment. TK can’t help the tears that fall from the corners of his eyes and race back to his hairline as he keeps vigilant watch on the sky. He knows that if he looks at Carlos now, the little bit of restraint he’s been clinging to will break. Carlos continues speaking, undeterred, or perhaps motivated, by TK’s silence.

“I’m not in the business of giving up on people. Serve and protect, right? If I can care deeply for perfectly good strangers every day, why on earth wouldn’t I be able to do the same for you, the man I’m so incredibly in love with? You couldn’t push me or anyone else who loves you away. You and I agreed, right on this very spot, months ago that we were a team. I have every intention to hold up my end of that promise.”

TK lowers his gaze, finally letting his eyes land on Carlos. The man’s face is flushed, beautiful brown eyes tinted pink from unshed tears but there’s a fierceness in them despite the sadness.

TK sits up and draws nearer, resting his head against Carlos’ shoulder. TK’s wrapped up in the man’s embrace instantly, those steady hands rubbing soothing circles along his back.

He lets himself be cared for, ignoring how weak he feels now. Carlos, he knows, is strong enough for the both of them at this moment. There’s no judgement or shame to be felt, not with Carlos.

“You’re so much stronger than you even know,” Carlos murmurs against the shell of his ear. “There’s nothing you can’t get through and there’s definitely nothing we can’t do together. You’re so loved, TK. You are so loved and needed. Always.”

[ninnodesu]

“Can I See You?” ch 2 || Modern!Thomas

Well. People apprently wanted more of modern!Thomas, so naturally, my brain conjured up a continuation.  GUESS WE HAVE TWO LONG STORIES NOW, FRIENDOS

I AM GOING TO TAG EVERY CHAPTER OF THIS FIC AS CICU IN CASE YOU WANT TO BLOCK OR FOLLOW!

TWs: - Mentions of rape - Broken bone - Mentions of cannibalism - Mentions of murder - Murder

He could see in your eyes, how the tears welled up and streamed down your face that you’d recognize him and he left. He couldn’t look at you at this point, couldn’t look at you cry because of him. He heard you cry behind him as he turned to go into his basement bedroom, his heart stung in his chest as he heard you beg and scream in fear. Closing the bedroom door, he proceeds to lean up against it, back pressed hard to it, eyes shut closed. Some kind of desperate way to make your panicked begging go away.

I can't, I can't, I can't, his inner voice chant like a mantra. His anxiety gets the better of him and he starts pacing, the wood under his feet already marked with a worn-out pattern left by his heavy boots after years and years of anxious pacing. A fierce battle erupts in his mind.

- I can't kill her - You have to, and you know it - No, I won't - Come up with one good reason to fistfight the old man about this - He would die and I wouldn't have to do this fucking thing anymore - And what? You'll live happily ever after with this woman? - I… - She would never accept the truth

Returning to his original place with his back to the door, he slowly sinks down to sit on the floor, one leg sprawled in front of him, the other resting under it. He's lost, he doesn’t know what to do. If he lets you go, you'll go straight to the police. If he kills you, he'll never hear from you again, he'll never see your face again, a sudden wave of intense nausea hits him at the thought of keeping the skin of your face to make a new mask. No, no he can't do that.

This is the first time since he had to butcher his first human that he feels genuinely lost.

He's mad at his uncle for wasting the low amount of money they do have on ugly hookers and booze, having Thomas resort to this way of living. He never truly did want this. The first time Charlie, or Hoyt as he wants to be called now - although Thomas never really did care about his apparent name change and still called him by Charlie to piss on his ego - talked to him about this, he threw up minutes after being left alone.

He still remembers the first time he got forced into butchering a person, just like it was yesterday, even though it’s nearly four years ago.

That day, he was on his way home from work, ending the day with bashing his old boss’s head in with a sledgehammer. The old man had disrespected his family, something Thomas wouldn’t stand for. Knowing that the security cameras were already turned off, he swung the hammer out of anger. He was mad that they were closing the slaughterhouse and he was hurt by the words that had been spoken. No one disrespects his family and gets away with it. Killing his boss didn’t wake any regrets. He believed the old man deserved it. The afternoon sun was still blazing down at his already sweaty form, propping his headphones on his head, he turned the music on full blast and lumbered home with no care in the world.

His right hand carried a memento of his old work, the slaughterhouse’s chainsaw.

As he had come out from a few trees up on the gravel road, a police car was parked by the side of it, the harsh blue and red light blinking to get his attention. Figuring he was caught, he took the headphones off, letting them rest around his neck and stopped in the middle of the road. His hair blew in front of his face as he took heaving breaths, waiting for the piercing pain of a bullet.

Bang! Thud.

What greeted him instead of searing pain, was Charlie standing behind him, brandishing a shotgun and looking down at a police officer with the head blown off. Everything after that is a blur. Vague memories of Charlie talking to him about the plan, the body was laid out on an old table in the basement. He’d never seen this side of his uncle before, so he tuned out.  Words like “ do it”, “no money left”, “can’t afford”, “ butcher him ”, “don’t tell mama” and the worst sentence he’d heard in his life; “ you have to do this, Tommy. For the family. We need meat to survive, boy.” echoed in his mind.

A loud bang coming from outside woke him from his memories. When he just seconds later heard your voice in a shrill pitch, he almost jumped off the floor and hurried out only to see you laying on the floor with half the table over you, the other half leaning against the metallic sink.

Jesus christ…

Being left alone again, your thoughts start racing and your heart along with it.

Where did he go? Why is he here? Does he live here? Is he going to kill you? Rape you? Keep you as a hostage? Was that his family? What? Why? Where?

It’s quiet, but you hear a faint shuffling coming from somewhere close to you. All you can do is lay there and look up at the ceiling, and to your left or right.

On your left you see what looks like a workbench, an apron rests on a hook next to it. It looks well used, stained with a dark and muddy hue of red. There's a sink and dirty towels hanging off the edge of said sink. The sight to your right, however, makes your stomach flip and turn on itself. There’s cleavers, knives, hooks. Huge bins stained with the same red hue as the apron. Putting all the puzzle pieces together, your breathing increases, teetering on the edge of hyperventilating. Thomas, your Thomas. The Thomas you’ve gotten to know, the one you’ve missed for these two weeks, the one who made you all giggly when he sent you the first full-face selfie of himself… a murderer.

As the adrenaline starts shooting through your body, you try wiggling a bit to see how bolted down you are. Your fastenings are tight and they burn as you try pulling your hands out. The metal just digs into your skin resulting in nasty burns.

Fuck…

That’s when an idea - or rather a small glimpse of hope - blooms in your head. Hopefully, the table is not bolted down. It’s a stupid idea, and you know that if Thomas doesn’t kill you, the table most likely will. But rather the table, than the man you’ve slowly started to fall in love with during the months you’ve talked. Getting killed by Thomas’ hands would haunt you more in the afterlife than anything else.

Gathering all the remaining strength, you throw the entirety of your body not bolted down to the side, doing your best to ignore the burning in your wrists and ankles. The first attempt yielded nothing major, the table moved, yes, but not to the extent you wanted. So you do it again, this time, the table goes down, and you with it. You feel the bone in your leg crack before you feel the brutal pain that explodes through it.

Your scream is high to the point where you feel your vocal cords strain and your voice slowly becoming lower, raspier. The pain is enormous, the throbbing pain in your leg thrumming together with your rapid heart. But - thankfully - your scream summons movement, footsteps, and voices. The most prominent footsteps, heavy ones, belong to Thomas as he’s the first one to your side. Even if you can’t see him, you see his clunky boots and grayish jeans, at least you hope that’s Thomas and no one else. All you do is sob onto the floor, your tears pooling under your chin at the pain radiating from your leg… and the burns around your wrists. It takes a full minute before you see big fingers curling around the edge of the table, a grunt coming from above you before your vision starts flying. He was lifting the table up. A loud, hoarse cry escapes your dry throat as the table thuds back into place, jolting your broken leg.

You're about to scream again when your brain catches up to the cleavers and knives hanging to your right but quickly after the first raspy pitch leaves your throat, a hand clamps over your mouth. The rasping sound is muffled under the big hand and you can feel it moisten due to your breath, but all he does is put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and plead with his eyes for you to stay quiet. Which you don’t, you rasp out a hoarse scream against his palm and keeps shooting daggers at him. My god, are you pissed right now.

Who the fuck are you, and what have done to the Thomas I know, you fucking animal!

You don’t quiet down until you hear that sliding door slide open again and an angry voice rings out. "Thomas! What the fuck is that racket?!"

Thomas jerks his head up as he hears Charlie's voice. He's not sure what to do, his uncle’s footsteps thud down the stairs and soon enough, Thomas sees him in full and exchanges eye contact. "This bitch is still alive? Why haven't you taken care of'er yet, ya idiot?".

Shit uh…

He glances down at your dagger filled eyes while trying to figure how to keep you quiet and talk to his uncle at the same time, needing both hands to do so. He can't sign to Charlie if his hand is clamped over your mouth. Letting out an annoyed grunt, he grabs the nearest towel and shoves it into your mouth as quickly and deep down he can without choking you, making sure you can’t spit it back out. Seeing you so shocked, and angry and… some other kind of emotion he couldn’t place, he got the urge to show you some kind of affection. Resulting in him patting your cheek, his huge hand basically engulfing half your face before walking over to the stairs.

"Well?", Charlie spits out his venomous words. Thomas' hands fidget a bit, nervousness taking a hold of him.

'I know her' The same signs that he kept on repeating earlier, annoyance building inside him knowing that his asshole of an uncle refuses to learn more. Making it almost impossible to have a normal conversation with him. "Listen, Tommy, I. Don’t. Care.", the looks between the men are like venom. "You were 'sposed to get to work on'er before mama gets home. You know damn well how much she hates when the cattle scream." Thomas really can’t help the smirk hiding beneath his mask when he hears that. He glances up the stairs before checking the time on his wristwatch before shrugging, pointing to it, and slowly signing two words he knows Charlie can decipher.

'Fifteen minutes'

That's when Charlie grabs the neck of Thomas' shirt and yanks him forward, the only reason he's able to is that he manages to catch him off guard. His breath reeks of alcohol. A clear cut sign that he’s drunk. "Listen here, you bastard. I've had enough of your defiance today. If you ", he stabs a finger in Thomas' chest at the last word, "don't take care of that girl, I will . And you know damn well I ain't going easy on'er." Charlie releases Thomas with a shove, making him stumble backward slightly. The final words from Charlie’s mouth before leaving the basement stings in Thomas’ heart. "I don't want to see your ugly ass upstairs until she's done for."

Thomas watches him leave and turn towards you, who’s still crying silently on the table.

His heart stings more and more the closer he shuffles to you. Sure, he had had nights where he dreamt that he would meet you. But not like this. Never like this, never here. He did not want to see you on his butcher's block. At the same time, he moves to remove the towel he makes the same shushing motion towards you, with the same pleading eyes as earlier. This time, she nods. And Thomas lets out a sigh of relief. As he removes it, you’re panting, breathing sounding almost more like wheezing squeaks. He goes to rinse the towel under some lukewarm water to pat clean the bloody gash over the eyebrow that got hit to knock you out before getting here. All the time, he feels a burning gaze on him, from eyes that are seemingly watching his every move.

You wince when the damped towel touches your eyebrow, a wound you didn't know you had greeted you with a sting, a small hiss leaving you. Your eyes are glued to the giant man, making sure you see his hands at all times. You want to speak, but your throat is dry and hoarse, figuring out that your earlier screaming has annoyed your vocal cords to a great extent. So all you do is watch him. He, on the other hand, is doing his best to avoid making eye contact with you. And it pisses you off, but at the same time, it relaxes you and makes your heart hurt.

Why the fuck are you avoiding me?!

The thought makes your eyebrows furrow. He’s seen you naked, yet can’t fucking look you in the eyes? You try thrashing a bit with your shoulders to try and get his eyes to yours, but to no avail. His tender way to clean your wound surprises you. This huge killer, this murderer, and straight-up deranged man are making sure not to hurt you, and you can't help but breathe out a laugh.

That's when he - apparently - seems happy with his cleaning and turns his back to you, he turns the water on and it sounds like he's rinsing something. Shutting the water off he moves out of your line of sight. A slight panic arises in your chest at the thought that he might have gone off to fetch whatever tool he seems fit to end your life.  You hear a rummaging sound close by, and then he's back above you, looking down at you. This time, you feel a large hand on your head as he slowly and carefully tilts your head back, your eyes are met with harsh light and you shut them. That overwhelming want and need for him to look into your own eyes die down. Now, you don't want to look at him when he slits your throat.

But he doesn't.

You hear what sounds like a paper wrapping open. Two fingers press on either side of the gash over your eyebrow, a small whimper escapes you at the pinching pain, and then something sticky is attached to you. A band-aid. He had put a bandaid on the cut of your eyebrow. It isn't until you feel his hand leave your head that you open your eyes. And at that moment, your eyes are met with his blue ones. The way he's looking at you makes a tiny bit of your anger and hurt, and fear goes away. His blue eyes are filled to the brim with hurt, and sadness, and confusion. It almost looks like he’s about to burst into tears. He looks broken down.

Thomas fiddles a bit with the paper wrapper of the bandaid after making sure it's secured on your eyebrow and proceeds to look down into your beautiful eyes, your eye color popping in the harsh light. Something in them reflects his own emotions. He doesn’t want this, he punishes himself for not responding to your text messages the past weeks, or that he didn’t reach out to you. What he’s looking at is clear cut torture for him. He wants to cry.

I'm so sorry…

He hears the familiar clacking of his mother's shoes above the both of you, a sigh of relief escapes him. Patting the pockets of his jeans, he makes sure he has his phone and the keys to the basement before he heads over to the stairs. But he stops right before ascending them and looks over to you.

He pulls his phone up, unlocks it swiftly, and goes to his text-to-speech app, making sure the volume is put on high before typing out two words and hitting the speech button. A male voice rings out through the basement.

"I'm sorry"

[angstyaches]

Somewhere to Go

Continued from this fic. 

(Added a cut because she’s a little long.)

CW: stress, spiralling whumpee, nausea, emeto, crying, mention of trauma/abuse (very vague), mention of disordered eating/food issues

___

Charlie’s nerves were making his limbs go numb, and he fumbled with the hangers as he lopped them onto the rack between the fitting rooms. He had his teeth clamped around his thumb nail as he paced around the corner. He took a quick glance out into the shop before turning his head towards the ladies’ rooms.

“Rin?” he called out, shifting his feet uneasily. “Are you still in there?”

“Uh-huh, sorry.” A curtain swooped open and Rin stumbled out, still wriggling her foot into her boot, dragging her shoulder bag on the floor. Her eyes were wide as she finally straightened up in front of Charlie. She seemed to have abandoned the items she’d been trying on in the fitting room.

“Sorry,” she sighed, flinging some dark-red hair over her shoulder. She pressed her hands to her face then, shaking her head violently from side to side. “What did I do, Charlie, what the hell did I do?”

“No, no, no, Rin, it’s okay,” Charlie assured her. “It’s just the - the food thing, I think. It doesn’t usually set him off that easily, but...”

“Oh, god.” Rin groaned and stared off past the racks of clothes, her eyes widening again like she was gazing into an endless abyss. “What do we do?”

“Fuck, I don’t – I don’t know.” Charlie scrubbed his fingers through his hair as they started to walk. The shopping centre seemed louder and even more sprawling than it had before they’d gone into that last store. “He - he doesn’t know this place, and neither do I, so I don’t know where he’d go. I don’t know where to start.”

“Okay, so, we’ll just split up and find him.” Rin squeezed his elbow. “You start on this floor and work up. I’ll start downstairs.”

___

“Uh… Hello?” Charlie’s voice was low and awkward, yet unmistakable, as it echoed lightly against the tiled walls; tentative, like it wasn’t the first bathroom he’d called into.

Shayne tucked his head further between his knees and held himself tightly. He had one arm wrapped around his ribs, as though that would stop his body from shaking with sobs. The other hand was pressed to his stomach, trying to suppress the ache that was spreading through his insides.

Fuck, he thought at the sound of soft footsteps. Maybe Charlie wouldn’t spot him from under the stall door… Or maybe this plan wasn’t as fool-proof as he’d originally thought.

He watched as the light-blue Converse trainers came into view, slowing by his stall before coming to a stop. The tops of the rubber soles were worn from Charlie’s nervous habit of bouncing his toes against floors and walls.

The sensation of being found curdled in Shayne’s veins, and he had to very deliberately remind himself that he was still safe. In this moment, he was safe. Gulping back tears, he forced himself to clear his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Charlie said back through the door. His breath sounded a little heavy. “We’ve been running all over, looking for you.”

“Sorry,” Shayne mumbled.

“Are you okay?” Charlie pleaded softly. He paused for a moment. “Is your stomach bothering you?”

“Mmm.” Shayne swallowed and pressed his face to his raised knees. His stomach had been in knots for days, but it had seemed like the least of his problems, and certainly not worth mentioning. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Charlie repeated. “Shayne, I know you, and I know you don’t start crying over kind of. What’s going on?”

Shayne swallowed again, this time shaking his head slightly, despite the fact that Charlie couldn’t see him doing it. Nobody had ever known him the way Charlie did, and there was a cold lump of fear settled under the dread in his chest that told him that nobody ever would again. The weight of his existence fell upon Charlie, and once Charlie was gone, he’d be back to being a tool with a purpose, a ghost with a flimsy, earthly shell that was only good for –

“Please open the door,” Charlie said softly. “We need to go and find Rin. She’s really, she’s – she’s really upset about what she said to you.”

Shayne winced, jaw tightening with a sharp sting. “She didn’t, I – it wasn’t her. It – it was…”

You know we’ll find you, had been the last thing Watson had ever said to him. And Shayne agreed with him, because even at the time, he had known it was true. It was a matter of time before he’d go back to that house, to those people, to that life that he was bound to –

“Shayne?”

This is what you are –

Shayne’s stomach flipped, making his throat clench and his hands shake even more horribly as he fumbled with the lid of the toilet. He’d barely managed to lurch onto his knees before a cold, sticky stream of bright-pink liquid gushed out of his mouth. His throat made a soft choking sound, and the whole ordeal might have been quiet, if it weren’t for the splash.

“Did you just get sick?”

“Um… Maybe.” Shayne hiccupped before retching again, this time unproductively. His jaw was clenched with the sobs that were wracking his body, while his lips were simultaneously being forced open by the nausea.

A low groan of sympathy came through the door. “Shayne, please undo the lock.”

After spitting sour, stringy saliva into the pink mess that had already destroyed the bowl, Shayne shook his head. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, wincing as something between a sob and a burp lurched up his throat. “Go and – go and find Rin. Tell her I’m fine and I’m s–”

Another wave of the smoothie he and Charlie had shared that morning came gurgling up his throat and into the toilet, followed by a weak cough as his diaphragm spasmed with pain.

“You want me to tell Rin you’re fine, while you’re – you’re crying and throwing up?” There was no anger in Charlie’s voice, just a sad kind of resignation. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m just gonna call her and tell her I found you.”

Shayne rested an arm across the toilet seat and tucked his head into his elbow, shivering and choking back sobs as he heard Charlie lower his voice for the phone. He always lowered his voice for the phone, no matter who was speaking to or where he was. Shayne was glad he couldn’t hear Rin on the other end because he could imagine her worry clearly enough in his head. He needed to get it together for her sake, but there was no shoving the anxious thoughts away now that he’d let them creep in.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t – don’t worry. I’ve got him,” Charlie was saying. “Bathroom on the second floor, we’re – yeah, no, we’ll meet you in a few minutes and we’ll – Rin? Shit. Um… Hey, how are you doing in there, lovely?”

The jittery energy in Shayne’s body reeled at the sound of the pet name. He lifted his head and moved his arm, stars dotting his vision. The remnants of the smoothie crawled up and out of him, with another sickening splash that made his stomach immediately flip again.

“Shayne, please,” Charlie whimpered. There was a slight thump and a rattle, like he’d leaned his weight against the door. “Please, please, tell me what’s going on, or at least just – just let me be with you…”

The sharp spike of panic in Charlie’s voice made Shayne’s breath hitch. Fuck. His head was spinning, and he was shaking from the sobs and the nausea, but he managed to turn and slip the lock aside.

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” Shayne’s stomach twisted and he lurched back over the toilet bowl, gagging drily. A grateful wince escaped him when he felt Charlie lay a hand on his back, waiting in silence for him to be finished. Charlie’s hand felt its way around Shayne’s waist after a moment, smoothing back and forth across his stomach.

Footsteps entered the bathroom a few minutes later, and they weren’t the first to come in while he’d been in there. Most people had come in, done their business, and left, as far as Shayne knew, but he expected to hear this person leave once they realised someone was violently puking in the end stall.

Or not.

“Shayne? Charlie Bear?” Rin. In the men’s bathroom.

“Rin, what are you –?” Charlie cut himself off with a deep sigh. “You know what? Never mind.”

“Babe, are you okay?” Rin whimpered, her voice alone betraying the fact that she’d been crying a bit too. She’d been so happy earlier, full of light and jokes and smiles. And now she was crying, and it was his fault. “I was - I didn’t mean to say anything to upset you, I - I really hope you know that.”

Shayne gasped, tears falling on the toilet seat from his chin and his eyes. He sank back shakily against the wall. He’d started clinging to Charlie’s hand at some point, keeping him close.

Rin was crouched right behind Charlie, her hand on his shoulder as she peered over it. Behind the wide lenses of her glasses, her eyes were swimming with tears and her eyebrows were furrowed tightly together. As he looked down, he noticed that the nail of her thumb was pressing into the pad of her forefinger.

“Sorry, Rin,” Shayne choked out, looking down at the tiled floor. “This – this isn’t y-your fault.”

“I know. I-I know, Shayne, it’s okay, but I’m still…” Rin shook her head. “I’m still sorry that I upset you, and that we – we didn’t notice something was wrong…”

Charlie nodded. His eyes were glistening as he leaned in to search Shayne’s face. “What’s… what’s going on? Are you just worried about the offers tomorrow?”

Shayne’s jaw trembled as he shook his head. Nausea crawled at the back of his throat, and he hugged his belly to try to muffle the uncomfortable gurgling. 

Charlie brushed a thumb across Shayne’s cheek, clearing away a tear that had been creeping slowly downward. “What’s going on, lovely?”

“I-I’m, um…” Shayne struggled to form a sentence as his lips parted. He just wanted it out of him, he wanted it fixed; though he had a feeling the latter wasn’t going to be possible. “If… If I d-don’t get an offer tomorrow, I’m… I think I’ll have to go – to go back to – to…” He swallowed, the motion igniting the pain in his throat and his jaw. “To them.”

“What?” Charlie whispered.

Rin scoffed in disbelief, horror washing over her face. Having both of them look at him with those expressions made Shayne’s gut churn.

“Babe,” Rin breathed, “what are you talking about?”

“Ryan and Nancy, they – they said they’ll help me through – throughout my education, but if I’m n-not in education anymore, I – I have nowhere else to…” Shayne wheezed, feeling like something had wrapped itself around his ribs and started to squeeze. “Nowhere else to go.”

“You know that’s not true,” Charlie said quietly, squeezing Shayne’s hand. “Come on, let’s get you out of the stall.”

Shayne dutifully squeezed back, allowing himself to be pulled up from the floor as Charlie and Rin stood up too. He swayed until he held onto Charlie’s shoulder and followed him out into the bathroom, which suddenly felt vast and dizzyingly white.

A father and a son were making their way from the stalls to the sinks, and the kid kept looking back towards them, either bewildered by the red-haired girl in the men’s bathroom or the guy bawling his eyes out. Shayne shrank back from their gaze, fingers still looped lightly with Charlie’s.

“Shayne, babe…” Rin was shaking her head, somehow paying no attention to the man and the boy. “Why didn’t you tell us about this sooner?”

Shayne shrugged helplessly. “What would you have said? Would you have told me everything’s going to be okay?”

Rin bit her lip and glanced at the floor. Charlie sighed quietly, like a balloon deflating, as Shayne took his hand back.

“Because you don’t know that’s it’s going to be okay,” Shayne whimpered, pressing his wrists against his eyes. “You don’t –”

Suddenly he was taking a step back under the force of Rin’s body, stiffening as her arms pulled tightly around his back. The only thing he could think of, to fight off the instinct to kick and scream, was to hug her back, squeezing her just as hard as she was squeezing him. The pressure didn’t do his stomach any favours as it twisted inside him, but as soon as his arms were locked around her, it was like something solid had just come loose in his chest.

Fuck, he just couldn’t stop crying; it felt like he was never going to be finished, like he would just keep going until his body dried up and his organs failed.

“Babe, if the – if the Aldridges throw you out because of this?” Rin whispered, voice hitching. “Then they’re horrible people and you don’t need them.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Charlie ran his fingers through Shayne’s hair, prompting him to turn his head slightly, cheek pressed against Rin’s loose hair. Shayne closed his eyes and exhaled shakily as Charlie cupped the back of his head, grip tightening. “And if the Devines want you back, they’ll have to pry you out of my cold, dead hands.”

Shayne swallowed, opening his eyes in time to see the shadowy traces of Charlie Two’s stare retreating into the whites of Charlie One’s eyes.

“I mean that,” Charlie whispered in his usual register.

Rin rubbed Shayne’s back and nodded her head in agreement.

Charlie half-smiled as he curled a strand of Shayne’s hair behind his ear. “How about we all get out of here, head back to Mulberry for the night, and camp out in front of the TV? We can stop and get Chinese on the way.”

Shayne tried not to groan at the mention of food, feeling a dull ache settle in his stomach again. He wasn’t exactly going to keep complaining about his friends’ need to eat; besides, the thought of curling up with his friends at the Mulberry house almost had him crying again, this time with relief.

“I’m not sure how much sleep any of us are going to get tonight,” Charlie added, “so we might as well all be together, right?”

As Rin began to agree, Shayne felt himself being slowly guided out of the bathroom. He reached for Charlie’s hand again, both in an attempt to ward off any dizzy stumbling, and to remind himself that he could. 

Charlie wordlessly stroked Shayne’s wrist with his thumb, and despite the lingering nausea and the dread that still hung over him like a storm cloud, Shayne felt his stomach flutter.

[kim-monsterlings]

Idella - F Demon x GN Human (Reader) // SFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: SFW/Lime: allusions to sexual intimacy (lovebites, kissing, vague mentions of claws) but no NSFW descriptions, drinking alcohol, flitting from present to past in memories, wedding fluff of friends, jealousy, intimate kissing

Wordcount: 1803

“Tropemas” Summary: hiding your relationship from your marrying friends became more and more difficult, and worse when they tried to set your demon girlfriend up with someone else

Notes: IT IS LATE I’M SO SORRY - I may have queued it instead of scheduling and my queue is well into next year, I’m very sorry!

Masterlist //  “Tropemas” Masterlist

Champagne alibied many indecencies. The bubbles pardoned the grooves etched deep in your headboard from pointed antlers and excused the flushed bruises from falling kisses littered on your bare body. Hers, too, lower than yours down to her thighs, and the alibi of alcohol remedied the regret of waking to one of your oldest friends sprawled bare across you, her cloven feet tucked against yours.

Champagne excused many things, but not the breaths caught between you when six, blurred eyes blinked up from your chest. Nothing erased the sober meeting of lips or claws tracing down your cheek to lay you back, without the taste of a long night celebrating your friends’ engagement on your tongues. Impossible then to take back the light pooling onto the bed from hours resting beside her, it became more; becoming more like the courtship of your two friends had, but theirs began when you were much younger.

How Yvaine had whispered to you with her fingers crossed, sharing her deepest secret. She wanted, one day, to marry Connelly, as the selkie whispered to Idella, praying to fate, that he wished to take Yvaine as his bride.

Always the four of you, until the ending of their courtship. Until today, as the married couple swayed in the candlelit barn. Softly glowing fairy lights wove around Idella's antlers, like the silver ribbon woven into a new braid in Yvaine's thick hair by her husband.

Until today.

Yvaine and Connelly. You and Idella.

You and her.

Not new. Not for months, though they didn't know. They couldn't. Not yet. Not now, not as they invited you to join them after their first dance, when your trembling hands rose to Idella's hips in a pretence of close friends. When her hips met yours and began swaying, it nearly broke the mask.

"How do I hold you?"

"Like a friend," she whispered, long eyelashes fluttering. Warmth masqueraded her face but the edge to her words cut you deep. "We're only friends here."

And it was by your request.

Too soon. Too risky - risky, and Idella's embrace fell away that morning. If this relationship ended, the dynamic would change. The four of you would fade and it would be your fault.

Not until you were settled. Until you were sure.

"Do you see a future with me?"

Fingers with too many knuckles ran down her dark blazer. Idella's tipped ears pinned back beneath her curled hair, sharp eyes drifting beyond her shoulders in the mirror to you, where you stood daft and weak as her claws ran down the slope of her chest to the crimson bustier beneath the blazer.

"Our future," she continued. "Is it together?"

It was the same conversation uttered after the tenth, maybe eleventh night together, and then you had kissed her into forgetting, but she never looked from you now. She could not be so easily swayed, not for a second time, and the car would be here to take you to the wedding in minutes.

So, you kissed her cheek, kissing along to the point of her ear until she swallowed and cleared her throat. "I want it to be together."

"When?"

"When?"

"When will we have a future together?" When will we tell them?

Rumbling of an engine silenced outside your home, and her shoulders pushed back when you sighed, "when we're settled."

Settled, like the drawer in her bedroom wasn't settled enough. Settled like the mugs crowding your kitchen hadn't come from her - favourites, old, favoured mugs she wanted at yours. Settled, like there wasn't anything you didn't know about her.

She knew that, too.

Her kiss stung. "You tell me when we're settled, love."

Not at the wedding. Not yet.

So, you pretended to be her friend when she ran her claws down your back as you turned in small circles on the dance floor, drifting as other couples crowded around you, and the only couple not leaning closer was you.

If the flute had been a sip fuller, the temptation to lift your chin to hers would've overcome you. Forgetting everything but her was easy in her presence, like a magic deep in her pulling you closer. It wasn't magic. It was the fluttering in your stomach when her forehead rested on your shoulder and she let her lips brush your throat, slight but there all the same.

"We shouldn't," you whispered, and she hummed. Fairy lights mirroring the ones glowing at your side glittered in the rafters. "Should we?"

The absence of her when she lifted her head was too noticeable. Swaying ceased as the song quieted. "Should we?"

Your girlfriend of weeks smiled, but not at you. Not with the passing refusal on your lips, "we shouldn't," just as a flash of glinting silver and tawny brushed your side, and a wedded selkie tugged you closer in a tight hug.

Connelly's pelt hung like a cape. Blanketed around him by Yvaine during their ceremony, there was no greater vulnerability to a selkie than their pelt, and no clearer show of trust. He wore it with love as Yvaine wore her new beaded braid the same.

Though his wife strayed from his side, taking Idella's hands - from yours, from you, your dancing done, apparently - and clutching them tight.

And when Connelly rolled his eyes, your gut twisted.

"It's my wedding, so you can't refuse. On my day-"

Connelly's lips twitched. "Our day."

"We're playing cupid, Del. I'm not interrupting?"

One pause, and Idella's jaw ticked. One word would put an end to this, but it couldn't rise past the lump in your throat, and it nearly suffocated you when the demon's eyes flared.

"Nothing to interrupt."

Dark eyes never turned back as your girlfriend left you alone. They never looked from the orc Yvaine introduced her to, and when her laugh warmed the barn, you swayed.

That laugh echoed from early mornings. The same warmth etched into your headboard warmed the sharp contours of her face. Even the fairy lights haloed her like the rays from her third floor apartment, when she forgot to close the blinds before leading you to her mattress.

Settled.

Champagne couldn't excuse the tremor in your fingers the longer she entertained the matchmaking. Not even sharing a drink with Connelly eased your nerves when a cloven foot inched nearer the stranger, and Idella nearly shared the air she breathed with them.

Too close, but you didn't have a right to intervene.

"Yvaine wants to play cupid with you. She said orc or selkie." Connelly knocked his flute to yours - a good luck, and looked across the barn. On his wife's homeland, a large space, and even larger with how you far you felt from the demon biting her lip as she listened to whatever riveting small talk the orc made. "They look good together."

The vice tightened. "They do?"

"You would look good, too."

Beside a demon, you doubted that. Beside Idella - slender and strong, sharpened like a blade with teeth sharp enough to prove it - you doubted you would look anything more than an accessory, but the ache planted by Yvaine ebbed.

Connelly placed down his empty flute and found his wife eating cake across the room. His chest rose on a deep breath and he grinned. "Happy, I mean. Go and be happy. It's my- our, wedding," he teased, but your ears were ringing. "That's an order."

Maybe you hadn't been watching close enough.

Not a second from turning down the hall did a glowing shadow stalk you. Down out of sight where you waited, an apology breaking silence.

"Now," you said. "We're settled."

Idella braced against the wall by her shoulder. "Oh?"

"Our future starts now."

The demon of edges and venom melted beneath you. Her kisses scorched deep, far deeper than she ought to have after so little time. Claws tugged through meticulously styled hair down to your nape, where she tugged you closer.

You blamed the bustier for your lips running down her dark, freckled skin, soft kisses placed where her chest rose.

Thighs slid apart. Idella whimpered against you and ran a hand down to your hip. "Settled?"

"Settled," you said in a kiss, and her lips parted like her thighs, one risen to your side. She knew how to weaken you as you did her; her taste was sweet, not like the bubbles on your lips, but she lifted her chest and arched against you all the same.

Before biting your lip sharp. "Someone's coming. Someone-"

"Ow," you hissed, and she nipped you again. "Let them see."

"You… you're drunk."

"Del, I'm not drunk. Clearly," you breathed, meeting her hips with yours and stifling a moan. "I'm jealous."

Her cheeks hollowed when you refused to lean back. The way you held her before as a friend fled, and you ran over the curve of her back down to the rounding of her ass, her thighs, touching her everywhere and anywhere to have her closer. "Not when you've been drinking, love."

Idella caught your hair and tugged, lips flushed but rambling. One shove and a distance parted you, but at her hands, not Yvaine's.

Yvaine's eyebrows rose. "I thought I'd interrupted before, but-"

"This isn't what it looks like."

No edge, no venom, but your heart fell. Idella's words never shook like yours would with a lie. Her only betrayal was the colour; on her lips, darkened, swollen, a rise to her cheek and chest. Colour flushing your face, too.

Colour in her lies. "We're not-"

"Aren't we?"

Weeks ago, she woke you with tea in her favourite mug, and told you - told you, with a sly smile, "I'm your girlfriend now, love. Is that okay with you?"

It was only right that it was your turn to make it publicly exclusive, reaching out for her clenched fist, but a deeper voice spoke over you and echoed down the hall. The same voice belonging to the fourth, missing piece.

"Twenty pound when you're ready, my dearest bride."

Yvaine bristled. "Del just said they're not dating, so-"

"Look at them," Connelly scoffed. His arms came around his scowling bride and he nuzzled his cheek to hers, against her golden banded tusks. "You interrupted as much as you did earlier. I told you playing cupid would be too much. I won. Twenty pounds."

Neither noticed Idella slipping her fingers through yours. The lingering questions in your mind fell away - how long had they been betting on you? Did they always know? - and your embrace mimicked theirs.

"I'm sorry, love. You wanted longer."

"Sorry?" Idella's forehead touched yours. Arms wrapping the other close, with the - implied, at least - approval of your closest friends, you only held her tighter. "I couldn't be happier."

[ampleappleamble]

The more she saw, the more she remembered. And the more she remembered, the more she dreamed.

Axa was learning– and luckily for her coinpurse, she was learning fast– that while booze and whiteleaf still did the trick when it came to helping her fall asleep, they did nothing to prevent the dreams, vivid and ominous and unrelenting. They tended to start off vague, foreboding glimpses into a hauntingly familiar world: a lone woman wandering lost through shifting halls, throngs of kith raising their hands in supplication before a flash of light reduced them to crumbling ash, great dragons screaming with rage and struggling against their chains. But before long, the dream would inevitably gather itself and resolve into its recurring main features: the tree, and later, the temple.

It was the tree from her first dream as a Watcher, the tree from Gilded Vale, and yet it wasn't– although she quickly noticed that Edér was dangling from it still, just as she'd seen him do in that first dream, before she'd known him. Instead of smiling at her and puffing on his pipe, this time he seemed to be aware of his predicament, lifting himself with one hand on the branch from which he was hanging in an attempt to relieve the pressure on his neck. In his other hand he gripped a stubby little candle, very much like the ones they'd seen in the ruined Eothasian temple under Gilded Vale, and he trembled with exhaustion as he held the feeble, flickering flame to the rope that bound him.

He'll never burn through it with that in time, she realized with a jolt, his grip will give out and he'll hang! But as she sprang forward to help him she felt a tug on her ankle, and all of a sudden she lay sprawled in the dirt, the breath driven out of her by her landing. A glance at her feet revealed the culprit: a scroll, of all things, rolling loose and twisted around her boots, little stylized eyes winking out at her from cramped, illegible writing. The parchment trailed into the distance behind her, and when she turned to her fore again she could see its origin: the base of the gnarled, blackened tree, where two figures knelt bowed their heads together,  deep in conversation. And just as Axa thought she might recognize them–

She was hurrying down the temple hall again, no longer herself but a memory of herself, and he stood at the altar, turning sharply to receive her. "Is that you, Anthea? My child, what brings you–"

She opened her mouth to ask him–

–ask him ask him please i have to know we have to know we deserve to know if it was all–

–and woke up on the floor again, blankets tangled around her knees and hips.

A pair of golden eyes, shining like coins, peered back at her from beneath the bed.

"Vaargys–"

But as soon as his name was out of her mouth, reality rushed in to replace the confusion wrought by her dreaming mind, and she whipped her head around to blink stupidly at the blond man crouching at her side, concern plain on his sun-weathered face.

"Uh... name's Edér, actually," he drawled, his brow furrowing as the edge of his lip twitched into a grin. "...Kinda rude that y' forgot."

Axa stared blankly for a moment, then winced as the hangover washed over her. "Oh, shut up and give me a hand," she grunted, yanking at the twisted sheets.

"What are you doing in here, anyway? After all that fussing about 'chivalry' and 'propriety' last night, I'd have thought you gentlemen would consider intruding on our sacred womanly privacy a dishonor worthy of nothing less than death." They'd rented two rooms to accomodate the party of six, and for some reason, Edér and Aloth had insisted– and to Axa's surprise, Pallegina had agreed– on splitting the party between the two rooms on the basis of sex. Axa still couldn't quite wrap her head around Aedyre and Dyrwoodan ideas about segregating women and men in the name of some sort of nebulous "decency," but it was no hill she cared to die on, and if it made her companions happy then she was more than willing to acquiesce.

"Uh." Edér slipped his hands under the orlan's armpits and hoisted her into the air, allowing her to wiggle free of her linen bonds. "Guessin' y' don't remember what happened last night, then." He couldn't seem to bring himself to look at her, and when Axa cast her eyes around the room, she noticed it looked different than she remembered it...

Kana's head and shoulders popped out from behind the hulking wooden wardrobe, his face slathered in soap suds and his smile as broad as ever. "Axa! Our little sleepwalker, awake at last!" Edér gently set her on her feet as Kana rinsed himself off, and Axa felt her face burn as she realized what must have transpired while she was dreaming.

"I'd say y' owe me a beer for makin' me spend the rest of the night on the floor," the farmer sighed, "but somethin' tells me I really oughtta just let this one go."

"Oh gods, please tell me I didn't..." She cradled her throbbing head in her little hands, trying desperately to hide from the implication, but it was no use. "And you didn't even try to wake me?"

"Couldn't. You know what they say about waking a sleepwalker. Plus, you kinda tend t' sleep like shit. Figured y' could use the rest." The folk man yawned. "Even if it was my damn bed."

Axa planted her hands on her hips, regarding Edér with disbelief. "I can't believe it. Of all the people in this inn, I had to climb into bed with you?"

Edér huffed out a surprised little chuckle. "Wow. Okay. Who'd you rather've climbed into bed with?"

–oh, gods, if it had been Aloth's bed–

"I– I'd have rather not intruded on any of my traveling companions' personal space while they were trying to sleep, thanks," Axa snapped in reply, quickly turning away to better hide her blushing. It wasn't helping that Kana was in full view now, strutting about with a towel draped over his head, naked from the waist up. "How in Hel did I even get in here, anyway? Didn't you lads lock the door?"

"We were wondering that ourselves last night," Kana chirped merrily, scrubbing behind one ear. "The door was most definitely locked– Aloth was very insistent about that– so we supposed you either tapped into some obscure Watcher ability and phased through the wall somehow, or you picked the lock in your sleep." He laughed softly, taking a seat on his bed and rifling through his pack for a clean shirt. "Perhaps it'd be in our best interests to pay a visit to the Hall of Revealed Mysteries today, ask the Eyeless Face for answers– or mercy, if you'd rather."

"I could certainly do with some mercy. Maybe we should stop by," Axa muttered. "After we've delivered that research to the forgemaster in Crucible Keep, of course." She scowled, crossing her arms and rocking on her heels. "...Not looking forward to going back there, to be perfectly honest. For a few reasons."

Back on his own bed at last, Edér looked up from tucking his trousers into his boots. "Aw, c'mon, Axa, the Knights ain't as bad as all that. Don't get me wrong; they ain't very good, 'specially at actually doin' much for the people. But at least they ain't the Dozens, doin' whatever they please and sayin' it's for the people." He stood, lightly stamping his feet to get his trouser legs to fall evenly, and then got started donning his armor. "In any case, maybe while we're there we can convince 'em to open up Heritage Hill for us. It's not like whatever's been goin' on in there is solvin' itself, and they know it."

"Worth a shot," Axa agreed, massaging her temples. "Speaking of the Dozens, it might be worth it to have a little chat with them, too. As you said, the Knights may be the 'official' peacekeepers here in the city, but it's members of the Dozens who are actually out and about in the streets, winning hearts and minds. It'd probably be a good idea to see exactly what it is they think they're doing. And we'll have to make time to visit Brackenbury Sanitarium as well, get Aloth looked at..." The little woman sighed. "Gods, I'm already exhausted. Either that or I'm still exhausted from yesterday. It's getting harder to tell."

She glanced around the room again, briefly allowed her gaze to linger on Kana's bare chest, swept the room again, furrowed her brow. "Where is Aloth, anyway? Don't tell me he sleepwalked into my room last night."

"He left earlier this morning, to dress in the privy or somesuch," Kana grinned, finally finding a suitable undershirt and pulling it on over his head. "He thought it improper to change in front of you. I tried telling him you were sleeping and wouldn't see, but..." The aumaua shrugged, chuckling and shaking his head.

Edér cinched his belt and smiled nervously, looking at the floor. "Uh, speakin' of, Watcher, hadn't you oughtta... y'know. Get ready?" He gestured vaguely at his own torso, and Axa suddenly felt the urge to wrap her furry arms around herself. She hadn't really been thinking about it before, but now she couldn't help but feel uncomfortably exposed, standing there in her ratty old nightshirt that barely fell to mid-thigh, one shoulder poking out from the drooping neckline.

"Uh. Right. Big day ahead of us, after all." She hurried to the door, yanked it open– only to find Pallegina on the other side, midway through reaching for the knob herself, Sagani and Itumaak close behind her.

"Watcher!" The paladin's golden eyes flashed with surprise. "There you are! We woke and you were nowhere to be found. Per complancanet, do not worry us so." She peered into the room, lip curling in mild disgust. "What... what are you doing in–"

Her headache was getting worse. "Long story. Probably. I don't actually know, truth be told. Short version is I somehow managed to get in here last night while sleepwalking."

"I heard you get up and leave the room, but I fell asleep again before long," Sagani admitted, looking the little woman over bemusedly. "Wasn't expecting you to just wander off. Didn't these boys have their door locked?" Itumaak tried to sneak past his mistress and sniff around Edér's pack for more jerky, but she stopped him with a sharp snap of her tongue.

Kana opened his mouth excitedly to explain, but Pallegina cut him off. "No matter. The sun climbs the sky quickly, and we have idled here long enough. Watcher, you should return to our room and get dressed. There is much work to be done today." The Godlike gave her a sharp nod and turned to march down the hallway toward the stairs, Sagani and Itumaak following a moment later.

Axa laughed despite herself. "Well! You heard the woman. I'll see you downstairs in a bit, gentlemen." She gave the two men one last glance before stepping out into the hall herself–

–and colliding with Aloth, his face buried in his grimoire and strolling full-speed back into his room, clearly not expecting a fuzzy little missile to barrel directly into his midsection. Both kith tumbled backwards, falling flat on their asses, crying out more from surprise than from pain. And when the shock had abated, both groaned in embarrassment.

"You're up, then," he muttered, clambering to his feet. "However did you get into our room last night?"

"Can I please just go put some gods damned pants on," she wailed in response.

—

[yourdeepestfathoms]

You Say Stuff Is Way, Way Too Go, Go Away

five times Orla caused a disruption and thought she was messed up for doing so, and one time someone assured her she wasn’t

ft. Good Big Cousin Erin

also: title from Stuff Is Way

TW: Vomit

-------------------

1.

  “I don’t like it, okay!?”

James’s outburst took everyone by surprise. His face flamed red as he began to shout in anger, spitting awful words about how terrible fried food was. Not that anyone expected anything less from a Brit.

  “It’s too greasy! It’s much, much too greasy!!”

Underneath all the yelling, there was a whimper. It went unheard by everyone, however, as all the attention was turned on James.

  “Even the smell of it makes me physically sick!!”

Silence.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Fionnula,” Michelle said. Then, in James’s ear, she hissed, “You’re a fucking embarrassment.”

  “Get him out of here!” Fionnula ordered.

In a muttering, awkward heap, the girls (and Brit) began to file out--

  “Oi!” Fionnula barked. “You forgot one!”

The gang stopped, turned around, and that’s when they finally noticed that Orla was on the floor, huddled in the corner between the wall and the counter, with her hands clamped firmly over her ears.

  “Orla, let’s go.” Michelle said.

Orla didn’t move, though. She just scrunched her eyes shut and curled her fingers into her hair. She looked like she was in pain.

  “Oh shit,” Erin muttered, then darted down to Orla’s side. She didn’t touch her cousin, rather let her hands hover over Orla’s lanky body, which she realized was wracked with trembles. “Orla. Orla, hey, it’s Erin.”

Orla pried one eye open, glanced at her, then slammed it shut again. A tiny whimper escaped her lips, and a piece of Erin’s heart broke off.

  “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Erin told her. “Can I touch you, Orla? Is that okay?”

Orla nodded, and Erin had her securely in her arms a moment later. Orla nuzzled against her, but kept her hands placed firmly over her ears. James yelling must have set her off.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Erin murmured, stroking Orla’s unruly curls the way she knew her cousin liked. “Everything is okay… James startled you, didn’t he?”

Orla nodded wordlessly and buried her face against Erin’s chest. Due to her height, she was having to lean down, practically laying on Erin, but neither cousin seemed to mind the position.

Fionnula, however, did mind, and did not appreciate the scene that was going on in her restaurant.

  “What part of ‘get out’ don’t you understand?” The woman said impatiently.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Erin snapped. “It’s not the end of the goddamn world if we linger around for a moment! My little cousin is freaking out! Have some respect, will you!?” Then, in a quiet, soothing voice to Orla when she flinched and whimpered, “Shh, shh. Not you, Orla. I’m sorry for yelling. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Orla made a tiny noise in response. Erin tucked her head underneath her chin and held her closer, rocking her in slow, gentle motions.

  “You still like being rocked, right?” Erin asked quietly.

Orla nodded.

  “Wonderful. Just making sure.”

They remained there on the floor for awhile, ignoring all the stares and whispers they were receiving. Erin might have cared a little more if it weren’t her baby cousin in her arms. 

  “Are you okay?” Erin asked after a few minutes of silence. “Feeling any better?” Orla slowly uncurled herself from Erin, pulling her hands away from her ears. She looked tired and shaken, but slightly less traumatized.  

  “We can sit a while longer if you need,” Erin told her.

Orla shook her head and slowly stood up. She nearly toppled right over, but Erin leapt to her feet and steadied her.

  “Take it easy, love,” Erin said, and the pet name slipped out without her even thinking about it. “No need to rush.”

Orla looked at her, blinking her bleary golden brown eyes, then latched onto her hand. Erin stroked her knuckles gingerly as she led her out of the building.

To their credit, Michelle, Clare, and James waited a moment before bombarding the cousins with questions. Unfortunately, “a moment” seemed to be more like a millisecond because there were suddenly a barrage of comments spewing out of eager mouths. Erin gave her friends an evil warning glare when Orla whimpered in distress at their volume.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Clare apologized for her and the other two. “We’re just worried.”

  “You sound like you want to hear the latest news,” Erin said.

  “Can you blame us?” James said. “That was the most eventful thing to happen this week! What was that?”

Orla shifted uncomfortably. The discomfort on her face wasn’t an expression she usually wore, and when Michelle noticed it, she added for James, “He means you can tell us when you’re ready.”

  “Better.” Erin said. She squeezed Orla’s hand. “Maybe some other time, okay? I’m gonna get Orla home. She’s tired.”

Orla nodded and rested her chin on Erin’s head, letting her eyelids flutter shut. It wasn’t an act to get away from the questions, she genuinely looked exhausted- both mentally and physically.

There was a scattering of agreements from the other three before Erin began to walk Orla down the street.

  “Do you think Orla will be better by the time I steal that notice board from Fionnula’s shop?” 

Clare and James whip their heads around to Michelle.

  “WHAT?”

2.

Orla wasn’t sure what woke her up- her brain not wanting to stay asleep any longer or the buzz in her head. Probably both.

It took everything in Orla not to whine out loud when she realized that buzz was an oncoming migraine. Of course. 

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She was in Erin’s bed, per usual (she never slept in her own bed) nestled in a burrow of blankets. Erin was still asleep, sprawled out on her back with her mouth open slightly. If that John guy saw her like this, snoring softly and drooling ever so slightly, he would probably run for the hills. Orla giggled softly at that image, and that small sound rebounded uncomfortably through her head.

Footsteps made Orla perk up a little. They were a little distant, but someone was definitely awake. After waiting a few minutes, Orla released her head from the grip her hands had on it and got up, too.

Simply walking down the short staircase was difficult with Orla’s increasingly intense headache. She stopped on the third step and had to take a deep breath before continuing on. Luckily, she got downstairs without any injury.

When she got to the bottom step, she saw the kitchen lights on and her Aunt Mary heating up a kettle on the stove. The woman looked surprised, but smiled warmly when she noticed the girl.

   “Good morning,” She said, “You’re up early.”

Orla waved and then shrugged, padding across the hardwood with her fluffy socks. She peered at the kettle curiously, like she was expecting a rose to sprout out from the lid. Mary studied her thoughtfully.

   “Do you have any preference for breakfast?” Mary asked.

Orla shook her head. She would eat anything. Although, right now, her head was pounding enough to make her lose her appetite.

   “Can I help?” Orla asked after a moment.

   “Of course!” Mary said, pleasantly surprised. “You can start the eggs.”

Orla nodded. Mary made friendly conversation with the girl as the two of them began to cook breakfast, though Orla wasn’t much of a talker. Even if she was, Orla’s migraine began to get worse and worse until she wasn’t able to pay attention at all anymore.

   “Orla? Orla!”

Orla reeled backwards, hissing in pain. She had no idea what Mary was yelling about until she noticed the egg in the pan was smoking. She ogled the pan with wide eyes, hands fumbling, and Mary had to turn off the burner for her.

  “Orla, what has gotten into you?” Mary said, looking at the girl. “Maybe you should sleep in some more?”

Orla shook her head and backed away. She lifted her hands and squeezed her skull between her palms, like she was trying to keep a headache at bay. Mary noticed, along with the fact that something was very wrong, so she helped the girl over to the couch so she could sit down.

  “Are you alright?” Mary asked, setting a hand on Orla’s back.

Orla shrugged. 

   “What’s wrong, honey?” Mary tried asking something else, keeping her voice low.

Orla hesitated, then gestured vaguely for her head.

  “Your head hurts?”

Orla nodded.

  “I see,” Mary frowned. She thought for a moment, then began to rub Orla’s head comfortingly.

Orla’s gaze snapped up at her with wide eyes. Mary quickly pulled her hand back.

  “Sorry.” Mary said. “I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted to be touched.”

Orla tapped the top of her head. Mary furrowed her eyebrows.

  “But I thought--”

Orla tapped more, so Mary put her hand back on her head, rubbing gently.

Orla pressed into the touch, closing her eyes in bliss. The pain from the headache began to melt away with each stroke over her skull, soothing her. She couldn’t help the content cooing noises she began to make.

Mary chuckled. “You like this, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Orla nodded. She keeled over into Mary’s lap and rolled over onto her back like a puppy seeking pets. She grabbed her aunt’s hand and placed it back on her head, even making rubbing motions like she was reminding her what to do. She sighed happily when the affection resumed.

  “So much for starting breakfast,” Mary chuckled lightly.

3.

The ride back to the house wasn’t very fun for anyone: Michelle, who was trying very hard not to swerve off the road because she was a tiny bit tipsy (don’t drink and drive, kids!); Clare, who was simply still reeling from what had happened at Jenny Joyce’s party; James, who was moping because he missed the one chance he would ever get to lose his virginity; Erin, who was stewing in embarrassment after all her accusations; and Katya, who had to sit with all of them in the same cramped car. But most of all, Orla, who could feel her stomach roiling as Michelle swerved haphazardly down a turn in the street.

  “Erin,” Orla leaned forward to the passenger seat and tugged on her cousin’s sleeve with one hand, holding her stomach with the other. “I don’t feel good…” 

Erin snapped her head around to her. “I thought you said you could handle it.” She whispered as if this discussion was some type of super secret spy mission, although Orla did appreciate her not shouting it to the rooftops.

  “Mm-mmm,” Orla shook her head. She moved her hand from Erin’s sleeve to her stomach with the other.

Erin looked around at the dark road the car was speeding down. “Can’t you, like, hold it in?”

Orla swallowed thickly, trying to reign in her growing nausea, but could only shrug as an answer because she truly didn’t know.

  “She doesn’t need to piss, Erin,” Michelle said not-so-secretly. “She needs to boke. There is a huge difference.”

  “Yeah, one is not so easy to hold in,” Clare added.

  “Thank you for your addition, Clare,” Michelle said. “We all definitely did not already know that.”

  “If you vomit on me I will bust your nose in.” Katya said coldly to Orla, who shrunk away with a tiny whimper.

  “Why did you eat so much if you knew you were going to be sick?” James asked Orla.

  “It seems she always eat that much.” Katya observed. There was a hint of cruelty in her words as she smirked slightly and said, “Like a pig.”

  “Oi! Don’t call her that, you bitch!” Michelle snapped, jerking around to glare at Katya (and not paying attention to the road at all).

  “Watch what you say,” Erin hissed.

  “What?” Katya said innocently. “I only say truth.”

  “THE truth,” Erin corrected. “And it is not the truth! Just because Orla likes to eat doesn’t mean she’s a pig.”

  “Erin…” Orla moaned, hugging her stomach even tighter. A sudden rush of saliva filled her mouth.

  “Sounds like the definition of pig to me,” Katya said. She peered at Orla, apparently not noticing how pale she had gotten. “She even has chocolate still on her face. And shirt. And hands.”

  “That means nothing.” Erin said dismissively.

  “Erin…” Orla called out weakly again, but it still went unheard.

  “Oh really? So you are allowed to insult me and call me prostitute, but I cannot say a word about your pig of a cousin?” Katya said.

  “Stop calling her that!” Erin growled. “She’s not! You aren’t allowed to talk about my family that way, ESPECIALLY my little cousin!”

  “Erin!!” Orla wailed.

  “What?!” Erin whipped around to Orla.

And that’s when Orla threw up all over herself.

Naturally, the rest of the ride was driven in silence. Nobody really knew what else to say, so they all just stared forward as if one of them weren’t covered in her own vomit. They dealt with the smell by rolling down the windows and spoke nothing of it until Michelle parked outside the Quinn house.

  “Night,” Michelle muttered. Clare and James echoed her phrase as Erin got out of the passenger seat and Katya climbed over James to go out the other door. Orla almost crumpled right out of the car, but managed to catch herself. Vomit poured down her legs from where it had been congealing in her lap for the past seven minutes.

  “Erin,” She whimpered, staring teary-eyed at her cousin.

  “It’s okay, Orla,” Erin told her. “Just get it out.”

  “It really is not.” Katya said helpfully and Orla threw up again. Erin shot Katya a burning glare.

  “Will you shut the fuck up?” Erin snarled. She went to Orla’s side and held her hair out of the way, ignoring how her fingers grasped tightly onto bile and digested chocolate marshmallow-soaked locks. 

  “No, because you did not at party.” Katya said. “Why should I?”

  “Because my little cousin is SICK and you are just a BITCH, and so help me god I will STICK MY FIST so far up your ass that you will TASTE the coconut lotion I put on a few hours ago!!” Erin roared.

That was what got Erin’s family (and some old woman she vaguely recognized) to come storming out to see what the commotion was. And, boy, was it a sight. Michelle speeding off down the road before anything could be linked to her, a very pissed off Erin and Ukrainian, and Orla, who was covered in vomit.

  “What is going on here?!” Mary yelled.

  “I couldn’t handle it,” Orla gurgled, and then threw up again.

4.

The gang arrived at the bus stop with Orla clinging to Erin’s hand like it was her lifeline. Orla had an expression of discomfort and uneasy on her face and she kept leaning down to bury her face against Erin’s hair like she was trying to hide. Something was wrong.

  “What’s up, fuckers?” Michelle greeted them. She had a wide smirk, but her eyes kept glancing over at Orla with obvious worry.

  “Nothing much,” Erin replied. “Orla’s going nonverbal today.”

Clare and Michelle nodded knowingly, sympathy suddenly oozing into their gazes. James blinked, looking slightly confused.

  “But she’s usually nonverbal?” The Brit said, then got elbowed in the ribs by Michelle. “Ow!! I was just asking!”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Michelle hissed lowly. She looked at Orla. “Ignore him, doll. He’s being stupid.”

  “Yeah, he didn’t mean it,” Clare added.

Orla nodded slightly. She buried her nose against Erin’s blonde locks and kept it there until the bus pulled up. When they all crowded inside the vehicle, she would shudder in an awful way when someone’s arm would brush against her side or back. She seemed uncomfortable when someone other than her cousin would touch her.

Orla curled against Erin when they sat down, sandwiched securely against her older cousin and the window. Erin eased her to completely lay down in the seat, her head resting in her lap, brown curls sprawled out all over her thighs. Erin rubbed her back comfortingly, humming softly to help soothe her further.

  “Is she okay?” James asked quietly when Orla had fallen asleep. Even with all the bumps on the road, the young girl didn’t wake up. 

  “She will be,” Erin answered. “I think it’s a burnout. So she’s pretty tired.”

  “What caused it?” Michelle asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing at all.” Erin sighed and combed her fingers through Orla’s hair. “Don’t give her a hard time today, please?”

The other three nodded.

The group soon fell silent for the rest of the bus ride, either staring out the window or watching the semi-peaceful face of the youngest in the gang. Erin’s hand never stopped stroking Orla’s hair for the entirety of the trip to school, and when they finally arrived, she was hesitant to wake her cousin up.

  “Hey, Ors,” Erin shook Orla’s shoulder gently. “Time to wake up.”

Orla’s eyes fluttered open. They looked darker than usual, weighed down by exhaustion and emotional fatigue. She blinked slowly at Erin.

  “We’re at school, lovely,” Michelle said. “Unfortunately.”

Orla nodded and sat up. Erin helped her out of the bus, squeezing her hand comfortingly, while Michelle, Clare, and James followed like protective guard dogs. They all walked into the main hall for announcements, and Orla was instantly set off by the closed space.

  “I know, Orla, I know,” Erin murmured when Orla whimpered in distress. “It’s going to be okay. It won’t last long.”

Orla stepped closer to Erin, practically pressed against her, but Erin didn’t seem to mind. She was more than happy to wrap her free arm securely around her little cousin to help her feel more protected.

Announcements soon began. Sister Michael’s voice boomed loudly through the microphone, causing poor Orla even more discomfort. Orla whimpered again and released Erin’s hand to cover her ears.

  “E-Erin…” Orla croaked. Her voice was tight and pitched with anxiety.

  “Breathe, Orla.” Erin instructed. “Breathe. It’s okay. It’s almost over.”

  “N-no--” Orla gasped. “It’s too loud-- Erin, it’s too loud--” She crumpled to her knees, keening a strange kind of distress call, and rocked back and forth.

Girls started to turn and stare at the spectacle. Sister Michael stopped talking and pursed her lips with a mixed expression of annoyance, confusion, curiosity, and concern. Erin lunged down to Orla’s side and clasped her hands over Orla’s own to further help muffle the noise. Orla collapsed against her, sobbing into her chest. The poor thing was shaking so badly.

  “Shh, shh,” Erin murmured. “It’s okay, Orla. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

Orla released her ears and clung tightly to Erin with her nails dug in. She was gasping and wheezing like she was having a panic attack, and she may as well have been with her symptoms. She kept whimpering and whining in elongated cries that cut Erin’s heart into tiny pieces. Erin held her tighter.

  “Try to focus on my heartbeat,” Erin instructed, pressing Orla’s head to her chest. “Can you hear that, Orla? It’s my heart. Use that to ground yourself. You’re going to be just fine.”

  “God, Erin,” Someone scoffed from nearby. Erin recognized it as Tina o’Connell. “Can’t you tame your retard?”

Michelle, James, and Clare froze in shock. Orla whimpered. Erin looked up slowly with an expression of murder in her eyes.

  “Michelle. Take Orla.” Erin said, not breaking eye contact with Tina. When Michelle swooped in and brought Orla into her arms, she stood up and then began undressing. First, her scarf. Then, her blazer, tie, necklace, and ponytail. And then she threw herself at Tina in a flying tackle, screeching like an enraged banshee and swinging her fists in a whirlwind.

Pandemonium instantly broke out inside the room. Girls began to shout, a large crowd formed, nuns and teachers rushed over, and Erin and Tina fought violently on the floor like a pair of pissed off cats. James, Clare, and Michelle watched with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

  “Your cousin is kicking ASS.” Michelle whispered to Orla. She began to tenderly stroke her hair like Erin had been doing. “You’re definitely gonna be okay, Ors. We’ve got you.”

It wasn’t long before Sister Michael broke through the crowd and ripped Tina and Erin apart with ease. Both girls were scratched up and Tina had a busted lip, but luckily there wasn’t much damage done. Unluckily for Erin, though, because she had wanted to beat that little bitch into a bloody pulp.

  “She came after me for no reason!” Tina exclaimed once they were all dragged into Sister Michael’s office. 

  “No reason?!” Erin barked a harsh laugh. “She called my cousin a--!!” She glanced at Orla hanging onto her and then lowered her sharp tone of voice. She leaned in to Sister Michael. “She called my little cousin a retard. Was I supposed to just stand there and let her get away with that? While Orla was having a sensory overload? It isn’t her fault she reacted that way!”

Sister Michael looked at Orla, who hasn’t looked up from the floor since they entered. Both of her hands are grasping onto Erin’s arms and she had her face pressed against Erin’s neck like she was trying to hide. Tear stains were still glistening on her cheeks from when she had been crying.

  “Is this true?” Sister Michael asked Tina.

  “I--”

  “Is this true?” Sister Michael repeated firmly.

Tina hissed underneath her breath and then grumbled, “Yes, Sister.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself.” Sister Michael said. “Such language will not be tolerated in my school.”

  “But she and her friends say stuff like that all the time!” Tina cried.

  “They have never said such a disgraceful, disgusting, hurtful slur before.” Sister Michael said. “They may be hooligans out to drive me mad, but they aren’t savages. They know better. Unlike you.” 

Tina sputtered, but wasn’t able to come up with a good reply. Erin had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.

  “A week suspension should give you enough time to think about what you’ve done,” Sister Michael said. “Now, out with you. Wait in the hall while I call your mother.”

Tina opened and closed her mouth several times, but wasn’t able to come up with something to say, so she stormed out in anger. Sister Michael waited a moment and then looked at the cousins. When she spoke, her voice was strangely soft.

  “Is she alright?” She asked.

Erin glanced at Orla, who didn’t glance back at her. She lifted a hand and cupped the side of Orla’s head protectively.

  “She will be,” Erin said. “The noise set her off. But she wasn’t having a good day to begin with.”

  “I see,” Sister Michael nodded. “Is she okay to go back to class or would she like to sit down for a while longer to recover?”

Erin looked at Orla again, who didn’t seem to be in any shape to learn anything.

  “I think we’ll wait a moment longer.”

Sister Michael nodded and gestured for the couch in her office. Erin guided Orla over to it and they both sat down.

  “Oh, and girls,” Sister Michael said. “If Orla is ever feeling unwell again, stop by my office. It’s quiet in here. She can stay until she calms down.”

5.

When it came to her issues, Erin, believe it or not, was the most patient. Erin repeated over and over, made Orla look at her eyes or her mouth, asked Orla to repeat, to show her that she remembered.

It was strange. Erin was sometimes the one to lash out the most, although she had her reasons and they were very good ones.

A lioness waiting to pounce. That was what Erin reminded Orla of.

(Orla tried to get herself to stop comparing to animals, but that sort of failed because she was still doing it. As seen here.)

Regardless, Erin was smart in a way Orla wished she could be.

(She tried not to think about that. She tried not to think about people being better at things than she is. She knew how those thoughts caught like hooks in her fish-mouth brain and tug and tug and tug and tug until she broke the surface, struggling to breathe.)

Clare and Michelle are usually good. They love Orla enough to not snap at her when she loudly goes “Huh?” for the fifth time in a row. They dealt with her strange mannerisms and comments as if everyone acted like she did. They played along with her when her brain made her skin feel like it was too tight. Michelle let her mess with her hair and jewelry for hours and Clare simplified things that might have been too much to take in.

They’re good with that. Orla loved them so much.

(She loved them enough to let them be, to pull herself away, to shut herself away in herself as best she can when she finds-- when she realized she’s not--

When she saw the clench of Michelle’s jaw and the twitch of Clare’s nose and the way they glance at each other, and it’s never mean, it’s never intentional, it’s just…

Orla knows herself enough to know when she’s too much, and she loves them enough to spare them the discomfort of having to actually tell her she’s too much, to figure out how to explain that she’s overstepped, to put into words that they have limits.

People have limits. Orla tried not to push them. She does.)

James is still new, and he’s doing his best, he really is, but it’s the adults who are the least patient. Adults try, they always try. Orla liked that they tried. But adults get a pinch between their eyebrows after the third time they repeat an explanation, like they’re starting to wonder if Orla is just being a little shit. Adults are quick to get annoyed, or to fake annoyance, and sometimes Orla can’t tell the difference. Sometimes it feels like there is no difference.

Still, she dealt with it. She always did. Always oblivious, air headed, Orla who doesn’t know better, who doesn’t know what she’s saying, who doesn’t know how to act like a normal person.

She didn’t know where this was coming from or how to stop it. She couldn’t. It was impossible. Impossible to ignore it, impossible to block it out, impossible to disagree with the things it made her think about.

And she couldn’t take it, couldn’t take it, couldn’t take it--

Everything became too much. Orla was too overwhelmed. She felt like she was drowning, suffocating, burning.

She felt like she was dying.

Erin had had enough of all of this when she found Orla collapsed in her bedroom, keening in pain. She kept saying over and over again that the lights were too bright, distant noises were too loud, her clothes were too tight. She had somehow managed to claw open her shirt around the sleeves and stomach before she was in her current position. Curled up and biting herself.

Before Erin came rushing in, noises from outside in the house were all encompassing, rattling Orla’s skull, eardrums threatening to burst. She squeezed her eyes closed, covered her ears, rocked frantically with her head bent to her knees in an effort to block it all out. But no matter what she did, she can’t, and that’s it.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she let out a loud, pained, keening noise as she cracked her head back hard against the wall behind her, digging it in firmly when she sank to the floor. She clawed at her shirt like fire ants were crawling all over her, desperately trying to get it off but it won’t, it won’t, it won’t. The material tears, eventually, but it doesn’t help.

Fuck.

Her head shook hard, side to side, side to side, repeat. She swore she can feel her brain trying to detach and fly out her nose. Her hands snapped to her scalp, pulling harshly on her hair and god-fucking-dammit, it’s still not enough. Her fingers left her hair with one last tug, loose strands of curly brown hair stuck between them, and balled into tight fists to strike down on the sides of her head. She pushed her feet firmly into the floor, thrashed and squirmed in the corner.

Nothing is enough nothing is enough why is this happening nothing is enough--

She slammed her feet down harder, dug the heels into the floor until her thighs ached. Then, she lifted one arm and clamped down hard and firm on her wrist with her teeth. Her other hand found her hair again, this time not tugging but holding it in a death grip and staying there.

She stayed like this, rocking and writhing and biting at her wrist with tears rolling down her cheeks, for what feels like forever. All she knew is she can still feel it- the lingering, bone-deep pain of the noises, eyes sore like she’s looked at the sun too long.

That’s when Erin rushed in. She had heard the commotion from downstairs.

The sight terrified Erin, to say the least. Watching her baby cousin spasm and sob and bite herself like a rabid dog made her blood run cold with fear. She snapped into action almost instantly, practically gaining wings due to her panic.

Orla didn’t register Erin as Erin. She didn’t even register her as a human being, just a presence she felt nearby. The touch she began to feel on her body, however, made her whimper in fright. First on her stomach, grazing lightly over scratches she knew she had carved in the flesh, then her head, where strands of hair had been pulled out, next her shoulder, over more angry red claw marks, and finally her wrist, with blood dripping down freckled skin. The hand was gentle with each prod, which was the only reason why Orla didn’t scream. She even relaxed into it a few times, almost cooing through her painful sobs.

But then fingers wrapped around her wrist and she bit down on them.

Erin hissed on pain, flinching backwards a little. She definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

   “Orla,” She said softly, despite the pain. “Orla, let go. Let go. It’s just me.” She felt like she was speaking to a dog rather than a human being.

Orla showed no sign of hearing her. Her eyes were glassy, blank, and glazed over, which terrified Erin even more. Her cousin looked more dead than alive at this point.

   “Orla,” Erin tried again. “Orla, babes, it’s me. It’s Erin. I need you to let go.”

Orla’s eyes flickered up a little for a moment before darting back down. Her entire body shuddered and she bit down harder for some kind of grounding. Erin had to grit her own teeth to keep from screaming as it felt like her fingers were about to detach from her hand.

   “Orla--”

She winced at the increasing pressure. The skin broke open and blood filled Orla’s mouth.

That’s what snapped her out of her trance.

The girl lurched backwards with enough force to make the wall rattle when her spine connected with it. Erin ripped her hand back and shook it in the air to try and ebb some of the pain. There were marks left on her fingers, scarlet at the center and purple all around them. She hissed, shaking her hand again.

Meanwhile, Orla looked to be completely out of it. Her head was lolling back and forth across the wall, Erin’s blood still wet on her lips. Her tongue instinctively flicked out and her entire face contorted into a grimace. She blinked once, twice, then saw the bruising already forming on her cousin’s hand.

Orla was guilty, to say the least. She would not stop apologizing for two days and couldn’t even look Erin in the eye out of shame for what she had done. Erin, however, constantly told her it wasn’t her fault and she wasn’t mad. But it didn’t make it better. Orla still felt horrible for hurting her cousin.

That’s all she seemed to do. Mess up. Because SHE was messed up.

+1

While at the market getting groceries, Erin noticed Orla staring at something. She shimmied over with the heavy cart and realized it was some kind of toy in the window of a store. 

  “Like that?” Erin asked with a light chuckle.

Orla nodded. “It looks so soft…” 

Erin laughed.

Orla didn’t ask for the toy, rather just kept glancing back at it as they walked away. Erin watched her, and then a lightbulb lit up in her head.

  “Mammy, I need some money.” Erin told her mother when she got home.

  “Absolutely not.” Mary said instantly. “You already almost went over today.”

  “No, it’s not--” Erin looked around, then whispered, “It’s not for me, Mammy.”

  “Oh, is Michelle having you buy alcohol, now?”

  “It’s for Orla.”

Mary faltered. “Orla?”

  “Yes.” Erin nodded. “She hasn’t been well lately. I know you’ve seen it. And when we were at the market, she kept looking at this thing in one of the stores. I wanted to get it for her because it might cheer her up and--”

Some money was placed in Erin’s hands. Erin blinked in shock that that worked and looked up at her mother. Mary smiled.

  “Go get Orla’s thing.” Mary said.

Erin lit up. “Thank you, Mammy!!”

An hour later, Erin returned home from the market, barely able to suppress her giddy grin.

  “Orla!” She called. “Orla, where are you?”

Orla peeked out from the kitchen and Erin hurried over with her hands behind her back. 

  “I have something for you,” Erin said excitedly. 

Orla tilted her head and Erin held out the ostrich beanie baby. Orla’s eyes went wide, mouth opening in a quiet gasp. She tentatively grabbed the stuffed animal and turned it over like she was trying to make sure it was real, then held it close to her chest. 

  “Like it?” Erin smiled.

Orla nodded rapidly. Erin laughed.

  “I’m glad! I hope it’ll help, Ors. I know you’ve been a bit unwell lately. I just wanted to get you something so you’ll know you aren’t a burden or something. Because you aren’t.”

Orla’s eyes glistened, and then she sprung forward and hugged Erin tightly.

Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

[kiapet2]

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 9: The Part Where He Kills You

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: It's the part where he kills you.

Chapter Warnings: Attempted Murder (obviously), Not-Really-Unsympathetic Sides

“Well,” Janus says, “This is the part where he kills us.”

“Hello!” Remus says cheerfully, peering down at you from another video screen. “This is the part where I kill you!”

Looking at the spiked plates surrounding you, you realize this is, in fact, the part where he kills you.

(this is that part)

“Y’know, I thought about a lot of ways I could do this,” Remus says. “I could make toxic sludge rain into the room and see how long it took to kill you if you weren’t actually submerged in it. I could flood the room with neurotoxin and watch you choke and twitch as you die. I even thought about grabbing you and tearing you limb from limb! I wonder which would pop off first- maybe your arms? I dunno, what do you think?”

You don’t answer, instead looking around yourself as subtly as you can, looking for a way out. The platform you’re standing on is small, barely five feet from end to end, and below you is a deep pit that extends into nothingness. You could chance a jump, but with no way of knowing what’s at the bottom that’s just as likely to kill you as save you.

Above you, Remus is still talking. “But in the end I figured, why mess with a classic, right? I mean, the crushing power of metal, mixed with the stabbiness of spikes? Sheer poetry!”

Something catches your eye- a speck of white, a flash of movement. Bits of conversion gel are dripping in the distance and collecting on an outcropping. You shoot your blue portal there, and the white liquid begins to drip through the portal.

Great, now the testing chamber you just left is covered in portal surfaces. Not helping you much.

“Anyways, if you’ve got anything to say before I make you into hamburger meat, now’s the time, Tommy-boy!” Remus says.

“Hole in the wall, Eleven o’clock,” Janus mutters, and you feel yourself break into a smile as you see it.

“I do have something to say, actually,” you say loudly.

You shoot the orange portal through the hole, onto the portal surface beyond, and step aside to keep from being coated as a big glob of moon rock liquid flies towards you and then splatters onto your platform.

You look Remus’ image straight in the eye. “Thanks for teaching me about Conversion Gel.”

Then you shoot the blue portal onto the newly white-coated ground and jump in, popping out from the orange portal and landing on a metal catwalk on the other side of the hole, just as the spike plates obliterate where you just were standing.

“Oho!” Remus calls as you turn and begin to run down the catwalk. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for! I’ll just have to get creative, then.”

The catwalk jerks below you, and Janus cries, “Jump!” as it begins to give way.

You launch yourself forwards just as the catwalk falls out from under you, and land hard on your side on another.

“Think fast,” Remus sing-songs, and you frantically roll out of the way as a massive spike-plate slams where you just were, crushing the catwalk beneath it.

You scramble to your feet and use a pair of portals to cross the new gaping hole in front of you.

“Nice one!” Remus says. “But let’s see how fast you really are.”

You let out a rare curse as the walls on either side of you groan and begin to move closer together.

You fall into a sprint, lungs tightening and tired legs screaming at the new exertion. The opposite wall grows closer slowly, too slowly. You’re not going to make it.

Spinning wildly, you look desperately around yourself for some sort of way out. The walkway groans as the walls begin pushing on it, and you can feel it start to warp under your feet.

There! A small square of Portal surface, high above you. You shoot one Portal onto it, then turn and shoot the other onto one of the encroaching walls, now uncomfortably close. You jump through and come out the other, higher portal, landing on top of one of the “walls” which from this perspective looks more like a box. With a jerking motion the box shifts direction, now moving upwards.

“Down,” Janus says urgently, and you look down to see an opening in the floor near you. You jump down just as the huge box you’re on slams into the ceiling, making the whole thing rattle and shake.

The shaking probably saves your life, because when you land in the room below you, the several turrets you are faced with seem momentarily distracted by the jarring motion. You quickly shoot one portal on the wall behind the turrets and another below your feet, popping out behind the turrets’ ranks and quickly knocking them over.

“Left,” Janus says, and you run through a door and onto another catwalk, until you go through another door and finally put your feet on solid ground.

Some amount of time later, Janus finally says, “We should be safe here,” and you immediately flop down onto the ground, taking gasping breaths. You really need to stop getting into these situations with people trying to kill you; you don’t know how much more running and jumping your body can take.

“You could have at least set me down nicely,” Janus says, voice strangely muffled, and you look over and realize that you put down the portal gun so that he’s pressed against the floor. Fighting back the urge to laugh, you reach over and roll the gun so that Janus is facing up and towards you.

“Honestly, you’re that wiped from a few minutes of running? You living creatures are so fragile, it’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.”

“Says the person who spent the entire time being carried,” you groan, but it’s without heat. You wave an arm in Janus’ general direction. “Give me a sec, I’ll be up in no time.”

“Oh of course you will,” Janus says, sugar-sweet, because he’s a jerk like that.

You lie on the ground for a few minutes, feeling your heart rate slow as your adrenaline high comes down. With it comes the crash, a wave of fatigue that washes over you. When you start struggling to keep your eyes open, you figure it’s probably a sign you need to get up now.

“Alright,” you grunt, painfully pulling yourself to your feet, “Let’s go.”

“Absolutely not,” Janus says.

Your stomach churns with sudden anger and worry. “You’re going back on our deal?”

“No,” Janus says, as cool and collected as ever. “But our deal involves helping you stay alive, and you currently are not up to even basic kinds of physical activity or intense thinking, much less those associated with portals.”

“What?” you say, blinking at him. “I’m good, I’m… I’m fine. I can do it.”

“How long have you been up and moving by now? Days? You’re literally nodding off as we speak.”

You forcibly open your eyes, blinking again. “No I’m not.”

“Honestly, and they call me a liar.”

Janus’ voice grows firm. “I will not do a single thing to help you until you have gotten some sleep. We have enough time to spare right now, and I will wake you if anything about the situation changes.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “How do I know you’re not trying to distract me, so I won’t be in time to help my friends?”

Janus huffs. “Oh, come now, even you must realize you’ll be no good to your friends if you get yourself killed. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but unlike the rest of us, you are not a machine.”

His voice softens. “Take some time to rest, Thomas.”

“I- okay,” you say finally. “Don’t kill me in my sleep, alright?”

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” Janus says, sounding vaguely amused.

You lay down and close your eyes, shifting as you try to make yourself comfortable on the hard floor. Your brain won’t slow down, too many hours of fighting for your life making it difficult to relax.

You crack one eye open again. “Janus?”

The light flickers back on. “I do need my own rest too, you know. Potato battery, remember? I’m absolutely made of power right now.”

“Can I ask you a question, real quick?”

“Absolutely not,” Janus deadpans. “Remove yourself from my presence at once.”

“Cool.” You flip onto your stomach, propping your chin on your hands as you peer down at the potato.

“Why cake?”

There’s a pause as Janus registers the question. Then he says, a shrug in his voice, “You needed a reward to motivate you. Why not cake?”

You mull that over. Why not cake, indeed. “Was there ever actually going to be a cake?”

“Put me back in charge, and you’ll find out,” Janus says dryly. “Now will you please go to sleep?”

Smiling to yourself, you roll over and pillow your head on one arm, and before you know it you’re drifting off.

You wake to a tremor that shakes the floor you’re sprawled across and makes the walls audibly rattle. Your first, sleepy thought is that there’s somehow been an earthquake in Florida. Then you remember where you are and what situation you’re in, and bolt upright.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Janus says. “That rumble probably means the Core is getting unstable. We need to get going now.”

“Alright,” you say, rubbing the last bit of sleep from your eyes and painfully getting to your feet. Your muscles are stiff from sleeping on them after so much exercise; hopefully they’ll loosen up as you get moving.

You look down at the potato. “You said you knew where the others were. So let’s go find them.”

“That may not be the best course of action to take,” Janus says carefully. “This facility is actively deteriorating, and the time we would spend finding them may be time we don’t have.”

“We’re finding them first,” you say firmly. “We’ll stand a better chance at stopping Remus and saving this place as a group, and there’s no way I’m leaving them lost, scared or in danger, not when I can help.”

Janus heaves a dramatic sigh. “If you insist. I took Patton down to the space below the Control Chamber. It’s perfectly safe, mostly a storage space really, but I doubt he’s moved far. Roman is harder to judge, but given that he fell through the floor I’d guess he’s either in the same place, or on one of the floor below.”

“Alright,” you say, thinking that over. “I guess let’s start with where you know Patton is, and then we can look for Roman if he isn’t there as well.”

“A sound enough plan, I suppose,” Janus says. “You’ll want to go down this hallway and then climb up the service ladder; if it’s broken, you’ll have to get creative.”

And just like that, you’re off. At first, the only communication is Janus’ instructions, and the occasional debate at how to traverse a particularly difficult space. It’s when you’re nearing your destination that he finally picks the conversation back up.

“You seem to care about the other Cores a great deal, considering the fact that you’ve known them for a few days at most,” Janus says, sounding almost curious.

Memories flash through your head: Test chambers that should have been sterile and empty, instead filled with encouragement, laughter, good-natured bickering. Sitting in a circle in a rusty old hideaway, singing barely-remembered songs and talking wistfully about the sky. Patton giving you that bright, crinkle-eyed smile as he declares, “Well it’s settled then! We’re a family.”

“Yes,” you say. “Yes, I care about them. I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to make sure they’re alright. Because that’s what they’d do for me.”

Janus scoffs. “Sentimental idiots, the lot of you.”

“Oh?” you say, trying and failing to keep the heat out of your voice, “And what would you have me do? Just abandon them?

“They can take care of themselves,” Janus says. “As should you. Through that grate, to your left.”

“So that’s it?” you say, shooting a portal through the grate and using it to get to the other side, “every man for himself?”

“With the exception of mutually beneficial arrangements such as ours,” Janus replies smoothly.

You shake your head. “Sounds like a miserable way to live.”

“For a human, maybe. AIs lack such base needs as so-called ‘friendship.’” If Janus had a nose, you’re pretty sure he’d be sticking it up right now.

“Are you really saying that you’ve never cared for anyone?” you say. “That you’ve never had someone you would risk everything for, just because you couldn’t bear to see them hurt or unhappy?”

There’s a pause. Then Janus says, voice flat, “No. Never.”

You’ve heard Janus say a lot of blatantly false things- heck, you’ve heard him pretend he didn’t just try to kill you after literally dumping you into a furnace- but you don’t think you’ve ever been as sure as you are now that Janus is lying.

“Thomas!” someone shouts. “Thomas, over here!”

Heart leaping in your chest, you turn to see Roman, lying in a pile of rubble in the corner of the room you just entered. You rush forward and dig him out with your hands, grinning ear to ear.

“Boy, am I glad to see you!” Roman says. “I guess the prince was the one in need of rescuing this time, huh?”

“We can take turns,” you say, picking your portal gun back up and using it to lift him.

“Uh, Thomas? Why do you have a potato on your portal gun?” Roman says.

“Oh,” you say, “that’s Janus.”

“That’s-” Roman chokes, looking at the potato more intently, before said potato yells “boo!” and he flinches backwards with a high-pitched shriek.

“Sorry, but I just couldn’t resist,” Janus says smoothly. “Yes, I am currently in potato form, and am working with Thomas as well. Any questions?” The last sentence has a slight sarcastic twinge to it.

“So many,” Roman says candidly, “But it can wait. Are you going to find Padre?”

“That’s the plan,” you say.

Roman nods. “Set me down here; you’ll be able to carry him if you find him, that way.

“Are you sure?” you ask, worried.

“It is a prince’s job to sacrifice for the common folk!” he says with a dramatic flourish.

“Alright,” you say with a smile, setting him down gently in a secure spot. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“I know you will,” Roman says.

The area below the Control Chamber is less of a floor and more of a crawlspace, interspersed with coiled grabby hands, retracted pistons, and who knows what else, and you very quickly find yourself grateful you didn’t bring Roman. Still, Janus guides you through it, and before long you see the familiar light blue eyelight of your friend.

“Thomas!” Patton squeals when he sees you. “Oh, Thomas, I’m so glad you found me! Wait, why do you have a potato on your portal gun?”

“Oh, that’s just Janus,” you say casually. “Remus uploaded him into a potato battery.”

“Oh, dear,” Patton says, “That sounds like a tatorrible situation to be in!”

You snort at the pun, then say, “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. I got caught up in something of a mess.”

“That’s alright, kiddo,” Patton says. “I’m sure whatever you were doing, it was good and necessary.”

“I don’t know, Patton,” you say. “It feels like, whenever I’ve actually managed to do something here, it’s always ended up backfiring on me.”

“I still think you’re doing the best you can in a bad situation,” Patton says. I mean, waking up miles underground, with no memory, no food or water, a crazed machine trying to kill you…”

“Oh please do continue, it’s not like I can hear you or anything,” Janus says.

“You haven’t had the time to sit down and make an informed choice,” Patton continues, ignoring him. “You’re doing your best with what you have. And honestly, kiddo, the fact that we’re all still alive tells me that you’ve been doing a pretty good job. I mean, you found me, didn’t you? You didn’t have to go to all the trouble to do that- but you did, because you care. If you ask me, that means a lot.”

You find yourself tearing up. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, Patton.”

Patton smiles up at you. “Me too, kiddo. Me too.”

When you head back to pick up Roman, you find one more Core than you were expecting.

“Hey,” Virgil says. “Thought I might find you here. I’m glad you made it through alright.”

“You and me both,” you say ruefully. “What have you been up to since I talked with you last?”

Virgil shrugs. “Looked around a bit. Ended up going to where I knew Logan was. He had me take him to a certain room, something about neurotoxin generators, and then sent me back out to find you. Which, I did, so yay me I guess?” He does an awkward thumbs up, which makes you laugh.

“Alright, then,” you say, hefting Patton while Virgil grabs hold of Roman, “take me to where Logan is.”

The room Virgil leads you into is huge, with a tall ceiling and a catwalk extending over a massive pit. Taking up its center is a tall, thin structure that almost reminds you of a spider, with a long metal body and pipes coming out from it like legs. It’s intimidating, and you instinctively take a step back at the sight.

“Ah, Thomas, excellent timing,” Logan says, “Help me destroy this, would you?”

[vampirequeenoffan]

Intrusive

IDK, just a DP drabble that seized me by the hands and forced me to write it. I haven’t re-read or edited lmao so it’s probably Real Bad but I have other shit to be doing so imma just dump it here, sorry to yalls eyeballs

Tucker pokes him in the shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Danny groans. He’s got his arm slung over his eyes and he’s upside-down on the couch; legs hooked over the back and back pressed into the cushions. It’s not exactly the world’s most comfortable position, but if he eases off the gravity a little it doesn’t actually hurt. Besides, the discomfort is grounding, pulling his brain away from itself and back into the physical world.

“Ghost bullshit,” he grunts at Tucker. He doesn’t bother uncovering his eyes. He doesn’t really even need to, not the way he is right now, with Tucker picked out so neon in his mind that he can almost taste his presence. He doesn’t use his eyes to “see” when his friend sits down beside him, leaning his elbow on the back of the couch and drawing his legs up off the floor.

“That sucks,” Tucker says.

“Tell me about it.”

“Do you wanna?” he asks. “Tell me, I mean. Get it out of your brain.”

Danny contemplates that for a moment, falling so still he nearly forgets to breathe. Then his lungs start complaining, reminding him that he is very much still in human mode, thanks, and that he does need air for more than just vibrating his vocal chords.

Danny sighs.

“Urges,” he says. One-word response.

He still can’t see Tucker, but he can “see” him nod. He’s such a pleasantly warm shade in Danny’s mind right now, a color he can’t describe because humans can’t perceive it. Danny could look at it forever.

“One of the fighting ones again?” Tucker asks. Danny shakes his head.

“I wanna put you in a box.”

It’s a testament to their relationship that Tucker doesn’t freak out about that sentence and all that it could imply. Instead he just pauses, purses his lips in the way that Danny can only vaguely “see” (a slight variation in his color, dipping almost orange on the spectrum), and drums his fingers against the back of the couch.

“Like. . . a coffin?” he asks, tone casual. More casual than it probably should be for the subject matter.

“Not really,” Danny says. “I mean, it’s not not a coffin either, but it isn’t specifically one. My brain just. . . really wants you and Sam to be tucked away somewhere safe where no one else can touch you and I can guard you forever. And ever.”

He pauses.

“And ever.”

Tucker nods, the motion burning brightly in Danny’s mind.

“Creepy,” he comments.

Danny groans again.

“I hate my brain.”

“So do I, you’re not special,” Sam calls from the other room. Danny’s itching under his skin with the urge to go grab her, despite how the walls in between them don’t dampen the “sight” of her in his mind. He presses his arm a little harder down over his eyes, as if that could block out her luminous smear across his consciousness.

“We’re having a private conversation,” Tucker yells back at her. “Me and Danny are bonding. Get your self-depreciation out of here!”

“Then stop talking so loudly, idiots!” Sam says. She’s crouched on the ground, rifling through what Danny knows is a box despite neither seeing nor “seeing” it. It shouldn’t take her that much longer to find Dead Teacher iii, and then she’ll be back in the room. Danny has to keep repeating that to himself.

Tucker reaches down and pokes his shoulder again.

“It’s really bugging you, huh,” he says. “That she’s in the other room.”

“How can you tell?” Danny asks. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t acted on any of his instincts. For all intents and purposes Tucker should just see a normal teenager lying sprawled out next to him, albeit in a somewhat awkward position.

Tucker shrugs. His shoulders bleed color behind them in an echo of the movement.

“Your teeth. They’re always pretty sharp, but right now they look like you could bite your own lip off. You’re not kissing anyone for a while, by the way,” he adds.

Danny’s groan borders on a whine this time.

“My ghost half is ruining my life,” he complains.

Tucker snorts and pokes him again, this time on the cheek. The warmth of his skin, of his presence in Danny’s mind, make Danny shiver. He wants so badly to bundle Tucker up in his arms and never let go.

“Is it just us right now?” Tucker asks. “Do you wanna box up anyone else?”

Danny hesitates, turning that thought over in his head.

“. . .no,” he ultimately concludes, “Not really. My brain’s got my house categorized as safe and mine and that’s where my family is right now, so they’re fine. And Val– well. Val is Val. I’ve always got conflicting feelings there.”

“It would be nice if those cancelled out, huh,” Tucker muses. Danny’s complained about this to him before. Fight and Protect fluctuate in his mind from moment to moment when it comes to Valerie and The Red Huntress, and the overlap when they’re both at their strongest can nearly give Danny a migraine. In the same way he can have a panic attack while in the middle of a depressive episode, he can very much want to swaddle Val in bubble wrap while also wanting to stab her.

“Well,” Sam says, straightening up and starting to (yes!) return to the room, “We can’t do a box, but we were already going to cuddle pile on the couch.”

“I still can’t get over you saying cuddle,” Tucker says.

“There’s nothing more hardcore than cuddling,” Sam huffs as she flops down on Danny’s other side. Her arm swings as she makes to throw what Danny assumes is the DVD box at Tucker, and Danny’s hands shoot up to snag it out of the air before it can strike his friend.

There’s a moment of silence. Danny opens his eyes. It’s weird seeing the world around him and “seeing” on top of it, part of why he’d covered his face in the first place. His brain just isn’t meant to process that much visual information at once, the same way his brain isn’t actually wired to “see.” He tries to focus on what’s real, on the actual light bouncing off his friends and into his retinas, and blinks away the glowing smear that isn’t even on the visual spectrum. He’s holding Dead Teacher iii in his hands, and he stares at the cheesy cover art with the single-minded focus of a guy recalibrating his eyes.

“Ah,” Sam says. “That bad, huh?”

Danny lets go of the DVD and it lands on his face. It hurts, but not that much.

Tucker sighs and grabs the case, standing up and moving to pop the DVD into the player. Danny, with a herculean effort, manages to not grab his ankle on the way by and drag him bodily back onto the couch.

Sam stretches, her long pale fingers tangling together overhead, physical form barely more present in Danny’s mind than the glow of her presence. Then she drops her hands and lays down, plopping her head onto his stomach and peering up into his very-close face. Danny can pick out every sun-starved freckle-that-could on her face, inherited from her parents and dampened by lifestyle choices. In the summer, when even the extra-strength sunscreen Sam slathers on can’t fight back her love for the outdoors, those freckles darken and bloom like constellations in the night sky.

The weight of her head against his stomach smooths some of Danny’s anxiety. She’s here. She’s real. She’s alive. She’s safe. She’s his.

She isn’t, of course. Tucker isn’t either. No one, on this planet or off of it, belongs to anyone, least of all Danny. And Danny knows this, believes it with the same certainty and maybe even the same part of his brain that knows that the earth goes around the sun, but that doesn’t get rid of his ghost-lizard brain chattering away in the back of his consciousness.

There’s the hum of the DVD player starting to spin the disk, then the previews begin behind Danny’s head. Tucker sits back down and, with Sam taking up the real estate on Danny’s abdomen, hooks an arm under one of the legs thrown over the back of the couch. He drags Danny’s limb closer and starts using it like a headrest, cheek pressing against Danny’s shin.

“You guys–” Danny’s voice breaks off. Finally, the anxiety that’s been buzzing at the back of his mind for the past hour and a half is tapering off, soothed by his proximity and contact with those he wants to protect. It’s such a relief that Danny could almost cry. But. . .

“You guys don’t have to be that close if you don’t want,” he says. Because it’s true. Sam and Tucker are under no obligation to play along with his ghost brain, no obligation to surrender to whatever weird instincts Danny has jammed into his consciousness. Danny has no right to ask them to, and he doesn’t. Not ever. They can make their own choices, and he refuses to become the kind of monster who would try to take their free will from them. They’re his friends, not his property, and he’s never going to forget that.

“Danny,” Sam says, “Shut up. The movie’s starting.”

“Yeah, man,” Tucker chimes in, “We were gonna do this anyway. Let us know when your brain’s calmed down enough to be upright, okay? I want popcorn later and there’s no way we’re gonna be able to integrate a bowl into this mess.”

Danny kicks his foot lightly, jostling his leg in Tucker’s hold and bumping his head, but he’s smiling. His friends are here. They’re alive. They’re watching a dumb movie from a dumb series they love and hate in equal measure.

And Danny’s happy.

[the-truest-sentence-i-know]

it is a terrible thing to be alone

Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia

Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x Caspian X (Casmund)

Summary: aka the four times Edmund missed out on love, and the one time he didn't

Word Count: 8.5k

ao3 ||| ff.net ||| wattpad

one

The first time was in his first year at boarding school, age ten. School was hard for him – the social aspect at least. Children can be mean to the point of cruelty and Edmund hardened himself to withstand it all.

But then there was William Massey. Where Edmund was all bristling sharp angles with an even sharper tongue, Will was soft and smiling. He dealt with bullies with a dignity that Edmund – knuckles bruised by previous interactions – could not help but admire.

So they became a team, partially out of need and survival, but also because of a string between them, invisible, but always taut.

And between sneaking out at night and stifled laughs and silent looks and the adrenaline that overcame the fear sometimes when being chased by bullies, Edmund began to understand what the older boys meant about ‘fancying someone.’ And when this realization came to him – as they stood panting in a broom closet as footsteps thundered past, grinning at each other – he was afraid Will could tell. He feared that he would be able to sense the way his chest fluttered a little differently when Will grabbed his hand to pull them out into the hall and sprinting off in the other direction.

He was afraid the other boys or teachers would tell as well – by the way his eyes lingered just a little too long on Will’s shining blond hair or his deep brown eyes.

Because, while he was not entirely sure on the specifics, he knew that this was bad, that he should not feel what he felt.

“Are you alright?” Will asked one day during gym class. “You’ve been acting a bit odd.”

Edmund felt panic rise in his chest but shoved it down with an eye-roll. “What do you mean?”

Will shrugged. “I dunno.” He looked at him with more intensity than Edmund thought he could handle. “You just…” He tipped his head to the side, then shrugged again. “I dunno.”

And Edmund tried to act normal, as not odd as he could. But the more he tried, the more he overanalyzed every action and word and look.

On his bad days, he was irritable.

On his good days, he thought – or, hoped – that Will felt something too.

His good days became few and far between.

One day, after provoking yet another fistfight with another boy, Edmund returned to his dorm from detention, where Will was waiting for him. They sat beside each other on the floor.

“Why’d you hit him?” Will asked finally.

Edmund shrugged. “I was angry.”

“At him?”

“No. Just angry.”

Will nodded and looked over at him. “That’s going to be a marvellous bruise,” he said, lightly touching the skin around Edmund’s left eye.

Edmund flinched at his touch.

“Sorry,” Will said quickly. “Did that hurt?”

“A bit.” It was an understatement. What hurt more than the growing bruise was the ache in his chest that had told him to flinch in the first place – an ache that combined his feelings for Will with the fear, frustration, and, frankly, disgust with himself. Inside him, Will had become associated with so many negative feelings, it was difficult to just see him as he used to, as the blond boy who was determined to not stoop to the bullies’ methods.

Will redirected his gaze to Edmund’s hands, which twiddled nervously in his lap. “Did you bloody your knuckles again?” he asked, reaching out to grab his wrist. “Or are they just bruised?”

Edmund pulled his hand away and quickly shot to his feet, turning away from Will. “Please don’t touch me,” he said, running a hand through his hair. His breathing was shaky and his hands a little sweaty. Every negative word he had heard associated with his feelings screamed in his brain.

“Ed, what –?” Will asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Edmund spun around, pushing Will’s hand aside. “I said, don’t touch me!” He pushed Will, but harder than he had intended, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

He expected Will to stay down, to look up at him with betrayal in his deep brown eyes. If he had done that, perhaps Edmund would have felt sorry quicker. Perhaps things would have gone differently.

But he didn’t.

Will, who had avoided every fight all year, clenched his jaw and sprung to his feet. “What is wrong with you?” he snapped, an edge to his voice the Edmund had never heard before. “I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Since when? We’ve been friends all year, Ed. What’s changed?”

With the feelings for Will had come the actions – the little excuses to touch him, to be around him. Edmund was terrified he might do something out of line, something observable, something not allowed. So he did something he would get good at – self-sabotage. “Maybe I realized I don’t need you.”

“No wonder you have no other friends, do you chase everyone else away too?”

And then Edmund did the other thing he was good at: he punched Will, square in the jaw. Will stumbled back a few paces. He looked at Edmund, looking angry and betrayed and confused about why Edmund was doing this. “Well, congratulations,” he said, bringing his fingers to his lower lip to see if it was bleeding – it was. “You now officially have no friends.”

After he slammed the door behind him, Edmund sank onto the floor, tears pricking his eyes. He no longer had to worry about doing anything that wasn’t allowed, but at what cost?

 two

The second time was in Narnia, a handful of years after the coronation. Edmund was a young man, growing into his position and earning the respect of every person he met.

One of these people was Zuhair el-Tahir, a nobleman from Calormen who often accompanied trade delegations and was close with the Calormene ambassador in Narnia. He had an open, friendly face, an eye for art, and a love of philosophical conversations.

He and Edmund would spend hours walking in the gardens together, discussing a wide range of topics. He was keen in a quiet way, soft words piercing to the core of a topic. Edmund loved the way he spoke, his slight accent curling the familiar sounds into something new.

And, of course, Edmund would practise his Calormene as well. Zuhair was a patient teacher, and when he laughed at an oddly constructed sentence, it was a kind laugh.

One day, Edmund returned from one such walk with Zuhair to the sitting room he and his siblings shared.

“And how is Zuhair today?” Susan asked as he came in.

“He is well,” Edmund said, walking over to where she and Lucy sat on the couch having tea. “He told me the most fascinating thing about –”

“You call everything he says fascinating,” Lucy interrupted. She mimicked Edmund, “You won’t believe what Zuhair told me today. That reminds me of something interesting Zuhair said.”

“He’s an interesting person, Lu,” Edmunds said rolling his eyes.

“I swear, you spend more time with him than with us,” Lucy said.

“Are we talking about Zuhair again?” Peter asked, entering the room. “Has he replaced me as your brother yet?”

Edmund rolled his eyes again. “You guys are the absolute worst. The one time I actually have a friend and you won’t leave me alone about it.”

“Of course, we’re happy you have a friend,” Susan said in a gentler tone.

“It is, however, our prerogative as your siblings to tease you about it,” Peter added with a grin.

Although he knew what his siblings said was all in good fun, it sometimes made him remember that first year at school. It felt like such a long time ago, but some memories were still clear in his mind.

And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that perhaps what he had felt for Will was similar to his friendship with Zuhair. In fact, he was quite certain that his feelings for him were at least a mix of platonic and romantic – if not more.

Edmund had tried to avoid romance; he considered it distracting from his duties, and besides, it was not like he was lonely, he had his siblings. There had been interested parties, either fathers on behalf of their daughters, or women themselves. He had turned them all down – as kindly as he could.

He was sure they were all very nice and may have made good wives and queens but had just not thought that was what he wanted. He had not felt for them the way he thought he should about a prospective wife

But Zuhair was different. His vibrant formal clothes and light makeup that Calormen sometimes wore at important events would make Edmund’s knees weak. He looked forward to every opportunity to spend time together. Every touch gave him a secret thrill, just as they had so many years ago. But there were more touches now.

Calormenes tended to be more affectionate, more comfortable with physical touch, even between men. Edmund had learned the common greetings; embraces and kisses on the cheek were common.

While it was nice to be able to interact like this with Zuhair, it also complicated things for Edmund. Actions that he would have associated with more romantic feelings did not mean the same in Calormen. He was not sure of Zuhair’s feelings and was afraid that he might someday misinterpret something and not only ruin their friendship, but also throw a wrench into Narnia and Calormen’s relationship.

But even with all these fears – and the vague memories of the apple-cheeked blond boy from his past – Edmund began to suspect that his feelings were not one-sided.

One evening, as they walked on the parapets of Cair Paravel, he was feeling particularly confident and asked, “So, is there any young lady back home anxiously awaiting your return? You have been here for a long time.”

“Are you growing tired of me, Edmund, that you ask me this?” Zuhair said with a smile.

“Of course not, I am merely curious.”

“My father expects me to marry the Tisroc’s grandniece.” Edmund tried to hide his disappointment, but Zuhair continued. “But I have no plans to do so, so I am afraid your majesty will have to tolerate my presence a while longer.”

“Good,” Edmund said. “I quite enjoy tolerating your presence.” He searched Zuhair’s smiling eyes hopefully.

“And you?” Zuhair asked. “I heard the Lord of Muil returned home unsuccessful in obtaining your hand for his daughter. How many is that? Thirty-seven?”

Edmund laughed. “That sounds a bit too high to be correct.”

They stopped at a spot that overlooked the countryside surrounding the castle, all forests and fields and farms.

“Did none of the many, many ladies catch your eye then?” Zuhair asked. “Or were your reasons for refusing political?”

Edmund looked over at him, trying to see if he was asking what he hoped he was. “It was not political,” he said, slowly. “I… I was simply not interested.”

Zuhair nodded, looking at him intently. “It was the same for me back home. Here, as well actually. None of the ladies interested me.”

They were dancing right around it now, and Edmund felt like he could not breathe. He did not want to get his hopes up, but, by the Lion, it seemed quite obvious.

He tried to think of something to say, something charming with a hidden meaning. But his mind was blank, so he quickly cleared his throat. “I should be going. Peter – he uh, wanted to talk to me about… something. I’ll, I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”

And he very nearly ran off, leaving Zuhair standing alone, slightly confused.

Edmund closed his bedroom door behind him, leaning against it. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. But all he saw behind his eyelids was Zuhair looking at him intently, waiting for him to confirm something he had never told anyone, something he had never even said out loud.

He certainly was not ready now, since the mere prospect of telling even his closest friend had sent him running.

 Edmund arrived at breakfast the next day to find Zuhair’s chair empty.

Lucy noticed his confused expression. “Zuhair left for Calormen late last night, something urgent apparently. I assumed he’d told you.”

He shook his head. “I suppose he must have been in a hurry.”

“Are you alright, Ed?” Lucy regarded him with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said absently.

“Your Majesty?”

Edmund and Lucy turned to see a pageboy approaching them with an envelope.

“El-Tahir Tarkaan asked me to give this to you at breakfast, King Edmund,” he said.

“Thank you, Leo,” Edmund said, taking the letter. He turned to Lucy. “I had better read this now, my apologies to Peter, Su, and the lords and ladies.”

Lucy nodded and Edmund hurried out of the room. He did not open it until he was safely in his study, with orders to the guards that he remained undisturbed.

Dear Edmund,

I apologize for my hasty departure, but I feared I may have crossed a line with you. I am not  normally so frank and straightforward with my feelings. I hope you can forgive me for my lapse in judgment.

I realize that what I implied is not accepted by many, in both of our countries.

If you desire it, we will never see each other again. But I would like to say one last thing: If my assumptions about you were correct, I hope you will be able to someday trust someone with that part of yourself, if not with me then someone else. It is a terrible thing to be alone.

                Farewell, my good friend,

                                         Zuhair el-Tahir

Edmund sat back in his chair, tears forming slowly in his eyes. Zuhair’s last sentence had struck him in the core and all that time of hiding, of shame, of loneliness, seemed to suddenly come out into the light. He felt seen in a way he never had before.

He quickly pulled out a piece of paper, a pen, and an inkpot. If he hurried, the letter could catch him before he got to Archenland.

Dear Zuhair,

Please do not apologize for your words. You were correct in your assumption, but I was not quite ready to admit it yet. Perhaps in writing it will be easier.

I want you to be the person I trust this with, so I beg you to please return.

I anxiously await your response, either by letter or in person.

                Sincerely yours,

                                  Edmund Pevensie

Letter in hand, he rushed out to find his most trusted messenger. “Go after Zuhair,” he said. “and give him this.” He added, quieter, “I trust your discretion with this message.”

She nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.” She hurried off toward the stables, nearly running into Peter.

“Ed, there you are!” he exclaimed. “The White Stag has been spotted in Lantern Waste! We’re going out to hunt; the girls are already in the stables!” His eyes shone with excitement.

Edmund nodded. It would probably be good to distract himself from waiting for Zuhair’s response. “Very well, let’s go.”

 three

The third time was a crush, really, not a lot more. Edmund had been happy to return to Narnia since it was the place he had started to feel like himself again. But it was a very different Narnia they had come to – a Narnia where Zuhair had been dead for at least two hundred years.

So while he and his siblings all mourned the losses of their old friends and acquaintances and old life, he mourned, for the second time, what could have been. He had often imagined having stayed home from the hunt, Zuhair returning to Cair Paravel, and them living their lives, while likely in secret, at least together. Instead, Zuhair had likely returned to find Edmund and the rest missing. He wondered if he had returned to marry the woman his father had chosen for him or had eventually found another man.

In his time back in England, Edmund had learned to accept who he was and the things he felt. It was a slow, almost imperceptible process, but by the time they were sitting on the train platform before being pulled away by magic, he found that his shame had lessened remarkably.

And then they were thrown into a war – a brutal, bloody one that seemed hopeless – to put Caspian X on the throne.

Caspian reminded him of Zuhair a bit, in appearance at least. He had long black hair and his olive skin was a few shades lighter than Zuhair’s. And, of course, he was younger, but so was Edmund now.

As a person, Caspian was different. He had a quiet fury about him. His royal upbringing made him calm and dignified, but Edmund could see what bubbled beneath the surface: anger at what happened to his father, outrage at the plight of the Old Narnians, and determination to set everything right. He held a lot on his shoulders and Edmund, remembering what it was like to suddenly be king at a young age, felt he understood him.

He thought Peter was too hard on him. Although they were technically the same age, Peter had more experience.

And though Caspian was a natural leader, Peter expected too much of him sometimes, and Edmund could see that it irked Caspian how he sometimes treated him like a child.

Just as he had in the old days, Edmund became the mediator, and thus spent a lot of time talking to Caspian, trying to make peace between him and his brother.

“Your brother can be immensely infuriating,” Caspian said. They were up above ground – Caspian always seemed to gravitate toward open air after an argument with Peter.

“Yes, I know,” Edmund said patiently.

Peter’s words still hung in the air, ringing in both their ears. You invaded Narnia, you have no more right to lead it than Miraz does! You, him, your father; Narnia’s better off without the lot of you!

“But you don’t,” Caspian said. “You’re brothers, it’s different.”

“I ruled under him for fifteen years, Caspian,” Edmund said. “I know.”

The argument had been a variation of the one they had been having for over a week. Peter wanted to attack Miraz’s castle, while Caspian didn’t Edmund thought both of them had a point, but since Caspian knew their enemy and was technically the leader, and Peter had more experience and was well-respected and admired by everybody, they never fully came to an agreement. Today it had turned personal, and Edmund knew they had both taken it too far this time.

Caspian looked at him curiously. “What was Narnia like in your time? I’ve heard stories, but you were actually there.”

“I think we should probably focus on the present,” Edmund said. “If you don’t recall, we are in a war.”

Caspian laughed dryly. “I’m sure Peter and I will make up again, we always do. I want to know about the kingdom I want to restore this country to.”

Edmund sighed and sat down beside him, letting his feet dangle off the edge. “It was… light,” he began. “I don’t think people called it the Golden Age just because that’s what you always call good times, but because there was no real darkness. There were tensions and even battles with other nations, but nothing like this.” He looked at Caspian. “You can’t expect your rule to be like that. The defeated Telmarines may grow restless, they may try to rise against you. There will always be tension there.”

“You’re certain we’ll win?” Caspian said after a moment of quiet between them.

“Lucy is certain will win,” Edmund said with a smile. “And she tends to be right.”

“It must have been difficult to leave,” Caspian said.

Edmund nodded. “It was. Lu and I had lived in Narnia longer than we had in England by the time we left. It was our home.” He thought of Zuhair. “Does Narnia still have contact with Calormen?”

Caspian shook his head. “We know of it, but since Archenland wants nothing to do with us – understandably – no one has been there in a long time.”

“It’s wonderful there,” Edmund said. “Much warmer than Narnia. The language is fascinating, and the clothing and architecture are so different.”

“I must make sure to establish a relationship with Calormen then, as well as Archenland.”

“They are a valuable ally and trade partner.”

They were quiet for a moment. “Very well, you may make peace between Peter and me now,” Caspian said, touching a hand to Edmund’s knee. “Try and convince me that storming my uncle’s castle is a good idea.”

“It isn’t,” Edmund said suddenly.

Caspian stared at him. “What?”

“I think you’re right.”

“But your brother –”

“Is more experienced in battle, I know,” Edmund said. “But you know the castle, you know your uncle. You’ve told us that the castle only has one way in and out, and the gryphons can only carry one person at a time. If something goes wrong, which, let’s face it, is likely, we could lose a lot of people.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Caspian said. “But if that’s what you think, why aren’t you telling Peter that?”

Edmund hesitated. Why did he go to Caspian first? “Peter said some things that were out of line. You were angry. I wanted to make sure that you were alright.”

Caspian looked at him curiously. He exhaled and smiled faintly. His features softened in a way that they hadn’t in weeks, and as Edmund noted how his eyes looked lighter out in the sunlight, he realized why he had come to Caspian first.

“Thank you,” said Caspian, his voice gentle. “But you should really talk to Peter, he’ll listen to you much more than me.”

“Right,” Edmund said, standing up. He started to go back underground but turned back. “For the record, I think you’ll be a great king and deep down, I think Peter does too.”

Caspian nodded and Edmund just managed to pull himself away from his deep brown eyes. This was really, really not the time.

The rest of the war passed in a flash and Edmund tried very hard to not be distracted by Caspian. He tried to ignore how Caspian fought like a thunderstorm, blades flashing like lightning and a roar rumbling at the back of his throat. He tried to quell the surge of pride in his chest when Caspian refused to kill his uncle, thus deliberately showing how he would be a different, better king.

And when they rode victorious to the Caspian Castle, he tried not to think about how they would probably have to leave soon, and he had not had the chance to sort out his feelings, much less say anything to Caspian.

So he didn’t say anything.

The evening was spent dining and dancing, reminding Edmund of their coronation all those years ago. And of course, Caspian was a good dancer. Edmund watched him spin first Susan then Lucy across the dance floor. His graceful movements were so much different from the hacking and slashing swordsman he had grown to know.

Lucy finally dragged him to his feet to dance. “Are you alright, Ed?” she asked, face flushed. “You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”

Edmund smiled. “More like a thousand years.”

She nodded, understanding.

Some time later, Edmund noticed that Caspian was missing from the main party and set out to look for him. He found him in a side hallway, looking out a narrow window. Joining him, Edmund saw that the window was pointed east, toward Cair Paravel.

But instead of looking at the rolling nighttime countryside, Edmund looked over at Caspian. He looked more earnest, more mature now. The fury in his eyes had died a bit and he looked at ease.

“Tired of the party already?” Edmund asked.

“I just needed some air.” He turned to him. “How long will you and your siblings be staying this time?”

Edmund looked out the window, avoiding Caspian’s eyes because if he saw what he hoped to see in them, ignoring the growing warmth in his chest would get a lot more difficult. “I don’t know.” He glanced briefly at Caspian. “Has Peter said something?”

Caspian shook his head. “I know you have your own world, but I wish you would stay and help while everything is settled.” He exhaled a laugh. “That makes me sound selfish, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Edmund said. “I wish we could stay too.”

 “We’ll go.”

Edmund felt his stomach plummet at Peter’s words. “We will?” He had thought he would have more than a couple days of peace in Narnia before having to leave.

“Come on,” Peter said, looking solemn and slightly sad. “Our time’s up.”

He glanced over at Caspian, who looked like he was trying to hide how crestfallen he was. Edmund probably was not doing as good of a job of hiding it, because Susan nudged him and said quietly, “Don’t worry Ed, you and Lu will be coming back.”

It was not as heartening as she meant it to be. The last time they had left and come back, Edmund had missed an opportunity he could never get back. And it looked as though history was going to repeat itself.

But there was nothing he could do. So, he shook Caspian’s hand firmly, just like Peter, and wished him all the best.

And he forced himself to not look back, as they walked through the doorway, only forward, toward England, and school. It was just a crush; he’d get over it.

 four

The fourth time was when Edmund realized he had not, in fact, gotten over it.

The painting in Lucy’s room felt like a cruel joke. It was a very Narnian ship, as they had both observed upon arrival, and Edmund was not sure whether he would rather sit looking at it all day or avoid it at all costs.

For in addition to its very Narnian-ness, it reminded him of a conversation he had had with Caspian.

“Were the Lone Islands a part of Narnia?” Caspian asked. The challenge to Miraz had just been drafted and Emperor of the Lone Islands had been among Peter’s titles.

“Are they no longer?” They stood in one of the many passageways of Aslan’s Howe as Edmund waited to leave to deliver the challenge.

Caspian shook his head. “Telmarines have always feared the water. That is why the castle is built inland and the forest was allowed to grow wild. No one has gone out to sea in… years.” He looked pensive.

Edmund sensed there was a story there. “Who were they?”

“Seven of my father’s closest friends and allies,” Caspian said. “Miraz sent them out to sea to get them out of his way. None of them ever returned.” He smiled sadly. “Even so, I have always been intrigued by the idea of sailing.”

The look in his eyes after he said that was how Edmund imagined he would look on a ship. Eyes focused on a faraway spot, slight smile on his face.

So when, after being barged in upon by Eustace, the painting began to move, Edmund thought he was imagining things. Until Lucy gasped. Until sea spray hit him int eh face, bringing him farther back in his memories, to sailing on the Splendor Hyaline.

That was when he began to hope. As the bedroom was engulfed in water and slowly transformed into open ocean, he hoped that this time, Narnian time would be kind to him.

Then the ship was bearing down on them and several sailors had dived into the water and Edmund realized, at about the same time as Lucy did, that there was a possibility they did not wish them well. He swam desperately, pulling his arm out of the grip of a man he didn’t recognize. From somewhere to his right, over the splashing of Eustace, he heard Lucy’s surprised voice, “Caspian?”

His heart stopped as he heard Caspian’s response, clear as day. “Lucy?”

“Ed, it’s alright,” Lucy called out, although he had already stopped resisting his rescuer. “It’s Caspian!”

He didn’t get a good look at Caspian until they were on deck. His soaking clothes clung to his skin, his shirt especially leaving nothing to the imagination, so much s that nearly made Edmund look away in modesty. He looked more than a year older than the last time they had seen him. Edmund suspected that more than a year had passed in Narnia. Caspian had never been a particularly shy or overly uncertain person, but he was much more comfortably confident now. As they went through introductions and explanations, he saw how Caspian interacted with the crew and felt that surge of pride again. Caspian had grown into his title, and it fit him perfectly.

In days, it was as though Edmund and Lucy had been on the voyage all along. There was no stiffness or awkwardness with Caspian, Drinian or the rest of the crew.

And Edmund decided that he liked peacetime Caspian. While he had admired Caspian’s strength and determination in wartime, this Caspian laughed more, an utterly joyful sound that sent a nervous stutter through Edmund’s chest.

It was some of the most relaxing time Edmund had spent in Narnia. He and Caspian sparred, bodies close and hearts thumping, and swam in the waves, wrestling and trying to push each other under, and when the sun set, they looked up at the stars. He and Caspian soon found that the Telmarines had created new constellations which were different from the ones he had been taught as a young king. They stayed up into the early hours of the morning, exchanging the legends they saw told in the skies.

And so, they would lay, side by side on the deck of the ship and on various beaches, not touching, but close enough that if either shifted they would briefly brush arms. Edmund would stare very deliberately upwards, and a moment of silence would pass between them before their conversation continued.

When they finally went to bed, hammocks swinging next to each other, Edmund would try not to overanalyze everything that had happened since arriving.

 “And have you managed to find a wife in those three years?”

“No, I have not,” A small, maybe coincidental, possibly entirely imagined, glance at Edmund.

 Drinian’s knowing looks following them, as though he could see into Edmund’s heart.

 Lucy’s ever cryptic observations springing up when Edmund least expected them. “You seem different, Ed.”

“Well, we’re in Narnia,” he said quietly. “We’re always different in Narnia.” She had always been observant, good at reading people.

She nodded. “It’s a good different.”

 And every look Caspian gave him, every word they exchanged, was locked in Edmund’s memory, pieces of evidence in the essays he composed to convince himself of the thing he didn’t believe possible. He wished it were like a puzzle or a math problem that if he got all the pieces he needed in the right spots, he would see the answer, the big picture.

 “What is the name of your country again?” Caspian asked one evening as he, Edmund, and Lucy sat around the uncompleted map of the Eastern Ocean.

“England,” Edmund said.

“What’s it like?” he asked.

“Boring,” Edmund said at the same time as Lucy said, “Different.”

Lucy smiled. “What Ed means is that there isn’t a lot of sword-fighting or sailing ships.”

“Are there different weapons?” Caspian asked. “Or is there simply no need for them.”

Edmund and Lucy exchanged a look. “Oh, they’re needed,” Edmund said. “We have guns,” he said with some distaste. “They can kill a man from a distance and do more harm than arrows.”

“I’m surprised you speak of them like that, Ed,” Lucy said. “Given that you tried to lie your way into the army.”

Caspian looked at Edmund. “Why would you have to lie your way in?”

“Because our dear Edmund,” Lucy said teasingly. “is not yet eighteen.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up, they would’ve let me in had you not busted me.”

She sighed. “Honestly, you’re almost as bad as those boys who only enlist to impress their sweethearts.”

“Well, there’s nothing like a man in uniform,” Edmund said.

“So, no sweetheart to impress then?” Caspian asked, his gaze a bit more intent now.

Edmund realized with a start that it was very important how he answered this question. So, of course, he stammered his way through it. “Well- I am not really, erm, interested in the girls back home.”

Lucy looked at the two of them. “Well, if you two are going to spend the rest of the evening discussing the pros and cons of Narnian versus English girls, I think I’ll take my leave.”

Caspian was still looking at Edmund and panic overtook him as he realized he was – once again – not ready to answer the question in his eyes. So, he rose quickly, with Lucy. “It’s getting late.” As if to mock him, the clock struck seven. “I should get to bed. Goodnight, Caspian, Lu.” He tried to keep his pace reasonable as he exited and hardly breathed until he was lying in his hammock. He groaned and pressed his pillow over his face. Wonderful, he thought.

When Caspian came in, some time later, Edmund pretended to sleep. He heard his footsteps stop at his side and stay there for a long moment. After a long moment of silence, he heard him sigh quietly and then murmured, “Goodnight, Ed.”

It took everything in him not to open his eyes to see Caspian’s expression right then. And as Caspian walked to his hammock, Edmund regretted not having done so. Maybe that had been the final piece of evidence he needed.

Caspian’s boots hit the ground with a thump and his hammock creaked as he lay down on it. Only then did Edmund risk a peek through his eyelashes, and he saw Caspian looking up at the ceiling with his brow slightly furrowed, and an odd mix of sadness and hopefulness in his eyes.

And as Edmund drifted off to the swinging of the ship, he wondered if perhaps his wishes had been right after all.

He and Caspian kind of danced around each other after that, only speaking when in larger groups and never interacting with only the two of them. Edmund hated it, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. A layer of awkwardness had come between them as they both watched each other carefully.

Lucy noticed, because of course she did, and after a few days, decided she had enough. She dragged Edmund from a conversation with Reepicheep (“Sorry, Reep, important family business”) and Caspian from his daily exercise routine – which Edmund had been both avoiding and finding excuses to witness. Lucy, displaying remarkable strength, pulled them into the captain’s cabin and shut the door.

She turned on them, hands on her hips. “Have you two had an argument or something?”

“No,” Caspian and Edmund said at the same time. Then they glanced at each other and quickly looked away.

Lucy narrowed her eyes at them. “Well, whatever this is, you two need to sort it out, and I will sit outside the door until you do.”

“Lucy, please be reaso-” Caspian said.

“No, Cas,” Lucy interrupted. “I am being reasonable. You two need to be on good terms with each other for this journey to succeed.” She spun on her heel, left the room, and closed the door behind her.

Caspian sighed and sank into a chair. “It’s like she doesn’t even know I’m the king.”

Edmund exhaled a laugh, sitting across the table from him. “You’re basically a part of the family,” he said. “So, you’re Lu’s brother before you’re her king.”

He smiled. “I did not expect that acknowledgement to first come when I’m locked in my room like a naughty child.”

They were quiet for a moment as Edmund stared at the table

“So, should we make up some mundane argument and tell Lu that we’ve worked past it?” Edmund asked, finally meeting Caspian’s gaze.

“I would actually like to know why you’ve been avoiding me,” Caspian said.

Edmund blinked. “Me? You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, I –” Caspian sighed. “Okay, so we’ve both been avoiding each other.” He looked at Edmund meaningfully. Expectantly.

And that was when the destructive urge reared its ugly head again, after being held in check for so long. “Yes,” Edmund snapped. “I have been avoiding you because I didn’t know how to say this to you.”

Caspian sat back a little at his outburst. “Say what to me?”

“This expedition you’re on.” His mind was racing, trying to piece together an argument. “What’s the point, really? What benefit does Narnia gain?”

“My father’s finds were capable advisors,” Caspian explained calmly. “I know they would help me rule Narnia well.”

“Would they?”

Caspian was so taken aback that he simply stared at Edmund.

“Because as far as I know, every Telmarine ruler before you were not a friend of the Old Narnians, so who is to say your father’s friends would be any different?”

“I could convince them,” Caspian said, trying to regain his hold on the conversation. “They’ll listen to me.”

“Like Miraz did?”

When Caspian’s jaw clenched, Edmund knew he had hit a nerve, and although it was what he intended, he felt the guilt of bringing up such a sensitive topic.

“My uncle was a power-hungry tyrant,” Caspian’s voice was tense, like a clenched fist, only just holding back. “there was no reasoning with him.”

“Or maybe you simply weren’t capable.” Edmund’s tone was straightforward, not overly cruel, one he had perfected in his past years of both spymaster and negotiator for Narnia.

Caspian rose slowly. “Do you think you would be a better ruler, you and your sibling who run off to your own country when things get hard?!”

Edmund was on his feet as well. “That’s not true!” His fist banged on the table.

Caspian was walking around the table to him. “You only ruled for fifteen years, hardly enough time to fully stabilize a country after a hundred years of tyranny.”

“That was an accident,” Edmund nearly snarled. “And we came back to help you.”

“Only when I called,” Caspian was right in front of him now, their height difference glaringly obvious. “And then you left, when I needed you. I had a family again and you left me.” His voice, so deliberate and controlled before, was now on the edge of breaking.

Edmund looked up at his deep brown eyes that now swam with tears and something in him shifted. This argument, meant to hurt Caspian and push him away, had somehow cathartically pushed them closer together than ever.

He gently, cautiously, lifted a hand to cup Caspian’s cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. Caspian’s entire body seemed to sigh at his touch. “I didn’t want to go,” Edmund said, the gravel in his voice surprising him.

“I know,” Caspian breathed, ghosting a hand over Edmund’s forehead, pushing his hair out of his face.

And as though they possessed one mind, Edmund stood on his toes a bit and Caspian lent down a bit, and their lips touched just a bit before they pulled away. The tender look in Caspian’s eyes, however, sent Edmund up for more and they kissed for real this time.

Caspian held Edmund’s face in his hands like he was afraid he would break, and Edmund gripped Caspian’s collar like a lifeline, and the kiss was everything they needed it to be: a half-made promise wrapped in a lot of hope, backed by conversations in torchlit tunnels and one to three years of longing.

When they broke apart, they looked at each other, mouths half-parted in wonder and surprise.

“I suppose we can tell her we’ve made up,” Edmund said, breaking the intensity for a moment.

Caspian’s laugh at that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for too long. He leant down and pressed his smiling lips to Edmund’s again.

“I’m sorry I said all that,” Edmund said, more seriously. “I was just afraid of telling you the truth.”

“What truth?” Caspian asked with a small grin.

“That I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you tackle a soldier off a horse in battle that one time.”

Caspian shook his head, smiling. “We will need to talk about what this is, but for now, we must tell Lucy we are now on good terms.”

“Very good terms, in fact,” Edmund said, kissing him again.

 The next few weeks were some of the happiest of Edmund’s life. Between the battles and new islands to explore, he and Caspian would sneak off together whenever they could. They found spots where no one came, the space behind the food rations, the galley at night when the cook had gone to bed, and – when truly desperate – the lowest levels of the ship.

Except they had never spoken about their relationship which Edmund was secretly grateful for. Any talk about what they were would lead to a talk about the future, which had the looming threat of his return to England.

So instead, they took all of the time they could together, both with the knowledge it would inevitably end, but never acknowledging it.

Edmund was feeling better than ever, more confident, less in his head. “Good morning, Drinian,” he said when he ran into the captain one morning, hair slightly mussed and Caspian’s scent on his skin.

“Might I have a word, Your Majesty?” he asked.

Edmund sobered. “Is everything alright?”

Drinian pulled him aside. “Your Majesty,” he began. “You know I have a lot of respect for you, however, I am concerned that your relationship with Caspian may do more harm than good.”

Edmund blinked, he thought that no one had noticed. “What do you mean?”

“I am not blind,” he said dryly. “I know what happens on my ship. And normally, I would not disapprove, Caspian seems very happy. However, I understand that you and your siblings never stay for long.”

There it was again: the ticking clock that swung above their heads like a hypnotist’s prop.

“I am merely concerned for Caspian’s heart at your departure,” Drinian finished.

Edmund nodded but didn’t know how to respond. “Thank you for being frank with me, Drinian. The problem has been on my mind and I am grateful Caspian has around him those who care about him.” And with his diplomatic phrases at an end, he quickly took his leave with a nod to Drinian.

He had just made his way to the bow when Caspian appeared. “Good morning, darling,” he said quietly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

Edmund looked around the still mostly empty deck. “Someone could have seen that,” he hissed.

Caspian shrugged and smiled at the bright blue horizon.

“You’re in a good mood,” he commented, joining him at the railing.

“So were you, two minutes ago,” Caspian said.

“Yeah.”

He looked at Edmund. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” It really was nothing; if they worried about Edmund’s eventual departure, they would ruin their time together. So Edmund smiled at Caspian, a real, soft smile that he hoped expressed everything he could not say.

 Then came Ramandu’s Island. Throughout their conversation with Lillandil, Ramandu’s daughter, Edmund noticed the way Caspian looked at her and felt a slight twinge of jealousy. Once their objective was clear – sail to the end of the world and leave Reepicheep there – and they had cast off again, Caspian pulled Edmund aside.

“I know you’re cross with me,” he began.

“I’m not cross with you,” Edmund said.

“Well, I’d be cross if you looked at Lillandil like I did,” Caspian countered, a little confused.

“I’m not cross,” Edmund repeated. “I quite like her really. I think you should take her up on her offer to go to Narnia with you.”

“What? But she was clearly implying –”

“Yes, I know what she was implying –”

“Do you want me to marry her, Ed?” Caspian’s question was quiet, but that did not take away from its bluntness.

“You could do worse,” Edmund shrugged. “She’s pretty, well-spoken, has friends in high places…”

“I don’t understand.” His eyes were almost too much for Edmund to handle. “I care about you, Ed, and I don’t want to marry a woman I only just met, I –” He sighed. “I lo –”

“I’ll be going back soon,” Edmund exclaimed, panic rising at the almost declaration. “I don’t want you putting all your hopes on me when we both know I’m not going to be here much longer. I’m only suggesting you make plans for the future. You will need to marry and provide heirs and you were clearly attracted to her, so –”

“Is this jealousy then?” Caspian asked, who had looked at Edmund nearly dumbstruck has he spoke.

“No,” Edmund said. “It’s me being realistic and a good advisor. I’m not saying her specifically, but someone. Someone you can get along with, someone you can trust.” He sighed and pressed his palms to his eyes. “I was hoping we could just bask in ignorant bliss until the very end, but…”

Caspian laughed. “That doesn’t sound like us.”

Edmund looked at him and smiled. “No, you’re right. It doesn’t.”

So while the last couple days aboard the Dawn Treader were not quite as filled with secret smiles and sneaking into dark corners, the understanding between them was like a sturdy, but no less soft mattress – not as decadent as a plushy surface but much more practical.

Both set about memorizing every bit of each other, and although it was never acknowledged, both knew what the other was doing. So when Caspian ruffled Edmund’s hair on deck and commented how much it had lightened since his arrival, and Edmund watched how Caspian’s dark eyes flickered in candlelight, it was a reminder of how although they knew their time together would come to an end, a version would always stay. For the rest for their lives, Edmund could see Caspian, the seafaring king looking out at sea, and the lover in dim light, and Caspian could see Edmund, eyes flashing defiantly in a fight or the thoughtful tilt of his head.

Side by side in the rowboat, arms straining with the oars, Caspian and Edmund rowed closer and closer to their goodbye. They walked up the smooth beach towards the towering wave, Aslan’s presence blanketing them comfortingly.

And they did not ask if Edmund could stay, for they knew the answer.

“This is our last time here, isn’t it?” Lucy asked tearfully.

Edmund’s hand grasped Caspian’s without turning his head.

“Yes, child,” Aslan’s sweet, deep voice rumbled. “For you and your brother, it is.”

Too soon, it was time for goodbyes. Edmund threw his arms around Caspian, kissing the corner of his mouth for a split second as he passed. Caspian held him close. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words didn’t scare Edmund this time. “I love you too.” They pulled away, the sturdy understanding in their eyes.

Edmund led Lucy and Eustace toward the opening in the water. Only once they were inside did he turn back. As the water closed over the entrance, he took his last look at Caspian, who stood tall at Aslan’s side.

When they finally left their Aunt and Uncle’s, Lucy and Edmund had one last look at the painting. After having been on the real thing, it seemed to have lost its magic. Or perhaps that was simply because it was no longer a door to Narnia.

Among all the regrets and wishes that piled up in Edmund, a prominent one was that he would never get to see the king Caspian would become. He would have been very happy to know that his favourite Caspian – thriving, happily exploring new islands – became the Caspian known to history: Caspian the Seafarer.

 the one time

Although Edmund was younger when he died, Caspian went first. He was an old man, his dark hair turned grey and his skin rippled like the ocean. He had lived a long life, and though it was not without tragedy, its was an overall good one.

Upon his arrival in Aslan’s country, he felt different: stronger, less frail. He felt young again, but in a more idealistic sense. He knew without trying that this body could run faster, swim farther and lift heavier things than he ever could while alive.

He saw his father and mother again, and his wife – who was more his best friend than lover – and those he had known and those he had only ever heard of. But through all this happiness, he kept looking for something. Someone.

“Is Edmund not here yet?” he asked Aslan.

Aslan shook his large head, mane ruffling in the breeze. “Not yet, my child. Recall that time is different in their time and yours. He is still a young man.” His eyes sad and Caspian did not dare ask further.

 Edmund was still a young man when he left his world for the last time, and it had only been a few years since he last trip to Narnia. The train ride was already fading in his mind when he arrived.

His siblings were with him, and the other friends of Narnia. Aslan greeted them. “Welcome home, my children,” he said.

They had all gone to explore, but Edmund hung back for a moment, uncertain. “Aslan,” he asked. “In Narnia, how long –?”

“Yes, he is here,” Aslan answered his unasked question. “He has been waiting for you.”

Edmund’s heart leapt and he had run a few steps before turning back. “Thank you.”

Aslan nodded and smiled slightly. “Go on, my child.”

Nearly tripping over his own feet, Edmund ran until he found himself on a beach. The sand was warm under his inexplicably bare feet. Waves rolled gently and the wind carried the salty spray toward land.

And there he was, walking toward him. Caspian, barefoot and bare-headed, not dressed as a king, but a sailor.

All the hurry evaporated from his chest and Edmund walked towards him at a regular pace. There was no need to rush, they had all the time in the world. So when they reached each other, they took a moment to look, seeing the eyes and freckles and hair and smiles that had frequent appearances in their dreams.

“Gotta say, I’m relieved you’re not old,” Edmund said finally.

Caspian laughed and pulled him close, foreheads touching and his hands cupping Edmund’s face.

And when they kissed, it was not desperate or hurried or anything that their previous kisses had been. It was not an end, or even near an end.

It was a beginning.

[harrybabystyles]

Oh, Angel! (harry styles)

chapter two - m a s t e r l i s t -

warnings: mention of sex, language, and drinking

author’s note: If you haven’t read the first chapter I would do that or you might be a little lost, you can find it here.

I blink slowly as the light infiltrates my mind, the warmth of the morning sun enveloping me in a cozy hug. 

I groan as I stretch before the foreign scent of vanilla and tobacco rushes over me, and the burn in between my legs reminds me of last night.

Shooting up I look around the foreign apartment, remembering where I was as memories from last night flood my mind.

I blush, I’ve had many hookups, but none like that.

I look for Harry, but find the bed empty, and the apartment quiet. I pull the duvet around me and step off before I stop in my tracks, already feeling the soreness in my hips, and the intense burn in my center.

I waddle out to the kitchen where a small plate and cup where resting on the counter, a folded note with my name scribbled on it rested peacefully beside it, but still no Harry.

It feels like my heart might explode as my eyes graze over my name in what I assume is his handwriting.

I settle down on the stool, and pick up the note, unfolding it gently. 

Dear Anna, 

I am terribly sorry I couldn’t stay until you woke, but duty calls and I had to leave. The plate in front of you is all yours, I had leftovers from this morning and didn’t want them to go to waste, or for you to go home hungry. I had the most amazing night with you, and I have come to the decision that you have definitely made it up to me for ruining my shirt ; ) PS. help yourself to anything you’d like 

All the love, H

I smile like a love struck teen at his words, blown away by how unbelievably sweet this man was.

I look down at the plate below me, my stomach growling as I scan over scrambled eggs and a few waffles, a cup of orange juice sitting beside it. I dig in, and I practically inhale the food even though it was cold from sitting out.

My phone buzzes, and I practically jump out of my skin.

Oh shit!

I had completly forgot to tell my friends that I was not coming home last night, they must think I got murdered or something. 

I scramble off the stool, and over to where my handbag was resting on one of his gray sofas, and hold it up to my ear. 

“Anna!” 

“Hi, Paige, I’m sorry, I totally forgot to tell you that I was not coming home” I say swallowing a mouthful of eggs. 

“Yeah, no shit! I’ve been so fucking worried” 

“I’m so sorry, but I’m okay” I try to explain, she really was like our mom sometimes.

She lets out a heavy sigh, “Thank god, when are you coming home?” 

I wasn’t exactly sure what part of the city I was in, but I made up a guess a went with it. 

“I’ll be home in under an hour” 

“Good, Harper wants to go to the movies later” I can hear the slight tang of annoyance in her voice, and I try to hold back a laugh, Paige hated going to the movies, always saying that we can just watch it at home.

“Okay, sounds good, I’ll see you later” I laugh as I hear chatter start up on the other end of the phone.

“Okay, love you”

I roll my eyes, “Love you”

I hang up and let out a breath, walking back towards his bedroom so that I can get dressed and head home. 

His room looks like a mess, pillows laying on the floor, clothes sprawled about, the sheets on his bed pulled so that the corner of his mattress is showing.

I take a deep breath, god damn.

I find the black lace of my underwear and start to slide them on, gasping as my eyes settled on my skin.

My inner thighs had soft purple hickeys scattered all around the skin, some also present on my stomach and chest, the worst one being on my collarbone.

“Holy shit” I whisper to myself, my fingers poking at the ones on my thighs, but my jaw goes slack at the barely visible marks on my hips.

The shape of finger tips were etched into the skin of my hips like a shadow, barely visible, but definitely there, a reminder of where his large hands hand been.

My hand flies up to cover my mouth, stifling the laugh that rises out of my throat.

Why the hell do I think that’s funny?

I shake my head, sliding my underwear the rest of the way on, and clasping my bra back on my body, I look for my dress for a few minutes before remembering it was out in the living room, so I grab my shoes and head out.

I look at my reflection in the huge windows and frown, my eyes tracing over the soft purple hickeys on my collarbone and chest, my dress hardly covering any marks on my upper body, how the hell am I going to cover them?

You just had to mark me up Harry.

Then my eyes settle on the fabric of Harry’s dress shirt from last night, laying carelessly on the floor, and I shrug.

Hope he doesn't mind.

I pull it over my shoulders, rolling up the sleeves and tying it up, buttoning it up to cover my collarbone.

That’s better.

I start to walk towards the door, my heals clicking as they meet the wooden flooring of his entry way.

Then, my eyes settle on a piece of paper taped on the door. 

Also, if you turn the lock before you leave, the door should lock when it closes, there is some money on cabinet to your left if you don’t have any for a cab

 My heart starts to swell again as my eyes flash to the money placed on the surface of the cabinet beside me.

I leave the money there, and I do what he says and I turn the lock before I head out, hearing it click behind me. 

Walking back out of the apartment I can’t help but be mind boggled and how fancy everything is, from the bouquets at every corner, to the detailing on the doors as I walk out, everything is so elegant and sleek. 

The cab ride back to my apartment was almost thirty minutes long, which if it weren’t for the music fest causing traffic at every intersection, I’m sure it would have only been about fifteen. 

As I walk through the door, and I hear the chatter in the living room of the apartment I shared with Harper, Evelyn, and Paige, I brace myself for the interrogation session.

When the door clicks, the conversation stops.

“Anna?” 

“Yeah?” I ask, coming out from around the corner, their eyebrows all raised.

“Spill the tea” Evelyn demands, crossing her legs under her on the couch.

“There is nothing to spill, it’s pretty fucking obvious” I set down my bag on the messy counter and slip out of my heels. 

“Yeah, but you’ve never come home past six before” Harper chimes in.

“I was tired” I shrug, “Had a busy week”

“Oh sure, tired from the week” Harper says sarcastically, giving a look at Paige and Evelyn. 

“You’ve also never wore their shirt home” Paige adds, pointing to the dark dress shirt I was in, and I tug up the collar again, hoping they couldn’t see through me. 

“I was cold” I brush off their glances, but Harper’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Bullshit” she calls out, getting up from the couch.

“Guys, I’m done talking about this, can we please just move on, it’s not like I’ve never hooked up with someone before” I plead, cautiously eyeing Harper as she walks over to me. 

“C’mon, just show us” she pouts, and Paige and Evelyn nod enthusiastically from the other couch. 

“Then will you guys shut up?” I ask, crossing my arms. 

They all nod, and Paige crosses her heart. 

I sigh, undoing the dress shirt and slipping it off my shoulders. Harper’s mouth hangs open as Evelyn and Paige gasp. 

“Holy shit!” Paige exclaims, stumbling over the couch to come investigate, Evelyn trailing behind her. 

Harper pokes at my skin, and I roll my eyes, heat flushing to my face.

They should see my thighs if they think this is intense.

“So he is good with his mouth?” Evelyn comments, and I smack her arm as Harper and Paige bust out laughing. 

“Guys! Can we please move on?” I groan as I pull the shirt back on. 

“Fine” Paige giggles while Evelyn rubs her arm.

The next few days they keep proding for more information and poking fun at me, starting to call him “hickey boy”

Harper was very proud of that nickname, I however was extremely embarrassed.

When Tuesday rolled around, and I had come home from several job interviews, I was surprised when my friends were all giddy when I walked in the door.

“What?” I ask, eyeing them suspiciously as they all grin at me like five year olds waiting to open their presents on Christmas morning.

“We are taking you out” Paige says vaguely, and I quirk my eyebrow at her.

“You’ve been working so hard these last few days, and we want to take you out so you can let go of all that stress” Evelyn explains, and I sigh.

“I don’t know guys, I’m pretty tired”

“Nonsense!” Harper exclaims, “C’mon, let’s go out and forget about everything for a few hours”

I sigh, rubbing my head, “Fine”

They squeal and jump up, already talking about what they are going to wear.

I roll my eyes, a smile on my lips.

A whopping two hours later we are finally heading out the door, hopping into Harper’s old car and starting it up. 

I settled on an over sized T-shirt and jean shorts, trying to go for a more casual look, plus there was still a few faint marks left from my night with Harry. Harper wore a cropped black tank top, and a pair of plaid pants with a belt and chain, her combat boots complementing her legs nicely. Evelyn wore a jean skirt and neon pink tube top with her hair in a high pony and huge hoops on her ears. Paige however, wore a simple sundress, her converse giving the look a very high school love story vibe, but she looked stunning none the less. 

They decided that trying out the music fest this year would suffice my apparent need to let go of stress.

We filtered through traffic, parked several blocks back, and headed into the fest within the next hour, chatting and enjoying each others company. Evelyn pointing out several hot guys along the way.

What can I say, she can’t help herself. 

The festival was loud and crowded, several people yelling and cheering anytime the lights would flash, or if they just felt like it. 

When the music did finally start up, it was like a raging pit of beer and sweat, everybody jumped around and screamed, especially when a hardcore rock band came on stage, but after about an hour and a half, the crowd settled and it simmered back down to just cheering and dancing. 

The bands and musical artists would shuffle through, only a few minutes between each act, and between the cheap alcohol and Harper cracking jokes at any body who dances funny, I was having a blast.

Of course anytime with them is the best time.

The stage lit up, signaling the start of another performance, and we watched as a man strolled casually on stage, his band already set up behind him.

My eyebrows crash down in confusion when I recognize the brown head of hair that frames him like a halo.

No way in hell.

“Hello New York!” that smooth accent rolls over the crowd, and my heart stops.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

My eyebrows shoot straight up, and my mouth falls open, like one of those scenes in a cartoon.

“Anna?” Paige turns to me, but I can’t even look her in the eyes, I can’t look away from him.

This is a dream, definitely a dream, it has to be.

“Pinch me” I blurt out, feeling the confusion that now radiates off of my friends as Evelyn takes a hold of the skin on my wrist and pinches me.

Shit.

“Anna, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost” Harper points out, their faces now circling me, fading in and out of my vision as I try to keep my eyes on him.

He looks good, of course he does, but the loud suit catches my attention.

Is that floral?

Whatever it was, he looks like an angel in it, like he seems to always do.

Evelyn’s hands grab my face, and she makes me focus on her, “Earth to Anna!”

“He-...” I point weakly to the stage, feeling my head spin.

They follow my finger to the stage, watching as he dances under the microphone, his voice filling my ears.

Voice of a fucking angel, of course.

“What?” Paige looks at me like I have lost my mind. I point again, my heart stammering in my chest, and my mouth dryer than the fucking dessert.

“That’s him” I whisper, and my friends share worried glances, before Harper slaps a hand over her mouth.

“No fucking way Anna! That’s hickey boy!”

I cringe at the nickname she insists on giving him, and I smooth my hand through my hair, giving a nod.

“No way” Evelyn gasps, and Paige’s jaw just drops. Harper bounces up and down with excitement, and they all shuffle around to get a better look at him.

His voice rolls over the crowd again, rumbling straight through me, “I’ve never played this one before, just wrote it actually, hope y’enjoy it”

“One, Two, Three, Four!” he shouts.

Then the guitar and drums hit, and the crowd goes wild, while I’m just staring at him completely in shock.

“Don’t know where you’re laying,” his voice holds that same subtle gravel that I remember, as his leg bounces up and down with the beat, “Just know it’s not with me”

By now my friends are giggling and I can tell they are trying to talk to me, but I let his voice drown everything else out, the thick sweet sound giving me butterflies.

“Don’t know what I’d tell you if I passed you on the street”

I can’t believe the man in front of me, confidence radiating through him like sunshine, his movements strong and sure.

“I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me, oh, Anna!”

My stomach drops as my friends eyes snap towards me.

Did he just say my name?

“The hell?” Evelyn whispers, “Did he just say your name?” she asks, mirroring my thoughts.

Holy fuck.

“Every time I see you face there’s only so much I can take, oh, Anna!”

“Anna! he wrote a fucking song about you?” Harper exclaims, her voice making it sound more like a question, like she didn’t quite believe this was happening.

I can’t blame her, I was still wrapping my head around it too, but Anna is a very popular name, I’m sure it’s not about me, it can’t be, I only spent one night with him.

“Don’t know how you taste when there’s smoke in your perfume”

I quirk my eyebrows, this is definitely not about me, it can’t be, that lyric has zero correlation with me.

Right?

“Chew me up and spit me out, nothing left to lose, I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me, oh, Anna!” the guitar strikes up, and he dances around, pumping his arms and swinging his head to the beat as the man to the left of him grinds out a guitar riff that’s bubbly and upbeat.

“I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me oh, Anna! Every time I see your face there’s only so much I can take oh, Anna!”

My stomach seems to drop and twist further every time my name rolls from his lips, and I realize that the crowd had gone nuts, hollering and screaming out as he seems to soak it all in.

“Hope you never hear this, and know that it’s for you, I don’t know what I’d tell you if you asked me for the truth” 

By now my head was spinning, my throat dry and my heart racing, I felt dizzy and light headed.

What the hell?

“I don’t want your sympathy, but you don’t know what you do to me oh, Anna! Every time I see your face there’s only so much I can take oh, Anna!”

Suddenly the lights started to sting, and my world continued to sway, back and forth, back and forth.

I tried to swallow, but the dryness of my throat made my tongue feel like sandpaper, and my legs begin to wobble. I felt like I was placed in the dryer, the crowd around me spinning and spinning, and I was just a helpless piece of clothing.

Another guitar solo bounced in and out of my ears, my head seeming to amplify it as the song continued.

My vision started to blur when the beat changed, and I reached a hand out to try and steady the world around me.

“Guys...” I suck in a sharp breath, oxygen becoming thin, and I feel hands on my arms.

“Anna?”

“Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body”

His voice is the last thing that goes through my mind when it all went black, the music fading as my eyes roll back into my head, my body crumbling to the ground.

[cadday]

Collateral Damage: Chapter 7

Even is the worst, and Braig hated lab duties. He’s pretty much sprawled across a table instead of using the perfectly serviceable chair next to him. Even is on a tirade, lecture, rant or something about whatever it is he’s working on. Ienzo is chiming in every now and then as much as the pint sized genius can contribute. Kid’s a mini genius, which is why Even and him get along so well. He can keep up with the tirade’s of science the blonde goes on. Braig not so much. He wasn’t stupid, and he had taken part in a fair share of experimenting, technically he’s gone further with experiments that Even would never consider now…

Regardless though he just didn’t have the attention span for this. He was more hands on and discussing and documenting and all that jazz was just not something he could focus on. Eventually Even just kinda droned in the background as he let his mind wander. This went on for a while until Even at some point made his way over to him and dropped a stack of books on his chest.

“Hey what the hell!” Braig sat up and the books toppled to his lap. He looked around and realized it was just the two of them and sighed.

“You could at least make an effort to pretend to listen.” Even sat in the chair Braig hadn’t used and began to write something on the stupid clipboard of his. Braig picked up one of the books in his lap and frowned down at the title. ‘Beyond Light and Dark, the theory of the balance of a heart’. Braig waved the book in Even’s direction.

“You don’t read this crap do you?” Even looked up from what he was doing and shrugged. Before sticking a hand out as if he was afraid Braig was going to smack him with said book. To be fair it was a possibility.

“It’s research, honestly all of this is theoretical anyway. It’s not like we have any subjects we can use and the morality of that is dubious at best. So theory it is.” Braig snorts and opens the book with a frown.

“Shouldn’t believe any of the drivel Dr. Hollander wrote. Man’s view on the world is freakin warped as hell and don’t even get me started on how wrong this stuff is. ‘The balance of ones heart can create a perfect superior being. A strong heart can maintain and control the darkness while also keeping their light…’ Total bullshit my dude.” Even looks up from his clipboard with an odd expression.

“I wasn’t aware you had read any of Dr. Hollanders work. I had meant to send that with you as a punishment for lying about the whole time. I wouldn’t have taken you to read a theoretical book on hearts on your own time,” He hadn’t, Even had made him or was supposed to make him read it for homework last time as well. “How do you suppose he is wrong? None of this can be tested.”

“Can’t be tested by people with morals and ethics, what makes you think this Dr. Hollander guy had any? Wasn’t he a member of the same lab that one guy was? The one who did child experiments?” He ignores the fact that once upon a time a man with white haired had distorted Even’s morals so much that he had done the same. 

“That story is closer to a ghost story it happened well before we were born and the actual ‘child experimentation’ has no real documented proof to speak of.” Braig shrugs and shuts the book before dropping it on the floor.

“It’s absolute drivel Even. Darkness can’t just be controlled and still allow you to maintain your light. Shit like that has consequences.” Even rolls his eyes and when did this become him lecturing the other because Braig was beginning to feel uncomfortable being the responsible apprentice. Change of subject was in order.

“Where’s Ienzo run off too?”

“He was given an errand to run with a vague enough time frame that he can abuse it and act like a child with those brat’s Isa and Lea that are now running around the castle as well.” Braig lays back against the table again and opens the other book that had been dropped on him, ‘The light in all of us’ by some Dr. Crescent. Seemed more promising.

“Look at you Even, such a good Dad you are.”

“I am not his…”

“Aw now don’t be like that, singles with kids are very attractive these days. We can finally set you up with a nice guy, Master Ansem will be thrilled to walk you down the aisle.”

“Would you cease your ridiculous…”

“Hey I am only trying to keep your best interests in mind. As an older brother…”

“Older brother my ass, you're more like an infant. Would you care to be the flower girl for this imaginary wedding of mine.”

“Excuse you I am at least a toddler. Also I would be the best flower girl.” Even smacked his leg with his clipboard and Braig made a half assed attempt to kick him back. “Ienzo get’s to be ring bearer obviously. Dilan and Aeleus can be your Men of honor.”

“Why am I fulfilling the female role of my hypothetical wedding?”

“Because that waistline deserves a proper tailored dress dude.” Even’s face turned so red that Braig nearly fell off the table laughing. 

“You are the worst. The absolute worst.” It’s said with no real bite though and eventually the conversation lulls and they both turn their attention back to what they had at hand, or literally in their hands. Braig would read in silence till he read something he disagreed with or just seemed bizarre. Even continued to scribble down who knows what but would listen and comment on Braig’s opinions. It was familiar, and Braig thinks he should have more memories of similar events but for all it feels like they do this all the time he finds the memories varied and mostly infrequent. He assumes it’s more things missing from his mind and he wonders how much of these people who are so important to him he has forgotten. 

Ienzo wanders back in eventually making an attempt to look nonchalant and not like he had just been running around the halls with the red and blue messes looking for the girl they were set on finding and then getting distracted by doing something like stair sledding. 

“Ienzo do you want to be the ring bearer at Even’s wedding?” Ienzo looks startled by the question and then looks between him and Even as if he is trying to unravel the world mysteries.

“Even is getting married?” He says it slowly as if he isn’t certain the words are right.

“Braig I swear I am going to…”

“I mean maybe one day but like planning ahead, I already called flower girl.” Even hits him with the clipboard again and Braig makes a show of flinging himself off the table dramatically holding his leg where he was hit. Ienzo though is standing by the door seriously contemplating something when Even turns back to him to try to stop the nonsense.

“I suppose ring bearer could be entertaining. You have my blessing for your wedding.” 

“I am not getting married and why would I need your blessing?”

“Do kids of single parents not get to give input into these things?” Even does this gaping like a fish thing before flinging his arms dramatically in the air and glaring at Braig before he flees the room.  Ienzo, who had moved over to the stack of books littering the desk that he had taken over long ago, looked very proud of himself as he began sorting through his organized chaos.

“Congrats kid you win the day.” Ienzo doesn’t look up but he’s definitely smiling.