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islesnucks · 3 years

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BACKUP BABYSITTERS - MAT BARZAL X READER

It's here! once again thank u @softbarzal for inspiring this

Word Count: 3.5 k

Warning: none

Summary: your date with Mat is cut short when a friend asks you to look after her daughter, but then he tags along

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“Please, please, please. I have to stay here for like 3 more hours and I already called the babysitter and she can’t stay longer. Just put on a movie and I promise she won’t cause any trouble.” your friend basically begged you from the other side of the phone.

“It’s not that I’m worried about taking care of her, I love spending time with her, but I’m in the middle of a date Lili.” you told her, turning your head to look at Mat who was sitting back on your table. He sent a small smirk your way, probably because he saw your furrowed brows.

“Shit I forgot that was today.” There was a long silence but you knew what was coming next. “Can’t you leave early? I know I’m asking a lot and I promise I’ll make it up to you.” You could sense the desperation in her tone and you knew she wouldn’t be asking this if it wasn’t really the only option, so there wasn’t much to think about. Even if it meant leaving Mat not even halfway into the date, you had to do it.

“Ok, sure tell the nanny I’ll be there in 15.” you said and heard Lili let out a deep sigh making you smile. Being a single mom wasn’t easy and if you could help your friend in any way you most surely would.

“You are the best. Seriously. Best human being in existence.”

“I know, I know. Now get back to work before they fire you.”

“Love you, bye.”

“Love you too.”

Mat watched you talk on the phone, intrigued but trying not to be noisy. It was clear to see you were in distress and that caused him to worry. Soon you were making you way back to the table. He felt a bit of deja vu seeing you walk to the table like you had done earlier that night when you arrived at the restaurant, gorgeous as ever, taking his breath away. Only that now instead of that beautiful smiled that would appear whenever you looked at him, you had a concerned look on your face, which only made him worry more. You were just trying to come up with a way of telling him you had to leave right now without it sounding like a lame excuse to dip.

“Is everything okay?” he asked as soon as you were next to him.

“Yeah, just a little change of plans.” you started to say, without taking your seat and grabbing your coat from behind it. “I have to leave, like right now.”

“What happened?” He was genuinely preoccupied which warmed your heart.

“Remember my friend Lili? The one that has a daughter of 5?” you asked and he nodded. You had told him about her on one of your first dates some weeks ago. “There was some problem at her office, she has to stay longer and the girl that babysits for her can’t stay the extra hours so she called me to see if I could go take care of little Amy...”

“And you said yes.” he finished the sentence for you.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I promise I’m not making this up.” you were quick to add making him chuckle. “I really was enjoying this but she’s my best friend and Amy is like a niece. I can’t not help her.”

“Don’t worry I totally get it. We can raincheck, no big deal.” he said grabbing your hand in a reassuring manner. “Do you have a ride?”

“No, but I’ll order an uber-”

“Don’t. I’ll give you a ride.” he quickly said standing up, not letting go of your hand.

“You really don’t have to-”

“I’ll take every extra bit of time I can get with you miss.” Your cheeks turned red at his comment and he smiled down at you, loving the effect he had on you.

After making your way to the counter and failing to convince Mat to split the check for the food you weren’t even able to finish, you walked to his car hand in hand.

On the ride low music played in the background as you made conversation and Mat took advantage of every single red light to sneak a kiss or two. However the ride was shorter than you would have wanted it, in a couple minutes you were in front of Lili’s house.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” he said taking off his seat belt. You open your mouth ready to tell him he didn’t have to, but before you could Mat added: “Don’t even try to stop me, every minute counts, remember?” He leaned in to give you a final peck on the lips and then rapidly left the car to go around and open the door for you.

“Such a gentleman.” you joked taking the hand he was offering.

“I try my best.”

He closed the door behind you and gently moved your hand so it would be wrapped around his arm as you walked up to the door. Once there you rang the bell and within the second the door was opening showing you a really stressed teenager.

“Hi you must be Y/N, right?” she asked, already putting on her coat and grabbing her backpack. You nodded. “Thank you for rushing here. I really wish I could stay but I have another kid I have to babysit. Please tell Lili I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t worry she gets it.” you tried to calm her down.

“Amy is in the living room-” she started to say only to be interrupted by the 5 year old suddenly appearing down the hallway. Her eyes went wide and she smiled as she ran down the hall screaming your name.

“Aunty Y/N!” she screamed before jumping into your arms. You couldn’t help but laugh, wrapping your arms around her and positioning her on your side, resting her weight on your hip. Mat was beaming beside you, eyes full of adoration as he watched the sweet exchange.

“How’s my favorite niece doing?”

“I’m your only niece.” she remarked making you and Mat laugh once again.

“You’re getting too smart.” you joked poking her side to make her giggle.

“She already ate but there’s some food on the fridge if you get hungry, and we were about to watch Frozen 2.” the babysitter said as she crossed the door, clearly on a rush to leave.

“Wait do you have a ride or something to get to your next house? It’s already too late to be walking outside alone. I can give you a ride if you need.” Mat said before the girl could leave. You looked at him, a bit surprised by his words but at the same time not at all since you knew how gentlemanly he could get. How he could go from behaving like a kid to an adult within a second still amazed you.

“Oh don’t worry I have my car, but thanks!” she replied, pulling out the keys to the car. “Bye Amy, see you tomorrow.” she added waving to the little girl.

“Bye!” Amy replied waving back to her. The three of you watched making sure the girl got back to get her car safely and once she was gone you closed the door and turned to look at Mat.

“That was such a dad thing to do considering she’s probably not that much younger than us” you teased him.

“I was being polite.”

“I know. I loved it.” you said giving him a wink and made your way to the living room before he could respond.

He watched you walk down the hall with the little girl in your arms and had to tell himself it was way too early in your relationship to start fantasizing about what your kids would look like, but that wasn’t enough to stop him from doing it.

“So we’re watching Frozen 2?” you asked Amy as you placed her on the couch and sat beside her.

“Who is he?” she asked referring to Mat, completely ignoring your question. You surely weren’t about to explain to a 5 year old the concept of dating and boyfriends. Plus you and Mat hadn’t talked about where your relationship stood, so you actually had to discover that yourself before telling the little girl. But as you looked for the right words Mat appeared on the living room and answered.

“I’m Mat. I’m a friend of your aunt.” he said followed by his best smile, but you could tell he was a bit nervous meeting the kid. Especially because he knew kids had no filter whatsoever so she was gonna say whatever came to her mind. He just hoped it was something good.

Amy looked him up and down, sword of examining him and Mat could have sworn he hadn’t felt that judged ever since his fitness test at the scouting years ago. You tried to hold in the giggles as you watched the grown man standing a bit awkwardly in front of you, being extremely intimidated by a 5 year old. Amy then scooted close to you and lifted herself on her knees putting her hands around her mouth and reaching your year to tell you a secret. Nevertheless she was still a loud young kid so what intended to sound like a whisper ended up being loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Is he the cute hockey player you and mom talked about?” she asked and your eyes went wide and face red. You looked at Amy surprised she had just said that and then looked at Mat, who was looking away pretending not to have heard that but the wicked smile on his face said he had.

“We really have to start being more careful with what we say around you.” you jokingly reprimanded her making her giggle. “But yes he is.”

Your eyes went to Mat after saying that, wanting to see his reaction. Proud smile and puffed out chest, it was clear to see he liked hearing that. Mat was a man that thrived on praise, everyone knew that, but he was happy just hearing that you talked about him with your friend. It made him feel important, like he was part of your life and he loved it. He had talked about you to everyone who was willing to hear really, he actually couldn’t shut up about you sometimes and that resulted in his friends teasing him constantly, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was that apparently you were as into the relationship as he was, that couldn’t make him happier.

Amy nodded and then seemed to think about something serious for a moment before turning back to Mat.

“Are you going to watch Frozen 2 with us?” she simply asked like it was the most casual thing ever. You started panicking a bit, heart raising on your chest. This was the first time Mat met someone from your life, it didn’t matter if it was a 5 year old girl who didn’t really understand what was going on. You didn’t want to rush things only to end up scaring him away like it had happened with other guys you’d dated.

“Well Amy, Mat has other things-” you started to explain to her, trying to get out of what could turn out to be a really awkward moment.

“If you aunty is okay with it, then sure I’d love to watch Frozen 2 with you.” he replied with the sweetest grin in his face, but you still feared he just felt some kind of obligation to stay because Amy was the one asking.

“That’s sweet Mat but you really don’t have to. I’m sure there are thousand things you’d like to do rather than watching a kids movie.”

“First of all, Frozen 2 rocks, I wanna watch it. Secondly for the third time tonight, everything I’m doing is because I want to not because I feel like I have to.” he reassured you, washing away once and for all any insecurity left in you. You smiled at him, biting your bottom lips in disbelief, wondering how you had gotten so lucky.

“Then I guess Mat is staying for movie night.” you told Amy and she stood on the couch and started clapping. “But I have to warn you, Mat eats all the popcorn.”

“That’s not true!” he replied, taking his hand to his chest in pretended offense.

“Ok Mat and I will go make some popcorn and you Amy go get your stuffed animals because we can’t watch a movie without them, right?” you said and Amy was instantly rushed to her room making both of you chuckle.

You stood up and grabbed Mats hand, dragging him across the house to the kitchen.

“Is Lili going to be fine with this? You know, she doesn’t know me and I’m hanging around her daughter, I don’t want you to get in any trouble.” Mat said leaning against the isle as you walked around the kitchen grabbing everything you needed for the popcorn.

“I’m like her second mother, Lili trusts me and I trust you to be around Amy so there won’t be any problem.” you told him as you put the bag on the microwave. Those words meant more to Mat that you would have guessed, you didn’t noticed but his cheeks went a bit red and he couldn't contain his smile. He couldn’t understand why you letting him into your life had such and effect on him, and he couldn’t quite put a name yet to the bubbling feeling you caused on him, but he would later realize it was love.

Soon you felt a pair of arms wrapping around your waist and his chest pressing against your back as he rested his chin in your shoulder.

“Thank you, it really means a lot.” he whispered into your ear, squeezing you a little. You knew the action was supposed to be cute, but his hot breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine.

“Could you be any more perfect?” you said turning around in his embrace to face him after turning on the microwave, being met with his all too familiar smug smile that made you roll your eyes and chuckle at the same time. He was about to reply something cocky surely, but you decided to erase that smile of his with a kiss.

You placed your arms around his neck, bringing him closer, as his hands stayed firmly in your waist. His lips fitted with yours in perfect rhythm, like it was meant to be. You wanted to deepen the kiss so badly but a voice inside your head kept on reminding you there was a really energetic, curious little girl around the house that run into the kitchen any second from now. And just as you were thinking that you heard her.

“I’m ready!” her voice traveled around the house from the living room to the kitchen, making you and Mat instantly stop kissing. There was a moment of silence and you looked at each other before you broke out in laughter.

“That’s our cue.” you said freeing yourself from Mat’s embrace. Then you opened the microwave to get the popcorn out as Mat handed you the bowl you had set aside earlier. As soon as you put the popcorn in said bowl Mat’s hand was reaching to grab some.

“Don’t.” You jokingly slapped his hand which made him look at you with furrowed brows. “It’s still hot, you’ll burn yourself.”

“I already kissed you and I’m fine so...” he said with the cheekiest smile, making you roll your eyes at the cheesy comment. Then grabbed some quickly taking it to his mouth, only to start groaning in pain one second later.

“I told you it was hot Mathew. I thought I’d be babysitting one 5-year-old today, not two.”

“I didn’t think it would be that hot-” he started to defend himself but was cut off.

“When are you coming?!” Amy shouted again.

“We’re going! We’re going!” you replied between giggles, grabbing the bowl with one hand and Mat with the other and making you way back to the living room.

When you made it to the room you found 2 stuffed animals carefully placed in the couch facing the tv and Amy next to them wrapped around the Frozen blanket you had gifted her not too long ago.

“I see you have everything ready.” you said placing the bowl on the coffee table.

“Mat sits next Sammy and Eddie.” she pointed out signaling Mat to sit between a stuffed dolphin and a cat, which he instantly did. “And aunty sits with Eddie and me.”

You bit your lip trying to hold in your laughter as you took your seat between your niece and the stuffed cat she had obviously placed there intentionally so you wouldn’t be next to Mat. But the moment he looked at you lifting his eyebrows in amusement a giggle escaped your lips.

“What’s funny?” Amy asked watching as the two of you exchanged looks.

“Nothing, nothing. Let’s watch the movie.” you replied, grabbing the control and starting the movie. Amy snuggled to your side and you could feel Mat’s arm behind your head as he stretched it on the back of the couch.

Within 20 minutes Amy was already asleep with her head in your chest and your left arm wrapped around her holding her close. That’s when you decided to put away the stuffed cat that served as a barrier. Mat looked at you confused, not wanting to do anything that could make the little girl dislike him.

“She’s asleep.” you whispered to him, he had been too focused on the movie to notice. “Sorry about Eddie the cat, she can be a little territorial.” you explained making Mat smile.

You tapped the new empty seat next to you signaling him to move closer and Mat scooted over to your side, placing his arm around you as you gently nestled into his side, trying not to wake Amy up.

“And sorry about tonight, I know this isn’t what you had planed.” you said turning you head to face him.

“Stop apologizing Y/N. I have you by my side, that’s all I need.” he told you and even though his face was barely visible, poorly lit only by the light emitted by the tv, you could see a certain spark in his eyes that showed you how honest he was being. “Also this movie is actually great.” he added, making you laugh.

“You’re earning a lot of points tonight Barzal.” you said stretching your neck to kiss him briefly before cuddling back to his side. He then placed a kiss on the top of your head and went back to watch the movie, which he was clearly enjoying.

Lili arrived at her house over an hour later. She wasn’t surprised when she opened the door to a completely silent house, expecting you to have put Amy to bed by then. However she was surprised when she walked into her living room only to find the three of you asleep on the couch.

Amy had changed position and now was laying on the couch, still wrapped in her blanket, with her head laying on your lap as your arm was placed over her. Mat and you hadn’t moved that much, his arm still wrapped around your shoulders and your head on his chest, but now his head was resting on top of yours, moving your hair a bit with every deep breath he took.

Lili smiled to herself as he took in the scene. This was actually the first time she had seen Mat in person, but she was not mad at all, she actually found it quite cute.

She carefully lifted her daughter in her arms, trying not to wake neither of you up. Amy’s arms instantly wrapped around her neck as she watched you unconsciously snuggle further into Mat’s chest now that Amy had left your side.

Needless to say you and Mat woke up the next morning really confused, not even remembering falling asleep the night before, and with terrible neck pain, but you woke up next to each other which was enough to make it a good morning.

hope you liked it! likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tagging those who asked to or seemed interested:

@spencereidbasis @2manytabsopen @spencereidbasis @bbbbruins @softbarzal @dreamer1430 @matsbarzals @hockeyandsht @barzysandmarnersbitch @shawnsreputation @glassdanse @tazeboes @barbienoturbby

Also here you can add yourself to my taglist for barzy or the other players i write for

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themangledsans0508 · 4 years

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Grasping at Control

Allie can suck my wee if she’s reading this you bitch.

TW: Self-Harm

Tweek Tweak considered himself the most fucked-up person in the entirety of South Park, which was quite an achievement considering he went to school with actual sociopaths, murderers, and drug dealers.

Yet here he was, a cocktail of addiction, anxiety, ADHD, and depression. He felt pretty alone, despite all the years he had to make friends and come to terms with himself. One of two kids out as gay, and very few adults in their town understanding, much less out themselves; he had no one to talk to.

Just thinking about it made him want to curl up into a ball and suffocate.

And he tried.

He wrapped himself up in blankets and cried.

He cried for what felt like ages before he got sick of feeling miserable from the stale air that had just enough oxygen in it to keep him alive.

He crawled out and sat, shaking violently. Why did he want this to happen? Why didn’t he want to be alive?

Mr Mackey had lectured them many, many times on what to do if you or someone you knew felt like they wanted to kill themselves, and Tweek wouldn’t hesitate to act if someone else felt the same way he did.

So why didn’t he care about himself?

He thought back to fourth grade when Kim Jong Un marked him as a possible target if war were to break out and Craig brought him to an amusement park.

“Well, I’m sorry that I’m actually in control of my goddamn emotions, you baby!”

That exchange had only been a minute long, but Tweek had never forgotten it. Craig was right, he wasn’t in control of his emotions. For fuck’s sake, he wasn’t even in control of his movements.

He wasn’t in control of anything. He snapped back to the present from the pain of his hair being torn out by himself, and he tried to stop himself.

His movements were involuntary, even when putting his force against them he couldn’t stop himself.

He screamed in frustration. He didn’t care if anyone heard him, because he knew from experience that nobody would do anything even if he was being murdered. His own parents didn’t care for him. The only reason his dad kept him was because having a kid helped his coffee shop. As he got older, his dad also got free labour out of him as the form of “chores.”

His hands flew from his hair to his arms, tearing up his skin to the point he bled. He looked down to see the mess and rushed to the bathroom to prevent his room from turning into a crime scene.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Small patches of hair missing from his scalp, large bags under his eyes that served to highlight the tears running down his face. There were scratches down his cheeks from his nails dragging down his face and when he raised his hand to feel them, his arms showed a nightmare of red lines intersecting so much that they looked like a terrible map.

He reached for the bandages under the counter and felt a flash of pain from a tear dropping onto an open wound on his arm. He bit back a yelp of pain and a horrible idea came to him. He reached for a razor in the cabinet.

Maybe there was something he could control.

Craig Tucker liked to call himself a “good boyfriend.”

Sure, he wasn’t perfect, nobody was. He still had spats with his lover just as everyone else did. However, as they aged and matured, those spats stopped being physical very quickly as they aged and by eleven they were purely verbal.

They didn’t have them frequently either, and they didn’t last very long.

So, as a good boyfriend would be, he was concerned when Tweek didn’t come to school. He tried texting him, then calling him to no avail. He didn’t like that, Tweek would usually tell him if he was sick, or pick up the phone when Craig called.

“Craig, dude,” Token said, “maybe he’s asleep or something.”

“He doesn’t sleep Token. He breathes coffee,” Craig sighed.

“Okay, maybe he left his phone somewhere,” Clyde offered. Craig nodded.

“Probably.” Craig could hear the static noise of his friends talking about girls, football, or other things he would usually be amused by.

Concerned was not something that people would normally think Craig Tucker was capable of being. Once upon a time, they were probably right. Tweek taught him how to comprehend emotions instead of pretending they didn’t exist, even if he still preferred not to express them.

Tweek brought out the best in him. Craig helped him find his center. They balanced each other out pretty well.

Craig would be lying, however, if he said he didn’t keep secrets from Tweek. His secrets weren’t anything terrible like he murdered someone or he was cheating on Tweek, but that he had anxiety himself.

He never told Tweek because he decided early on he could deal with it himself. He was constantly worried that something would happen to Tweek or any of his other friends. With the town that they lived in and the fact that he had actually been kidnapped and dragged to Peru once, he felt those fears were justified.

While he would never claim his anxiety was as bad or even worse than Tweek’s, it had given him his fair share of sleepless nights and long days.

Situations like this had happened a few times before and never failed to set off his anxiety.

Perhaps his friends were onto his lies, or maybe they could simply tell that this was bothering him more than he would let on, but they gave him some space.

He appreciated that.

Tweek sat on his bed, staring at his arm. His room was littered with lego bricks, empty coffee cups, and bandage wrappers.

While he was in general rather prone to accidentally hurting himself, the sheer amount of fresh wounds dancing down his arms exposed what actually occurred.

He couldn’t risk anyone finding out about it, especially Craig.

He loved Craig too much for him to have the burden of this on his shoulders. He couldn’t imagine what he would say when he found out.

If he found out.

Tweek had no intention of telling him, and he wouldn’t let him see either.

But he couldn’t skip school forever.

He sighed in frustration. He didn’t know what he was feeling. Anger, sadness, frustration, regret, or maybe a mix of it all.

He felt lost

Craig inserted his copy of Tweek’s house key into the lock.

They both had a key to each other’s house, and they had for a long time. Since they began dating to be exact. They respected each other’s privacy though, and if Tweek told him to leave, he would.

He opened the door and poked his head in. The house was dark, which didn’t really surprise him since both the matriarch and the patriarch of the family were working in the coffee shop.

“Tweek? Are you in here?” he called

The house was still, yet Craig went in anyways. He shut the door behind him and flicked on the light. There was no one downstairs, so he swiftly moved to the second floor and approached Tweek’s room. He knocked on the door gently.

“Tweek?” Craig listened for a response. He heard nothing but quiet breathing on the other side. “Tweek, is it alright if I come in?”

The boy on the other side remained silent.

“Tweek?”

“Go away, Craig.” His voice was sad and quiet, and the promise Craig had made got lost in the wind.

“What’s wrong Tweek?” Craig couldn’t stop the worry from flowing out in his voice, even though he tried.

“I’m sick Craig. Just go away. I don’t want to see you right now.” Tweek’s voice shook as he spoke, along with small jitters and whimpers. Craig could sense something was wrong and turned the doorknob.

He gently pushed against the door and to his surprise, it didn’t open. There was a weight against the door. It wasn’t heavy, well he wasn’t heavy. Craig knew exactly who was against the door. Tweek was never heavy, not even when they were little. He had gotten scrawnier and scrawnier as they aged since sometimes his anxiety made him just not be hungry, or even scared to eat. He would also forget, or be full from drinking so much coffee even though he drank far less than he used to.

Craig stopped pushing and heard the door quickly snap back into its place with a click. He wasn’t going to force the door open and possibly hurt Tweek, he wouldn’t risk that.

“Craig, please. Just-” he heard his voice break, “Please.” His voice broke, along with Craig’s last straw.

He silently went back down the stairs and out the house, turning to look up at Tweek’s window. The shades were drawn and the room behind them was dark.

Craig turned to look at the twin pines that grew next to the house. They had been there for longer than either boy had been alive, and had grown past the height of the window.

He walked over to the lush green plant and grabbed a hold of it’s lower branches, hoisting himself up. He repeated the movement multiple times until he was at the tip of the tree. The entire tip shuddered with his every breath and threatened to snap with his every movement.

The tree leaned over slightly, allowing Craig to reach over and tap the window. It flew open and Tweek pulled open that shade.

“Craig! What the hell are you doing?”

“Hanging out. Can I come in?”

Tweek cursed under his breath and reached his hands out. Craig accepted them and jumped into the window, cutting his legs on the branches of the tree. He tumbled through the window, landing on top of Tweek with an “oof.” He felt the stinging in his leg and light wetness and realised trying to climb into a window from a pine tree was a terrible idea.

“Tweek-”

“Craig, what the fuck?” Tweek panted. “Why did you fucking do that?”

Craig looked at the blonde boy underneath him. He was skin and bones, the bags under his eyes were huge. His face was tear-stained and scratched.

“Tweek, I know something’s wrong.” Craig pushed himself off Tweek and offered to help him up. Tweek simply stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

“You’re an idiot, Craig. Why don’t you ever just listen to me?”

Tweek let out a quiet sob and looked up at Craig.

“Craig, I’m a mess. What the hell do you want from me?” Craig lowered himself down to the floor and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Tweek, I want to know what’s wrong. We have to work together through these things, remember? Beat them together, expectations, resentment, all of it.” Tweek pushed Craig’s hand off him and jumped up.

“You want to know what’s wrong? What’s wrong is the fact that no matter what I do, I have no control over my life! Something that only I should control! Me and me alone! Everyone else controls it! I never became a knight or a queen, I’m still just a pawn in someone else’s fucking game! And guess what, pawns are expendable! I’m expendable. I’m not needed. That’s what’s wrong! I’m only a fucking tool for the entire world to use.”

Tweek waved his hands, exasperated. His voice shuddered with every word he said, tears ran down his cheeks. He twitched and whimpered every few seconds. His hands tore across his body, flying from his arms to his shirt to his hair.

Craig stepped forward and embraced him. He pulled him tight against his body and felt him tense up and wince slightly. Tweek pushed against him slightly in a poor attempt to break free of his grip, before he simply caved in and buried his face into Craig’s shoulder.

“I-I’m just replaceable Craig. My parents didn’t have to sell me into slavery because I’m already a slave to them. They control me, Craig.”

“What can we do about that, Tweek? There has to be something.” Craig tangled one of his hands in Tweek’s hair and had the other one rub circles into his back. His voice was not sarcastic or mocking, but gentle and genuine.

“I don’t know Craig. I’ve tried so many things, so many things. Nothing works, Craig. Nothing.”

“Let’s try something else then. Something together. You don’t have to do this alone, Tweek.” Craig lowered them down to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed and Tweek in his lap. “We can run away together. Get our own house.”

“We can’t do that. Your sister needs you. She’s only thirteen.”

“Fine. I’ll take you home with me then. You can live in my room.” Tweek shook his head.

“No, no. All these things put stress on you too. I want to deal with it myself,” he scolded. Craig sighed.

“I won’t let you do that. The whole point of a relationship is to deal with things together. If I can’t help you directly, then I want to be able to at least support you.”

“Where were you when I needed you? Why aren’t you ever here when I need you?” Tweek pushed himself out of Craig’s grip and stood up. “Why the fuck does everything go the shit when I’m not with you?” He shouted.

“What do you mean Tweek?” Craig slowly stood up and put his hands into his pockets.

“I mean why am I even more of a fucking mess without you?” Tweek’s hands flew up to his hair, causing his sleeves to slip down.

Craig didn’t miss the small movement, he had become very perceptive since they had started dating. He noticed the red lines and scabs weaving down his arms. He reached his hand over to intertwine their fingers and grab his attention.

“Tweek, what happened to your arms?”

“Huh?” Tweek looked down to the subject of Craig’s curiosity. When he realised what it was he attempted to pull himself out of Craig’s grip. “It’s nothing! I just fell!”

Craig’s grip strengthened just enough to keep a hold on Tweek but not enough to hurt him.

“Tweek, those weren’t from a fall.” Craig locked his own green eyes with Tweek’s blue ones. “Tell me the truth, Tweek. What are they from.”

“What the fuck do you think they are from? You aren’t dumb,” he snapped. Craig lurched forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Tweek. He pressed his full weight into him. For the first time in perhaps ever, he had no control over himself.

They toppled backwards onto Tweek’s bed. Craig manoeuvred them so they weren’t at risk of falling off the bed and rested his head so his ear was directly above Tweek’s heart.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“What were you thinking?” Craig’s voice was different. It wasn’t monotone or bland, it was raw and emotional and occasionally breaking. “Why would you do that?”

“I was in control. I knew what I was doing. Nobody was in charge of me.”

“Yeah, well, you could have fucking died! Those could have gotten infected. They could have gone too deep and cut a vein! Is a brief relief really worth that risk?” Craig let out a quiet sob and gripped Tweek’s shirt.

Everything hit Tweek suddenly. He wiggled out from under Craig to lay beside him instead. He placed his hands on his cheeks and pressed their foreheads together.

“Hey, hey, I know it was stupid, okay? I’m not going to do it again.” Tweek whispered.

“You better not,” Craig muttered.

“And if I’m feeling like shit,” Tweek continued, “I’ll call you or text you to come over.”

“Or you can come over to my place,” Craig countered.

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Craig rolled Tweek over and pulled him against his body. He moved his arms from his shirt to his waist and pulled him down so he could rest his chin on his head.

“Well, I’m tired,” he yawned. “Text my mom and tell her I’m staying here tonight.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Tweek asked.

“Well, because I’m about to take a nap.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yep.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Tweek said, “I have stuff I need to do.”

“Not anymore you don’t” Craig grumbled. “All you need to do is stay right here. I’m not moving until it’s time for school.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Well, we’ll have a terrible marriage then.”

There's gonna be a part two the angst isn't over my dears

#south park #creek sp #sp creek #creek #craigxtweek #craig tucker #craig x tweek #tweek x craig #tweekxcraig #tweek tweak #tw self harm #chara writes

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atreya300 · 3 years

Text

Slenderman and Creating Real Tulpas

I remember a couple of years ago finding out about Slenderman. It was so creepy that I looked into it a lot, especially when I heard the theory about Slenderman being a Tulpa. As if he wasn’t creepy enough just by being a made up story on the Internet, kids were killing other kids, or stabbing other kids, in order to “please Slenderman”. Clearly a game that they had invented and taken deadly seriously.

A Tulpa is an intended hallucination which can be sentient and have its own thoughts and personality. It is (according to the Tulpa Community, but not, I may add, folkloric legend) only seen by the person who created it, who has done so by prolonged periods of thinking solely about what the tulpa looks like, talks like, moves like etc, thus developing, in essence, another person who is sharing their body and mind, but functions as a separate personality. We know of lucid dreaming, as I have often done it myself. We’re aware that our brains are more than capable of producing extremely real and vivid hallucinations.

So is it entirely impossible that if enough people all put enough thought power into the creation of the same, singular individual, that a tulpa could be formed which could break free of the constraints of individual minds and be a person all of its own, with its own free will and the power to manipulate others? I believe it is possible. Call me crazy. My tin foil hat is firmly in place. It’s hilarious really when you consider that I laughed down the Flat Earthers, yet here I am saying that it’s possible to create an imaginary friend who can turn into a mind-bending, master manipulator.

I didn’t have many friends growing up. So I was one of the kids who didn’t mind admitting that I had invented an imaginary friend. His name was Bill and he was based off of Bill from ��Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure’ because I was obsessed with that movie. I would talk to him whilst walking home from school alone, ask him what he would do in my place during different situations that I was struggling with and he always had an answer that I imagined. I would say, “Bill, do you think [insert boyfriend name here] is a dick?” and in my head he would instantly say, “Hell yeah he is, you need to dump his ass!”. Of course, I never once thought that I had created another person. It was my imaginary friend. In my head. Made up by me. Well, me and Alex Winter. His instant “responses” was just my own subconscious mind telling me what I really, truly felt, without having to consciously think about it.

Having perused the Tulpa Community it seems to be an extremely dangerous rabbit hole. For one, what they are describing as “tulpas”, at best, mostly seem to be an adult version of an imaginary friend and at worst, a real mental health issue, possibly Dissociative Identity Disorder which is incredibly serious and is being passed off as something that is perfectly normal and almost a uncommon achievement to be able to create a tulpa, rather than the reality which is that there is real medical and psychological help out there for cases such as DID and it should certainly not be explained away as a deliberately induced imaginary friend who will solve all your problems for you. Passing it off as such could potentially make the case even worse. I’m not a psychologist. I’m just using common sense. If you cultivate something, it grows.

So. I have made a decision that I don’t buy into the Tulpa Community. There are also a lot of comments on YouTube videos and forums that are quite blatantly people who are full of absolute shit and others who are just clearly attention seeking. I thoroughly enjoyed the brilliant sarcastic responses to those comments.

Now let’s get serious (ish). Bear with me. Let’s get back to the theory of many people being able to collectively produce a tulpa.

As I said before, I became obsessed with Slenderman. I watched videos (all of Marble Hornets), read newspaper articles, looked at pictures, read stories, until he became my every waking thought. After a week and a half I developed sensations such as paranoia, racing heart, dizziness and the feeling of constantly being watched by something just out of the corner of my eye. I began having horrific nightmares and would wake up drenched in sweat. I stopped being able to lucid dream and wake myself up and was forced to play out the nightmares, helpless. It got to the point where I didn’t want to sleep. The times that my boyfriend had blessedly snored loudly enough to wake my conscious brain, I sat up in bed, exhausted, trying desperately to keep my eyes open and not fall back to sleep. Every shadow in the bedroom seemed to resemble Slenderman and I was convinced that as soon as the lights got dim or it was dark, he was there in the shadows waiting. I stopped going to bed before my boyfriend. I didn’t want to be in the house alone.

Looking back, naturally it all seems totally stupid. Me, a grown 35 year old, scaring myself silly because of a kids’ story on the internet. But what if it really is possible to create a tulpa by using enough collective subconscious power? Thousands of people in the world at the time were reading those same stories and scaring themselves silly like I was. If it was possible to create a tulpa, Slenderman and his fame would most certainly warrant it.

For anyone who isn’t familiar with the 80’s movie ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’, the main bad guy/killer is Freddy Kruger, a demon (who was a bloke who killed kids and then got burned in a fire by their fucked-off parents, then he came back from the dead in peoples’ dreams, as a...you know what, I don’t fucking actually really know what kind of thing Freddy is) who kills people in their dreams. Enough people get to know about him and he suddenly can break free of only being in their dreams and can exist in the real world, killing whomever he chooses in reality. Freddy, is a tulpa. He existed in reality, purely because all the kids talked about him, described him to each other, then dreamed about him, which cemented him more in their brains, until he became a reality. By what was, if I remember correctly, the 407th film featuring Freddy, ‘Freddy vs Jason’ the townsfolk had worked out that the only way to defeat Freddy, was to pretend he didn’t exist. No one was allowed to talk about him, no one could mention his name, and anyone who dreamed about him was given dream suppression pills so they ceased dreaming altogether (boy didn’t I crave Hypnocil during my Slenderman nights). In this way, Freddy became weak and the town was safe (for a while - Stage Right - freaky hockey-mask-wearing-dude-with-mommy-issues).

My point is that from my personal point of view, the Tulpa Community are people who have really good imaginations, like myself and are doing nothing more than imagining another person. They are not “creating” a tulpa. Not in the sense that I think they think they are anyway. I sort of feel like a tulpa is akin to a golem who is created to protect someone or something and is capable of physical destruction in the real world.

I digress. Touching on Slendy for the podcast is something I’ve wanted to do for a while now, but I’ve hummed and hawed because, let’s face it, I’m scared. Slenderman did become a bit too real for me, even if it was in my head and my mind playing tricks on me, but it put me through sheer terror, I was legitimately scared of my own shadow so opening this can of worms is a big deal for me, even if it seems utterly stupid for a grown woman to feel that way. If two young girls can pretend that killing their friend as a “sacrifice to Slenderman” is real, then who’s to say if enough people genuinely hallucinated Slendy and his creepy, murderous personality, that other people could not be compelled to kill? He would become his own person. I’m a tin-foil hat wearing silly girl who believes a lot of ridiculous things (except Flat Earth, you guys are wrong - just saying), but from a mass hallucination point of view, I do genuinely think this could be plausible. And by delving back into this research, not only am I opening up the likelihood of scaring myself silly, into seeing shit that isn’t there, I would also have to be held (partially) responsible for creating the master Slenderman that wipes out the world by making people kill each other. Hmph. And Ted Bundy thought he had some great ideas.

Also, “Tulpamancy” is a thing. Although not according to the Tibetians, where the tulpa originated. Funny that. Almost as if it’s a made up word. (It is. By the Tulpa Community.)

As for the pretend “Tulpa Community”? Some of these people envision their tulpas as characters from ‘My Little Pony’. Make of that what you will. I wouldn’t personally be taking career and life advice off of a fucking horse. All I’m saying.

#slenderman #mystery #weird #tulpa #monster #murder

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songofseraphine · 4 years

Text

Home Is Where the Horse Is

Part Two of The Song of Seraphine

Warnings: Adult themes and cursing.

A/N: Thank you again for reading and voting! Here is another chapter for you all! Also this does NOT follow the show story line directly, so little to no spoilers :) Also please let me know if I should start a tag list for anyone that wants to keep up!

Part One

One would think that after faking your death living would be easy. It was not. The first month after her faked death, Seraphine spent lurking in the shadows, visiting villages she had never heard of before and barely uttering a word to anyone. The second month she had enough courage to sit in a tavern again and enjoy a warm meal but not without covering her face with the hood of her cloak. The third month she talked herself into commissioning a weapons forger to make her a new bow to replace the one she had lost when she met Geralt. Her conversations were kept short along with the amount of time she spent in a single village. Her funds were dwindling and while she still had enough to book passage elsewhere she still had something to do before she left her homeland. On the fifth month she roamed the outskirts of her village. An hour north and she would reach an old cabin with a barn and windmill. It all looked the same as it had years before. The garden just outside the front of the cabin was full of produce that needed picking and the daffodils and snap dragons near the windows bloomed in abundance. It looked much more like a home than she remembered.

Seraphine dismounted from Vega and left her to graze just to the side of the cabin as she gained the courage to knock on the door. There was movement in the cabin followed by what Sera thought was a child laughing. “I told you Deter, you are not allowed to answer the door,” said a woman just on the other side. “You are not yet old enough…” Just then the door swung open and the woman on the other side, holding a baby on her hip, turned to great her visitor but stood in shock when her eyes landed on Sera.

A boy about three years of age stood behind the woman’s skirts and looked up at Seraphine. “Who’s that, Mommy?” he asked while looking from his mother to Sera. “Why does she look like you?”

The woman looked like she was either going to scream or cry, maybe both. “Hello, Faye,” Seraphine said but the woman shook her head then looked out around the outside of cabin as if expecting someone to be watching.

“Get in here,” she said then grasped Sera with the hand that wasn’t holding the infant and pulled her inside, quickly shutting the door behind her. “Deter come over here and play with your sister for a moment, yeah? I’ll make you some cakes later,” she set the baby on the floor near a pile of wooden toys and the boy joined her. Then she walked over to the other side of the cabin and put a kettle of water over the flames of the fire place. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too sis, what’s it been three… four years?” she said with a bitter laugh.

“You know you can’t call me that here… I am Sera here. You know this. You were the one who planned it all out,” her sister said while brushing through her long brown curls with her fingers.

“Even in the privacy of your home?” Seraphine asked as she leaned against the wall just beside the window.

Faline’s shoulders visibly tensed at Sera’s words. “I have to now. I have them,” she motioned to the two children. “Children aren’t as careful as adults. I can’t have them know me as one name but tell them to call me another. It was just easier.”

“You mean easier to pretend I never existed… rather that you never existed,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She kept her voice low even though she wanted to scream. “Your son didn’t even know you had a sister till he saw your twin in the doorway.”

The kettle whistled and Faye stepped away from Sera to get it. Sera wiped her eyes quickly in hopes Faye wouldn’t be able to see that she was crying. Faye poured them both a cup of tea but Sera wasn’t interested. “Why did you come here?” her sister asked while sitting in one of the two chairs that sat near the old table.

Sera liked to think she had thick skin but even that hurt her. “To see you, Faye… sorry… Sera,” she scoffed and stepped away from her sister. “I’ve been through hell for you, sister, while you have been here with Will… playing fucking house,” she said and waved a hand in the direction of the children.

Her sister stood from her chair and stepped towards Sera. “I didn’t ask you for this, Sera,” she said, her voice a stern whisper. Faye’s jaw clenched the same way Sera’s did when she was angry.

Sera squared her shoulders and locked eyes with her twin. “You would have died if I hadn’t done this. If you would have married that monster he would have killed you and if you would have ran as I did you wouldn’t have made it to Temeria, admit it,” she said with venom in her voice and tears welling in her eyes once again. They watched one another and eventually Sera sighed, her shoulders dropping. “I didn’t come here for this.”

“What did you come here for, sister? Money?” she asked making Sera let out a bitter laugh.

“No, no Faye. I am in no need of money,” she said and looked over to the children who were still playing with their toys. “I came to see you, to say goodbye, even though I knew it was dangerous,” she said then looked back to her sister. “He’s still looking for you, after all this time he is still on the hunt for his Faline.”

She nodded. “I know. His men come here a few times a year and search the place. They fully believe I am you,” she said then took a sip of her tea. It was silent between them as Sera finally took the other chair. “I thought he would have given up at this point, found some other poor girl to obsess over…”

“Yeah, sis, you really broke his heart,” she said with a laugh. She took a sip of her tea and cleared her throat. “I don’t blame you for the situation I have gotten myself in, Faye,” her voice was low again so the children couldn’t hear her.

Faye’s eyes filled with tears and she quickly wiped them away. “I know… Sera, I know,” she said with a cry. “I just feel like I took this away from you,” she motioned to the cabin and her children.

Sera smiled and took her sister’s hand in her own. “We both know this is not who I was, thank goodness we were the only ones to know that or else your cover would have been blown long ago,” she said and they both laughed. “This house… kids… that was never in the cards for me, sis.”

Faye squeezed her sister’s hand. “You can stay in the barn tonight if you’d like,” she said but Sera shook her head.

“You said his men come and search the place occasionally. I can’t be here when he happens to call a search. I shouldn’t be here now,” she said and stood from the table and then quickly untied the small coin purse from her waist belt. She poured half of its contents onto the table, ignoring how wide Faye’s eyes got. “Take care of yourself, Faye.”

She then started for the door, not planning to take another look back at her sister. “I’ll tell Will you were here,” she said making Sera stop in her tracks. She turned back and locked eyes with her sister until her vision began to blur. “He still cares for you. I look like you, I use your name… I had his children… but it was always you.”

Sera wiped away the tears from her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t be, not anymore,” she said and turned back towards Faye. She rested her hands on her sisters shoulders to get her attention. “Tell him I’m dead. The news of my death should be reaching here soon anyways… don’t tell him I was here, tell him I am dead, Faye, then go and tell yourself the same thing.”

Faye threw her arms around her and sobbed. “I love you. I don’t deserve the care you have given me.”

Sera returned the embrace then pulled away knowing it was past time for her to go. “I love you too, sister. I must go. Give your boy milk of the poppy in some tea, he will sleep. If he asks about me when he wakes, say it was a dream and deny anything he says about me, understood?” she asked and her sister nodded. “Goodbye,” she said then walked out of the cabin for the final time. She left quickly and didn’t allow herself to look back as Vega galloped her away from her old home. That wasn’t her place anymore and it never would be again. It was an all too familiar feeling of knowing she could never return to her home. She rode, and she didn’t care where Vega was taking her. She was dead to the world as far as they knew and she could leave once she gained back the coin she had given to her sister. She would be able to take on her birth name. No more lying, no more pretending… And although she was no longer weighed down by the looming fear of never being safe, she found herself wiping away tears brought on by memories of the past.

That same cottage with the garden and the daffodils and snap dragons growing near the windows had been in the family for many generations now. Seraphine and Faline had been born there and they had grown up there just as her father had before them. Their mother, long passed, had been buried there just past the windmill. Their father was a hunter and made a living for himself and the girls by selling the meat and furs from his game. He was a good man but was often criticized by the people of the village for his soft nature towards his daughters. He let them go to the markets on their own and never discouraged them voicing their opinions, only warned them that some may not take too kindly to a woman with a strong opinion. He was not one of them though. He thought his daughters to be well-read, strong women and he was okay with that.

Faline was much like their mother. She tended to the garden and cooked most of the meals while Seraphine joined their father on his hunts. It was nearly impossible to tell the two apart. If not for how they wore their hair, one would be convinced they were the same person. Faye wore her long brown locks braided up into a bun at the nape of her neck while Sera’s brown curls rarely went past her collarbone. Her short hair allowed her to be able to hunt with a little more ease.

Sometimes on their hunts, she and her father would be joined by a boy from the village, Willam. “Faye said that last time she went to the market the Blacksmith’s son couldn’t take his eyes off of her,” Sera said as she and Will, now grown, sat in a clearing to enjoy some food and a rest from their hunt. It had been just the two of them on hunts since her father had passed the year before from a cough that never went away.

“Does she like the Blacksmiths son?” Will asked, getting an amused chuckle in response.

“No, she said he is an imbecile and has, as she said, looks that could never overshadow his stupidity,” she said and this time they both laughed.

Their gazes landed on one another as Sera popped another berry into her mouth and chewed. “What of me? Do my looks overshadow my stupidity, Seraphine?” he was teasing her now.

Sera rolled her eyes and threw a berry at him. It bounced off his chest and landed in the grass beside them. “Please, Will, next to my sister you are the smartest person I know,” she said as she dropped another berry into her mouth.

“And what of my looks?” he asked with a smirk.

Sera gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow and grinned. “I’ll admit, you’re quite handsome as well.”

“Oh?” he said, his dark brown raising. “Is that so?” he grinned and she nodded while leaning into him. Their lips met and his month tasted of berries. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, daring to pull him even closer. They had been fond of one another for many years and their friendship as children had blossomed into them being lovers. While Faye knew of their fondness for one another she didn’t know that Sera had given all of herself to this man. “Not to ruin the mood, but has your sister thought about maybe allowing the blacksmith’s son to get close so Mayor Ferdand may leave her be?” he asked. He was right though, he had ruined the mood. Anytime Sera had to talk about the village’s Mayor a sour taste would invade her mouth. But Will had a point. If Faye did accept the attention that was being given to her by the blacksmith’s son, she just might get Ferdand off her back.

“You’re right, Will, but I sure as hell am not going to be the one to bring it up to her,” she said while standing up and brushing the grass of her riding trousers. “We should head back. I am sure she will have supper on for us by the time we get there.”

Will reluctantly nodded and followed suit. When they arrived at the small farm house they were not welcomed by Faye in the garden as they usually were when they came in from a day of hunting. When Sera realized the door to the cabin stood agape she sprinted towards it, not hearing Will call out to her. What welcomed them would change their lives forever.

Sera shook the memories from her mind and wiped the tears from her eyes as she continued galloping away from her home. She didn’t know where she was headed and she didn’t really care. She had no plan other than to live, whether that meant with a purpose or not. She had Vega at least, the only thing she could consider a home now. Wherever she went Vega followed and for now… that would have to do.

#the song of seraphine #geralt x oc #geralt fanfiction #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher oc #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher x oc #witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #adventure #eventual romance

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

Text

Let’s Play - Batflash Week Day 2: Parents are Alive AU & Jealousy

One night, the Wayne family decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway. Unknowingly a mugger was waiting in the shadows, and because of this fateful run-in their lives were changed forever.

By a stroke of luck all three Waynes escaped with their lives. But, fearful of the dangers of the world, Thomas and Martha decide it's better to lock their canaries up than let them soar free. When being under the constant watchful eye of bodyguards becomes too much, Bruce finds freedom with the strangest boy who won't shut up.

“...and it’s actually really amazing what the artist did, using the canvas to tell a story pushed forward with each minimal stroke of the brush…” The guide carries on with his explanation of the painting, Bruce squinting at it while racking up a list of criticisms. Sitting on top, his largest complaint had nothing to do with the art on display. Instead his parents shared the number one spot. Baffling how they could entertain the meaningless blather coming from their guide.

He tugs on his father’s sleeve drawing Thomas closer. “Can we leave?” he whispers.

Thomas frowns at him. “No,” he says, “and please stop asking, Bruce.”

“But I’m bored .”

“We’re guests ,” Thomas hisses, “it would be rude.”

Returning to full height, his father leaves Bruce to stew in his increasingly horrible mood. His mother pays no mind to their conversation, giving her full attention to the guide. Even though Bruce can tell her mind wanders like his, lips stretched thin like cellophane when she pretends to listen. It’s a common feature during galas and gallery opens, like this one.

Why his parents continue attending these events Bruce will never know. What made it worse was how they were miles away from their home, stuck in Missouri until tomorrow.

“The artist is truly grateful that you all came and showed your support,” the guide finishes, leading them away from the painting and the collection as a whole. Bruce’s spirits pick up, trembling at the possibility presented. He imagines the thin-stick man slipping through a stray crack in the floor, freeing them from the torturous tour. Or a door opening and blowing him across the room, crowd piling through the exit without care.

Unfortunately neither of these happen. Instead the guide brings the crowd to a small room off to the side of the wing cluttered with tables, waiters bustling between them.

“And we here at the museum want to show our gratitude, too, with a lovely banquet in the artist’s honor,” he says, “Please find your seats and enjoy the food. In an hour the artist will give a speech, but before and after that he’ll be walking around, fielding questions.” He left then, mission accomplished.

Their group dispersed. Martha and Thomas tried leaving, but Bruce barely budged.

Glancing behind at the statue of his son, Thomas sighed. “Bruce…”

“I want to go .”

“Please, Bruce, we’re almost done here,” Martha says, running gentle fingers through his hair, “All we need to do is listen to the artist and then we’ll go back to the hotel room.”

“Can’t we skip the hotel and head straight for Gotham?”

“You know we can’t,” she frowns, “your father has a very important dinner meeting with a few investors. First thing in the morning, though…”

Bruce groans, uncaring to the wry stares he draws. His parents squirm under the attention, shuffling him closer to the shadows.

“Please, Bruce,” Thomas asks him, “your mother and I would rather be in Gotham, too. But this is one of those situations grown ups find themselves in where they make obligations and need to see them through. Now do you want to be a grown up?”

Two answers present themselves - the one Bruce wants to pick and the other his parents want to hear. “Yes,” he relents, tucking his chin to his chest. Thomas squeezes his shoulders, saying how proud they are of how mature he is. That with a full plate he’ll hardly notice time flying by. They try and leave again, only a sudden idea hits Bruce that very moment. “Wait!” he says, stopping them, “I… have to go to the bathroom.”

Martha and Thomas look at each other, brows furrowed.

Bruce carries on, adding to his lie. “We passed one on our way here, it won’t take long. I promise - I promise .”

He pouts, using every dirty trick he has to earn a few minutes of reprieve.

It works. His parents waved him off, telling him to be quick. “And don’t forget to take Willoughsby with you,” Martha says, “in case anything happens.”

The plan sours as the guard in question steps up, bald head shiny under the harsh lighting. Willoughsby nods at Thomas, ushering Bruce over to the bathrooms. “Right this way, Master Wayne.”

Bruce sneaks a final peek at his parents conversing with the others on their security team until they’re blocked by the door. Out of the room Bruce shrugs Willoughby off. “I can walk fine on my own.” The guard stays stone-faced, curtly huffing as he paces towards the nearest bathroom. Bruce walks three steps behind, glaring at the guard.

All it took was one mugging for his world to upend. Not as dangerously as it could have, the mugger inexperienced and oafish. He aimed his gun at his mother and fired only for nothing to erupt. With nothing on him but an unloaded gun, Thomas made quick work of their attacker. Tied him up with his shoelaces until the police arrived.

His parents were alive and well, but the night’s events left them shook. Immediately they placed feelers within their community of socialites and entrepreneurs, asking for references on building a team of security guards. To protect them in case of another wrong turn down a dark alley.

Once they assembled the perfect team, the guards never left their family’s side. They hung about the house like the paintings in the gallery, serving a purpose that needn’t be filled. Assembled because a mind was allowed to run wild.

Bruce entered that alleyway a child, but left an adult. Shoulders burdened with the heavy responsibility someone his age shouldn’t know. Unable to break free from the chains of fear or the watchful gaze of his bodyguards.

That didn’t stop him from trying, though. Especially with Willoughsby, Bruce’s personal guard. Strictest of all the others, with as much of a concept for boundaries like a squirrel.“What do you think you’re doing?” Bruce asks.

Willougshby had one hand on the bathroom door, pushing it open halfway. He cranes his neck to answer, “Going to the bathroom.”

“Do you have to go?”

“No, but you do.”

“I can go perfectly well on my own.”

“It doesn’t matter if you can or cannot,” Willoughsby answers, frowning, “my job is to protect you -”

“Which you can do from out here,” Bruce tells him, pushing past and entering the other room. Pausing halfway through the entrance, he mimics his mother from earlier. The smile as asphyxiating as it is sweet. “It doesn’t make much of a difference, right? Good. Won’t be long!”

He shuts the door. Advancing halfway, he waits for Willoughsby to enter after him. When the door doesn’t budge, he relaxes his fist. Bypassing the stalls he shuffles towards the mirrors. Stares at his reflection like it could jump out and take his place for him. So Bruce can remain hidden in the bathroom, alone.

But not totally. A flush echoes, startling him. In the mirror Bruce sees a boy around his age leave the middle stall, bouncing over to the sink beside him. He dresses opposite Bruce, shorts and t-shirt making Bruce feel uncomfortable in his tiny suit. Tugging at his tie, he rakes his gaze over the collection of buttons decorating his backpack. A few he recognizes from the comics his classmates pour over during lunch and the moments between classes.

“Yeah, they’re cool aren’t they?”

Bruce looks to the boy, finished washing his hands and now facing him. Blushing, Bruce shrugs and runs his hands under the faucet. “Really cool,” he mumbles.

“My name’s Barry,” the other boy continues, grinning madly, “It’s short for Bartholomew - that’s my grandfather’s name. But I don’t like being called Bartholomew because it’s so long and usually whenever my mom uses my full name it means I’m in trouble. So I go by Barry - which sounds like berry and I like blueberries, but not strawberries. Raspberries, I’m on the fence with. What’s your name and favorite type of fruit?”

He reels from the seventy turns Barry forced him through during that one sentence, water pouring from the faucet and dampening his cuffs. Blinking, Bruce snaps his jaw shut. “Bruce,” he says, “And I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what your favorite fruit is?”

“Never thought about it.”

“Really?” Barry squints, leaning closer than comfortable, “Usually when someone asks about favorites a thought immediately pops into their heads. It’s not something you need to think about, it should just be. Unless you don’t have any favorites, which is cool I guess. I don’t have a favorite vegetable. Or maybe you have too many ! Like, my bag!” Barry spins, showing off his backpack again. “There are just too many cool heroes to choose from so I put all of these on my bag. My mom helped me with each one ‘cause the first time I tried I kept stabbing myself with the pin…”

Bruce watches the boy ramble with amazing speed, frighteningly intelligible. Like breathing was a suggestion and not a necessity. Instead of focusing on what Barry says, Bruce instead drifts to wonder about the boy and his willingness to talk to a stranger. How, if Bruce had tried the same approach anywhere else, he’d be shunted away by Willoughsby and his bodyguards and his parents. To protect him from shadows that exist in alleyways after movies.

He hates Barry a little bit for the ease of his life.

“Hey,” Barry shakes him, “are you okay? You look like Molly Dorchester in math class?”

“What?”

“Molly Dorchester,” he says, “she’s this girl in my grade who thinks it’s funny to take my lunch and throw it in the trash. Anyway, whenever the teacher switches over from history to math her eyes kind of lose focus and sometimes she drools a little. One time I pointed this out and she had Kyle Dombrowski and Manny Ortiz pants me during recess but… yeah…” Barry steps back, finally red-faced, “Was I like math class right now?”

The kernel of jealousy explodes at the way Barry shifts to mask his energy, inspiring some of it to rouse Bruce into wakefulness. “No,” Bruce says, “I… I was having trouble following along.”

“I get that a lot,” Barry tells him, “Every year on my report cards my teachers say that I do really well, but I could learn something from slowing down. My mom says I shouldn’t have to slow down, though. There’s nothing wrong with running at your own pace!”

Bruce matches his timid smile. “She sounds great.”

“She is!” Barry jumps, enthusiasm returning, “She’s waiting for me right now, actually. We were on our way to the park when I had to go to the bathroom. Since this is right across the street we stopped in here because I don’t like going to the public bathrooms in the park, they’re really gross, y’know?”

He wouldn’t, but Bruce nods all the same.

“What about you?” Barry asks, “What are you doing here?”

His question, innocent in theory, reminds Bruce of what’s waiting for him on the other side of the door. He sighs, hunching over. “Stuck at this event my parents forced me to go to,” he says, “and I’m bored .”

“And they won’t let you leave?”

“No…”

“That’s awful!”

Bruce looks up at Barry’s sympathetic frown. He feels a fresh gust of air fill his lungs, except he knew he didn’t breathe. The shiny blue of Barry’s eyes were the cause, glinting with concern at the injustice of his situation.

It forces a giggle from Bruce, the first in a long while. Barry grins again, joining him.

“I know,” Bruce says, “I wish I could just… get out of here.”

“Why not?”

“I’m… under a lot of supervision right now.”

Barry tilts his head to the side. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

Bruce frowns, “No, but my parents… they’re afraid that I might get into it.”

Nodding, Barry’s eyebrows furrow over his eyes. Lightning crackles in the sea of his eyes, stoking the fires of Bruce’s curiosity. Like a switch Barry’s levity floats the brows high again, disappearing under his baseball cap. “Don’t worry!” Barry says, “You won’t get into any trouble with me!”

“What?” Barry latches onto Bruce’s hands, dragging him towards the exit. Bruce digs his heels in, panicking. “What are you doing?”

“We’re gonna find your parents and tell ‘em we’re gonna go play!” Barry says, “I’m very hard to say no to.”

“I… That’s probably not a good idea.”

“Why’s that?”

Bruce rushes for an answer, the simplest explanation waiting on the other side of the door. “Someone is waiting for me, just outside. The second I leave the bathroom he’s gonna drag me back to my parents. I doubt he’ll let you follow - he’s mean .”

Barry pouts, but doesn’t let go. Instead he squeezes tighter while he thinks, storm clouds reappearing. They erupt with an idea that booms in the small space.

Letting go, Barry zips his bag open and digs around. Bruce waits, wondering exactly he looks for. Blanching when the other boy finds it and tosses it at Bruce.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a hoodie!” Barry says, slipping his shoes off, “Put it on, and switch shoes with me!” Bruce does so, stuffing his feet into the dirty Sketchers. The hoodie smothers him in warmth, smelling so different from anything he’s ever smelt. Instead of the rich jasmine Alfred uses, it smells like a cheap soap that cloys at his nose. Still he finds it refreshing.

Barry rubs at his chin, scanning him. “Almost perfect…” He pulls his cap from his head, freeing his unruly blond locks, and stuffs it onto Bruce’s head. “There!” Barry says, “You look really cool .”

Bruce blushes, fiddling with the hoodie strings. “Really?”

Nodding, Barry reaches forward and eases the hood over his head to obscure more of his features. “Yeah. It’s not hard to look cool in red - it’s the coolest color. But you’re making it even better! How do you do that?”

“...I’m not sure.”

Shrugging, Barry grabs at Bruce’s hand again. “Doesn’t matter. We’re wasting valuable play time !”

Time plays out slowly in the seconds they leave the bathroom. Bruce tucks his head into his chest, wincing, ready for Willoughsby to spot him and yell. However all he hears is the squeaking of Barry’s shoes against the linoleum and the swinging of the bathroom door. The farther they get from the bathroom the softer his heart beats.

Risking everything, Bruce glances behind him at Willoughsby. The bodyguard watches the door, back rigid.

He floats after Barry, riding a sugar rush of freedom. Only crashing when he hears someone clearing their throat.

“Barry?” an older woman asks, tone suspicious, “Who is this?”

“This is my new friend Bruce!” Barry introduces him, “Bruce, this is the mom I was telling you about. Her name’s Mom.” He turns to his mom, “He and I are gonna play in the park together.”

“Are you?” she asks, looking at Bruce. “Bruce? Do your parents know about yours and Barry’s plans?”

Wide-eyed, Bruce nods. Not trusting his own voice. He expects Barry’s mother to drag them back where they came from and ruin their plans. However, glancing between him and Barry, her features softened.

“Okay,” she says, “as long as they said it’s okay.”

Bruce keeps silent. Barry groans though, hand not in Bruce’s to tug on her jacket. “Mom! I wanna go play.”

She chuckles, taking his hand and guiding them out of the museum. “Patience, sweetie. We’ll be at the park in a few minutes. Then you and Bruce can have your fun.”

Barry turns to Bruce, beaming. “You’re gonna like it, we just got this new jungle gym. It’s pirate-themed !”

Bruce finds himself excited the more Barry describes the game of make-believe they’ll play.

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

Thomas knows he looks insane, puffing and shouting his son’s name like an animal. Except it’s all he can do besides break down into tears. Martha busied herself with her terror by firing their bodyguards and driving with Alfred to the police station while Thomas stayed behind to scour the area.

All hope seems lost, and visions of the alleyway flash into awareness. The glinting of the gun as the mugger raised it, ready to fire if necessary. How Bruce clung to his leg with a fear no boy should ever know. Remembers the prayers he said, hoping that a miracle would appear in the moment between the man stopping them in the alley and him demanding for Martha’s pearls. Pearls she doesn’t have anymore. That she donated after spending too many nights staring at them with half a glass of scotch in her hand because she couldn’t sleep.

He shakes the foggy tendrils of the nightmares away, sure that if they clawed their way in finding Bruce would be impossible. Instead he waits for the light to change then dashes across the street.

Staggering, he readies himself to find the nearest phone booth to call Martha at the police station. Except he hears a shrill laughter that echoes in his heart, and another boy yelling, “Bruce!”

Thomas follows the sounds towards a playground, spying the familiar dark curls as they chase a blond boy around a grounded pirate ship.

“Bruce,” he breathes, shuffling over. The closer he gets the reassuring feeling of seeing Bruce safe gets corrupted by the anger of realizing nothing happened to Bruce. A thought creeps into mind, that he ran away knowing full well how his parents might react. His son’s name readies itself in his mouth again, sharper than before, only for a hand on his shoulder to interrupt.

“Hi,” a woman stops him, “Are you Bruce’s dad?”

Startled, his plans fall apart. “Uh - yes… I - I am.”

She smiles, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Nora, your son is playing with mine.”

“...I see,” he says, following her gaze over to the boys, “They seem to be having fun .”

“Yeah,” Nora nods, “it’d be a shame to interrupt them, wouldn’t it?”

He whips around to stare at her, Nora remaining calm. Thomas glares, “I don’t know. Considering all the worry he put me and his mother through, playtime is far from over.”

“Figured he was lying when he said you were okay with this.”

“And you still allowed him to come here?”

She shrugs. “My son is a whirlwind. He wanted to play with your boy and… well, Barry doesn’t have many friends. So maybe I was a little selfish.” Nora faces him, finally, smiling in the sad way only a parent can. “Sue me.”

Thomas raises a wry brow, lips stretching thin. “If you knew who I was you wouldn’t be joking around with the ‘sue’ word.”

“Maybe not, but I can tell that your suit probably costs more than my lemon of a car,” she says, “C’mon, a bench just opened up. Let’s grab a seat and chat.” Nora walks away, leaving Thomas with no other option but to follow. They sit with their children still in view. Barry swings an invisible sword in the air, Bruce shaking his fist from below.

“So,” she starts, “what were you and your family doing at the museum?”

He crosses his legs, sinking against the cold wood as his body gives into the tremors of exhaustion coursing within. “We were invited to an artist’s gallery opening, someone who benefited from a grant we created a few years back. Although after what I saw I wish my wife never suggested it.”

“Art is subjective.”

“If you’d suffered through his explanation on how a squiggle represents the unknown possibility of his future since his parents’ evicted him from their house you’d become pretty objective.”

Nora laughs loudly, head tossed back in joy. “I’ll take your word for it.”

They hear a shout and a slam, both turning to see the cause. Thomas’s heart seizes at Bruce crumpled on the ground, tiny hands wrapped around his knee. Standing above him, Nora’s boy gapes with worry.

Thomas readies to stand, except Nora’s grip keeps him tethered to the bench. “Excuse me,” he grows, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Bruce is fine.”

“He’s not fine, he’s hurt .”

“It’s a skinned knee,” she says, “Barry gets them all the time, mostly because he always forgets to tie his shoes. He’ll know what to do.” Nora gestures to their kids, Bruce joined by Barry who hopped down from the ship. Digging around in his bag, he searches for something. It becomes obvious to Thomas exactly what it is when Barry fiddles with Bruce’s knee. He relaxes in the bench as Barry finishes patching his son up, dropping a kiss on the wound for extra measure. “I taught him what to do after the fifth time,” she says, “for when he falls and I’m not around to help.”

“But you are here,” Thomas argues, “And I’m here. Shouldn’t we go and help our children when they need us.”

Nora agrees. “But I don’t think they need us now, do you?”

Bruce stands as if he didn’t tumble, the only evidence being the tear in his suit pants. Barry shoves him and runs away, Bruce chasing after with the wildness of youth.

“Kids are kids,” Nora continues, “They’re going to get hurt. But they’ll pick themselves up and keep going… it’s inspiring really. The older we get the easier it is to be afraid. To live our lives like whatever’s waiting around the corner can smash us into a million little pieces. I was like that, for some time.”

Thomas watches Nora slip into the past, a far away gleam dancing in her eyes. “I got home a little earlier than planned and the door was unlocked. Figured Barry left it open, as usual. So I thought nothing of it and walked in - only to see a man standing in the middle of my living room with a knife . Neither of us expected the other to be there. I rushed for the phone only he… he grabbed me. Grappled me to the floor and held the knife up to my throat. He was going to kill me and if… if Barry hadn’t come home just then I…” She breathes deeply, wiping at a few stray tears. Thomas reaches across and squeezes her hand. Nora smiles at the gesture, thanking him. “Anyway, he hesitated for a moment. That’s all I needed. I kneed him in the groin, flipped him over, and thanked every self-defense class my parents forced on me as I held the knife to his neck while telling Barry to go call the cops.”

“And the after?” Thomas asked, “What happened after?”

“We moved on with our lives.”

“... How ?”

“It wasn’t easy at first,” Nora admits, “I was scared. That the breeze behind me was the man breathing down my neck, ready to finish me off. I’d wake up screaming in my husband’s arms because I thought ht was someone else. I could barely eat, I wasn’t as present as I was with my family.”

“But then Barry…” she smiles, returning to the present to watch her boy, “one day I was sitting on the couch, letting the TV play while I was somewhere else… he climbed up beside me and laid down on my lap. I was nervous, asked him what he was doing. He said that he was spending time with me… that all I ever seem to do anymore is sit in the living room and watch TV. So if that’s what I liked than it’s what he wanted to do, too, because it meant we could spend time together like we used to.”

Thomas reflects on the past year since the attempted mugging. A montage of family dinners where his family stretched away from him, growing more distant with each day. Blocked from view by bodyguard after bodyguard. Bruce’s excitement never returned since that fateful night watching Zorro, but since he was safe it hadn’t occurred to either him or Martha that it meant anything was wrong.

They went to bed each night thankful that Bruce was safe and their family was together. When in reality the mugging shattered their family and the shards of what was continued to hurt.

“Barry gave me the push I needed to turn things around,” Nora tells him, “I went to therapy… joined a support group. Over time I felt like my old self again, doing the same things I used to with the people I love. Because I wasn’t going to let that bastard steal me away from my boy. I might not always be around to patch up a scraped knee or a paper cut, but when Barry really needs me… I’ll be there.”

Thomas clears his throat, unable to say anything with enough gravity to compare with the unburdened trauma Nora presented him. A few words string together, though, after staring at Bruce playing with Barry. “It’s been awhile since my boy’s been a… well - a boy. We, him, my wife, and I, we actually suffered a similar circumstance. Martha and I might have… overreacted . Put a bandaid over a gouging wound… I never considered Bruce wasn’t happy.”

“But he looks it now?”

“Very happy.”

“So does Barry,” Nora smiles, “I meant what I said about him not having that many friends… he always had trouble finding kids who wanted to stick around. It’s disheartening watching your kid get turned down again and again, left alone by everyone else.” She slips her hand free from Thomas, blushing. “I really am sorry about taking Bruce. I ignored every good instinct I had just to give Barry an hour or two of having a friend.”

“Parents will do anything for their kids,” Thomas shrugs, “Even if it’s not the best decision.”

“Exactly.”

A few more minutes pass contedly of Bruce and Barry running around, playing. Thomas and Nora sit together in silence, wind blowing between them.

“You’re not from around here are you?”

He hums. “Afraid not.”

Nora chuckles, shifting in her seat. “I figured things were too good to be true.”

“But,” Thomas says, “I’ll be spending more of my time here in Central City, especially if this new deal I’m working on pulls through. And maybe on my visits Bruce will come along… and he won’t want to be stuck with me all day long in meetings. Better he has someone his own age to play with, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I definitely agree,” Nora says. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Mr…?”

“Wayne. Thomas Wayne.”

“Do you always introduce yourself like you’re James Bond?” “Unfortunately I’m the furthest thing from a spy, but if you need a doctor…”

“No kidding, my husband is a heart surgeon.”

“Really? Small world…”

They talk while their kids tucker each other out, playing to their heart’s content. Of the four of them, no one is whole. But they’re all healing. Growing past the trauma inflicted, building something new, magnificent, and strong.

Thomas incorporates all this into his toast, sniffing past the tears as he congratulates Bruce and Barry on their wedding. After the clapping he sits in his seat beside Nora, watching Bruce guide his husband onto the dance floor.

“That was a touching speech,” she starts, sipping at her wine glass, “I see you decided against embarrassing him.”

“Figured you’re better at that, Nora,” he says.

“I mean I had a few memories picked out,” she said, “About how I stumbled on them practicing kissing with each other when they were thirteen, or Bruce flying over to throw Barry his own dance when he wasn’t asked to his. Maybe the summer after high school graduation where they were arrested for nudity… Although who can compete with your speech.”

Martha chuckles, sliding her hand into Thomas’s. “I told him to go easy but he wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s okay,” Nora says, “it just means he owes me. Which I’ll collect on when they have their first child named after me.” The joke tickles everyone, both the Waynes and Allens laughing. Thomas sighs and grabs for his glass, drinking. Over the rim of his wine he sees Barry whispering to Bruce, causing the smile on his son’s face to grow wider.

Barry Allen is the best thing that ever happened to his boy, even if he almost caused Thomas to experience his first heart attack.

#Bruce Wayne #Barry Allen #batman #Flash #batflash #batflash week #bruce wayne x barry allen #barrybruce #barry/bruce #thomas wayne #Nora Allen #tw: crime #tw: violence #tw: trauma

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We’ll Carry On - Chapter Thirty Eight

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

November 20th, 2016

Virgil was happy. He and Patton were making hand turkeys in honor of Thanksgiving, and putting them up all over their bedroom with tape that Mom gave them. He was swinging his feet and humming. Even if their Thanksgiving was small, with just Granny coming over to visit, he was still happy that he got the day off school. And he had an excuse to eat as much as he wanted!

Patton showed Virgil his latest turkey and Virgil laughed. It had bright pink and purple feathers, and was outlined in bright blue. It was absolutely something Patton would do. “Nice one, Pat!” Virgil exclaimed.

“Thanks!” Patton said, walking over to Virgil. “I like yours, too!”

Virgil grinned. Together, they worked on more turkeys, pretending it was just them in the entire world, and that anything that might be happening outside their bedroom didn’t exist. It was just a peaceful activity, not an excuse to hide in their room from Charles.

November 28th, 2019

When the doorbell rang that Thanksgiving afternoon, Patton squealed and immediately scrambled to the door, while Virgil scooped up Vanellope and followed. Patton opened the door and excitedly exclaimed, “Granny!” in a voice just a few decibels too loud.

“Pat, c’mon, don’t yell that loud,” Virgil said, laughing as he approached the door with a grin. “Hi, Granny!”

Their grandmother stood on the other side of the door, smiling. She had to be sneaky about coming to visit them at Thanksgiving without their mom and Charles finding out, but she had promised she’d come over. “Pat, Virge, you two have grown so much! And you look so much happier!”

“We feel a lot happier,” Virgil said. “Dad and Ami take really good care of us and the others.”

“Oh! Yes, you wrote about some of your brothers’ antics! I’d love to meet them!” Granny said with a smile as she walked in.

Ami came into the foyer and smiled. “Misses Sanders, nice to finally meet you,” he said.

“Nice to meet you too. And you’re...the one they call Ami, right?” Granny asked.

“Yep!” Ami said cheerfully. “Their dad’s currently helping the youngest of the bunch upstairs.”

There was a crash and Dee came downstairs giggling, Fangs wrapped around his shoulders as he hid in Ami’s legs. “Or, he was helping the youngest,” Ami said with a little laugh. Then, he called up the stairs, “You okay, mi amor?!”

“Fine!” Dad’s voice floated down the stairs, a little strained but none the worse for wear.

Dee was still giggling madly until he turned and saw Granny standing just inside the door. He frowned. “Who’s she?” he asked, signs timid.

“Dee, this is Granny. She’s Patton’s and my grandma on our mom’s side,” Virgil explained.

Dee scrutinized her carefully, before signing, “She looks nice.”

Patton laughed. “She’s super nice, Dee! And she has tons of stories from travelling all around the world!”

Dee’s jaw dropped and he turned to her. “You’ve been around the world?!” he asked.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know sign language. Boys, could you translate?” Granny asked.

“Oh! Of course! He was asking if what Patton said is true, that you’ve really been all around the world,” Virgil supplied.

“Yes, I have,” she said, looking at Dee. “I haven’t been to every continent, but I’ve been close. I’m still waiting for that invitation to Antarctica for that final continent to check off my list.” She winked at the end.

Dee giggled a little and buried his smile in Fangs’ fur. Dad came halfway down the stairs, flushed and panting. “Dee, you’re the one who said you wanted help dressing up a little for Thanksgiving, why are you so against it now?”

“The jacket’s scratchy,” Dee signed, pulling a face.

“You could have told me,” Dad insisted. “I can cut off the tags for the future, but I guess you’re not wearing it tonight?”

“No,” Dee confirmed.

Dad sighed. “Well, if you’re all ready, no use hiding behind Fangs, is there? Why don’t you show the boys your new outfit?”

Virgil frowned. Slowly, Dee unwrapped Fangs from his stomach to his shoulders, revealing a bright yellow button-up shirt. But what really made Virgil have to bite back a snicker at the thought that Dee really had a strange sense of fashion, was the black clip-on bow tie he was sporting around his neck. Virgil doubted he would ever understand what made Dee tick, let alone why he wanted to dress up sometimes and do it in the oddest of ways (to Virgil, at least), but he wasn’t going to judge, and he wasn’t going to laugh in Dee’s face, either. “Looking sharp, Dee,” he said, giving Dee a big thumbs-up.

Dee grinned, big and wide, and Virgil let Vanellope down, and she promptly bounded over to Dee, full-body wiggling as she ran around him in circles. He laughed and knelt down to pet her.

“Well, that accounts for one of your brothers,” Granny said. “Where are the other two?”

“Out back, I think,” Patton said. “On the deck?”

“Yeah, probably,” Virgil agreed. “Come on, Granny, we’ll show you!”

Granny smiled and let herself be guided through the house by a very excited Patton, who was pointing everything out and explaining what each thing he pointed out was and why it was important. Virgil just shared a look with Granny, knowing that this was important for Patton, but that they both knew he’d tire himself out in ten minutes.

When they got outside, Patton immediately rushed over to Roman and Logan, who were playing badminton with the portable net Dad had gotten them, yelling, “Logan! Roman! Granny’s here!”

Logan and Roman agreed to end the game, shook hands, and then came up onto the deck, with Patton bouncing excitedly all the way. Roman easily shook hands with Granny, with a, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

However, Logan looked considerably more nervous. Virgil didn’t fail to realize that Logan was only wearing a sports bra, rather than a binder, because he had been exercising. And though his voice was deeper, and he had been having a couple patches of facial hair sprouting, he had shaved it because it wasn’t enough for a full beard or a mustache. He looked enough like a guy randomly passing people on the street, but this wasn’t that. Here, people could see him closer. And Virgil knew that Logan hated that.

But Granny just smiled and said, “You must be Logan, then. The oldest of five brothers, I don’t know how you’d do it.”

Logan offered a small grin and tweaked his glasses as he shook Granny’s hand. “It wasn’t easy at first, ma’am, but you get used to the chaos sooner or later.”

“I’ll bet you have to,” Granny said. “And my grandsons are behaving?”

“As much as you can expect eight-year-olds to behave, yeah,” Logan agreed. “Sometimes things happen, but no one’s feelings get hurt.”

“Good,” Granny said, nodding.

Virgil turned towards the house just in time to see the back door open and Grandma and Granddad walk through, amused. “Wow, looks like a party! Are we invited?” Granddad asked.

Patton jumped at the voices and hugged Grandma and Granddad before turning to Granny. “Granny, this is Grandma and Granddad! They’re also super nice!”

All the adults laughed and introduced each other, and Virgil used that as an excuse to slip inside, grab his latest Goosebumps book and come back outside, getting situated on one of the deck chairs to read.

Logan sat down in a chair next to him, but brought his phone out and didn’t say anything. They sat there in silence for a while until Dad came out to the back, saying, “It’s time to carve the turkey!”

Everyone went inside and Virgil’s eyes widened. He knew they had a lot of family to feed tonight, but this still seemed like a lot of food for ten people. The turkey was pretty big, and then there was mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, asparagus, miscellaneous other vegetables, salad, and Virgil could spy some pies hidden at the back of the kitchen. How were ten people supposed to eat all of that?! Even with leftovers, it just wasn’t realistic.

But they went to the table, making use of the extensions to fit everyone. And as Granddad and Ami worked on carving the turkey, everyone took some of the food that they wanted. Virgil noticed that the adults were putting more food on their plates than usual, so Virgil took a little more food than usual too. He remembered that Thanksgiving usually meant most people ate more than they usually should, at least to the other kids in class. Back with Mom, it generally meant turkey sandwiches and hiding in their room while Mom and Charles pretended that Patton and Virgil weren’t around.

But things were very obviously different around this house. When Dad had come into the room after feeding Vanellope, Granddad and Ami started passing out turkey. And then Grandma said grace, and they all ate.

“So boys,” Grandma said. “How has school been treating you?”

“Well enough,” Logan said. “Roman has been stressing out about having the lead in his school’s play, though.”

“Hey, it’s a lot of lines to memorize!” Roman defended.

Dee waved his hands and signed, “I don’t think he was making fun of you.”

“Well, why wouldn’t he be making fun of me?” Roman asked. “He said that school was easy, but I was stressing anyway.”

“That’s...that’s not what I meant,” Logan said, with a pained expression. “Words are difficult. I meant that while studies are relatively easy, the play was causing you stress.”

“Oh,” Roman said. “That’s okay, then. I have been stressing over the lines, because there’s a lot of them.”

“Indeed,” Logan agreed. “I would not be able to memorize that many lines and give as compelling a performance as your practicing.”

“Yeah, Roman, you already know great ways to give your lines,” Virgil agreed. “Who was the girl who got the other lead role?”

“Jessie,” Roman said. “Lila got the third-most talkative role, of the Evil Queen. She seemed very pleased.”

“Are we going to meet these friends of yours off the stage? Ever?” Logan asked. “Because you seem very fond of them, but I haven’t seen you go to their houses, and they certainly haven’t come here.”

Roman shrugged. “We’re pretty busy with practice after school, and then we have to do homework. Honestly, a lot of us just want to go home and sleep when we’re done for the day.”

“Spoken like all my theatre friends, and you’re only in the eighth grade,” Logan laughed.

Roman shrugged. “I guess I’m just a quick study.”

Everyone laughed and Granny turned to Patton. “Patton, you wrote to me about your teacher? Is he still as nice as he was?”

“Oh, yeah!” Patton exclaimed. “He’s been recommending me books about all sorts of different animals! It’s really cool! I was hoping that maybe one day I could be a dog trainer, or a vet! And he’s helped me find a bunch of different books so I can learn about that sort of stuff and see if I like learning about it!”

“Mister Prince is an amazing teacher,” Virgil agreed. “He’s been telling me about books similar to Goosebumps that I might want to try. I was hoping to go to the school library and find them after Thanksgiving break.”

“I should write him a thank-you note,” Granny mused. “You two were never this excited about reading before.”

“It’s all about finding what they like to read,” Ami said wisely. “And Virgil certainly goes through a lot of books. We’ve had to cap him off at getting five whenever we go to the public library.”

“You read almost as much as I did when I was your age,” Logan noted.

Virgil felt a bit of a shock rush through him at that. “Really?” he asked. He read almost as much as the arguably smartest person in the house?

“Really,” Logan said. “The only difference is I would read in class when I wasn’t supposed to, and that’s probably why I read more than you.”

“Breaking the rules?” Patton asked. “Breaking the rules meant you read more books?”

Logan paused in eating. “I don’t condone breaking the rules,” he said. “But yes. I read many more books by sneaking chapters in the middle of classes when I was bored.”

Virgil didn’t know how to respond to that, but apparently Dee did, because he signed, “Does that mean that Virgil is the Smart One now?”

“No,” Virgil quickly said. “No, I’m not the Smart One. I’m perfectly happy not being the Smart One. Too much pressure. Besides, Logan thinks things through more, I react on instinct. Thinking things through is smarter than just reacting.”

“You’re still a Smart One,” Patton said sagely. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you took those AP courses in high school like Logan does.”

Virgil shrugged. “Maybe,” he allowed. He let himself feel proud of the fact that everyone thought he was smart. Not enough to let it go to his head, but it did feel good.

Everyone continued to talk, about school and games and hobbies and whatever else came to mind. Really, they were just enjoying each other’s company, and wanted it to last as long as it could. After dessert-pie with ice cream-Virgil felt thoroughly stuffed and as everyone went to the den to watch the football games, Virgil curled up in one of the armchairs down there and quickly fell asleep. He loved his family. They were exhausting, but he wouldn’t have them any other way.

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #patton sanders #our creations #danger gays

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deathbyvalentine · 5 years

Text

Frankly Too Many Prompt Fills

Lucy - Wedding Ring

She twisted it around her finger, a habit she had never truly grown out of when she was anxious. The bar was busy for a Wednesday night, full of business types either networking or celebrating. Suits were finely pressed and watches and phones glinted from every angle. It was a far cry from what the Aquinas Nether would call a social space.

But then, she was a far cry from what they would call a lady. Ridiculous dresses discarded, she was back to her soft jeans and smart jackets that had characterised much of her teenage years. There was still traditional touches - her jewels and the cut of her neckline, but she looked merely vintage rather than archaic.

She was never fully at ease in the Mundane world, though she was a damn sight better than most. She took a breath and settled her hands in her lap, forcing calm. The meeting would be quick and painless. Joshua was a friend of Edwin’s, so could be counted on to be a good sort. He had a business venture he was seeking advice on - mostly how it would be viewed across the water in England. Predictably, she was now considered the family expert on all things English.

He arrived, a little out of breath, hair fluffy from the wind outside. “Lucy?” He queried, a bright smile appearing on his face when she stood and greeted him, barely reaching up to his shoulder. They shook hands and took their places at the table, him graciously buying her drink.

Joshua wasted no time in talking business. He was a passionate young man, his eyes glimmering with excitement and plans. She realised, with a jolt, she could not actually be very much older than him, and yet she felt as though she had lived a hundred lives more. She gave him the advice she could, advising him on how the English Nether lot handled their properties and what business moves they would see as unspeakably rude.

When they had exhausted that topic, she found she was rather engaged with him. He seemed want to know everything about her, asking questions after her tastes in music and art. She was ashamed to admit she found herself quite pleased, responding demurely and with that high fluttering laugh she reserved solely for those she liked.

He at one point put his hand on her arm, and she looked down, cheeks heating up. If there was any doubt before, there was none now. The electric young man was flirting with her. This was no great revelation. She saw no point in false modesty. She was pretty and funny and men liked her. She was more surprised at how she appeared to be flirting back.

Until his eyes flickered down to her hand and saw the unobtrusive little ring sitting there, on her ring finger. Automatically she turned her hand over, taking a sip of wine with her other. “Oh, you’re married?”

She hesitated. Yes. She was married. She hadn’t signed any paperwork, hadn’t sent any letters to Tom, hadn’t done much else but packed her belongings and went home, scarcely a word passing between them. When she thought of him, a hundred emotions flitted through her head and so few of them were good.

And yet.

The thought of separating from him, of cutting his life from hers quite so decisively was as frightening to her as standing on the precipice of a cliff. He was hers, her husband and she did not want to admit that perhaps it wasn’t true. He was flawed and repressed and sometimes unkind, but he had glimmers in him. Memories of their teamwork, of his gentleness, of his arms around her could not be dislodged or forgotten. She would not take off the ring, because to do so would be admitting that he would never be in her life again, would never hold her, would never be that reassuring presence to her flighty one. Her throat tightened - she could hardly bear it.

“Yes. I am.”

Adorable

It wasn’t that the term was inaccurate. It was that it wasn’t all she was. It tended to be all men saw. Their mistake. Humans had spent millennia learning that bright colours on snakes and toads and frogs did not mean they were safe. They should have learnt the same of little girls.

Her hair was blonde and pin straight. Her eyes were wide and bright blue. She was unusually short for her fourteen years and had delicate wrists. She wore bows in her hair, adored the colour pink and spoke in a high soft voice. Adults liked her nice manners and how clean she looked.

Vanessa was not nice. Vanessa was not delicate. She was not innocent or soft or gentle, or anything people assumed from her appearance. The last of Vanessa’s soft edges had been filed off the moment she had realised something fatal - she was pretty. She had been looking at herself in the mirror, trying to connect herself with her body, that she existed, that this was all she was. The realisation hit her suddenly and with violence. It took her a few more years to realise that pretty could not only be an advantage. It could be a weapon.

She leaned over countertops on tip toes, whispering orders into floundering waiters ears. She crossed her legs in short skirts and bobbed her ankle in school, chewing on the end of her pencil and pretending not to feel her classmates eyes on her skin. Everything was engineered - every bubble popped, every thumb sucked, every heavy blink.

Look all you like. But don’t touch. People learnt that lesson the same way they would a rattlesnake.

The first instance was at a 7-11, when she was standing in a queue, phone clutched in one hand and a slushie in the other. A college boy who should have known better dared to brush his finger tips under the edge of her skirt. She turned as though burnt, slushie already lashing out to land fully in his face. It didn’t end there.

It ended with a car in a ditch, blood splattered against the steering wheel, window bent and cracked. It ended with him wheezing for air, no help immediately forthcoming. It ended with snapped breaks, with no clues.

Vanessa would not apologise for her nature.

‘Let’s Play At Being Slaves.’ I Whispered.

The room was dim and dark, lit only by the streetlights outside. The furniture in the room was painted in silhouette, shadows framed against the orange glow. I was crouched in front of the sofa, looking up at Sofia up on the cushions. Her eyes were wide, her black hair streaked with amber light. Her hands were tight on the edge, white knuckled. Upstairs, the adults were asleep. This was now our own private world.

They didn’t know about the games girls played. The rituals we performed, the secrets we whispered. We were not sugar and spice. We were witches. We were scorpions. We were murderesses and orphans and ghosts. We scrabbled at each other with stubby nails, pretending to be lions ripping apart David. We poured every berry and leaf we found into water, mixed it with mud and sticks, called it a potion and dared each other to drink it.

My favourite place in the whole world was the graveyard, with it’s stone and moss and solemnity not find it melancholy. I found it wild. I loved the birds singing with fierce joy, refusing to feel the shadow of death across their feathers. The insects didn’t care that they were meant to be respectful.

Our dolls were our totems, our poppets, our souls. We cut their hair and painted their skin and made them both in our image and out of them. They died with frequency, drowned or hurled from kitchen countertop cliffs. And they were always, always reborn at the first break of day.

The Doctor's Day Off

Tommy had only intended to pop home for two minutes to change before a date with Paris. He’d be back in Greece before nightfall. Jones was at the medical centre, unsurprisingly. If the sun was in the sky, that’s where she’d be. His chest was half covered by a clean shirt when the doorbell rang. He paused. Couldn’t be any of the bullshit club. None of them knocked, they just let themselves in. For similar reasons, it was unlikely to be anyone who wanted to kill him.

He padded down the stairs in his bare feet, yawning blearily. He had barely unlocked the door when a high shrieking assaulted his ears, quickly followed by a babble of a language he didn’t speak. He blinked, processing the scene in front of him.

The fae with blue skin was pouring with purple blood and making a high pitched keening sound, held by the one with green skin who was also the one with an angry expression and an angrier voice, throwing words around in their native language. Tommy stepped aside to let them in, pointing them to the dining room where the table had never seen use as a food holder but had seen too much as an operating table.

Of course they happened to arrive when Jones was at her normal job. Of course. He snapped on some plastic gloves, trying to get some sense out of the both of them. Soon they realised he only spoke english and switched to it, albeit begrudgingly. From what he could gather, there was something of a seelie/unseelie gang war occurring in the woods and it was no longer being contained to dawn or dusk. Tommy felt he deserved a medal for the amount of patience he showed through this interaction, managing to resist calling either of them idiots.

First job was the grossest. Rearranging the insides that had half slipped out of place when the gash in the abdomen had opened. Harder than it sounds, considering he had no real idea about fae anatomy. He figured the second heart would go behind the liver shaped thing, and the intestines would probably make something like a spiral pattern. He managed to avoid pulling faces when his hands were literally inside of their flesh. Just.

Sewing them up was easy in comparison, even if he did end up needing to use a much thicker needle and a thread that didn’t blend so easily into purple blood. It wasn’t the most perfect stitching in the world, but it was better than bleeding out in a ditch. He gave them some dressings and sent them on their way.

He was five minutes into scrubbing his hands clean when the doorbell rang again. Distantly, he heard a shrieking coming from outside. He groaned and let his head his the bathroom mirror. Maybe he should just invite Paris here.

Harlequin

The easy thing to do would have been to blame it on him. To sign off her madness like she had signed off her last name, pushed it over to his camp, wash her hands of all responsibility. She might not even have been wrong to do so. His pushing and prodding and poking had definitely sped her way towards going off the deep end.

But she liked her madness being hers. She was proud of it. She had taken the seed and cultivated it until it bloomed into a nasty flower. She had tossed away the meekness and polite manners that had never fitted quite right. Shredded her beige pantyhose and grey dresses. Cut her hair unevenly and wore bright eyeshadow and lipstick at the same time. She talked to herself, saw insults and adoration where there was none and didn’t stop herself from biting when it was deserved.

Madness wasn’t all pretty, but it was freeing. She didn’t care about being pretty. Not anymore. She would no longer deny her worst impulses for fear of how it would make her look. She liked bared teeth more than her smile, her nails like talons instead of manicured. Watch out world. She was a madwoman now. Attics and asylums and hospitals would be her home and she would release any woman she came across trapped inside them.

UTS - Popular

He couldn’t actually picture himself popular. So much would have to change. He would have to be rich, he would have to live on the right side of the tracks. His clothes would have to go - out the faded flannel and torn jeans, the home-done hair cut and repaired glasses.

He could see glimpses of it sometimes, when he wore the clothes Wendy well meaningly shoved towards him, or Freddy’s jacket sat around his shoulders. He imagined waking up and going to school, surrounded by friends, not glancing over his shoulder. Getting invited to parties in houses with pools, drinking booze that cost more than a few quid, teachers smiling at him in corridors.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted it. You couldn’t miss what you had never had. He wasn’t sure he could cope with the pressures of social perfection, if he could stand being quite that vapid, if maintenance of his personality was something he wanted to focus on. And the group that milled around in the halls, perfume and glitter pouring off them, he didn’t like a single one of them. Even the one he was fucking.

What was it about popularity that made you into a grade A dick? Did you get a brain transplant as well as a stupid nickname? He hoped never to find out.

T67 - Scams

She applied the glittering lipstick, admiring herself in the mirror. She looked like an utter daydream, baby pink hair curling down to her bare shoulders in fluffy clouds, big blue eyes framed with gold stars. Astrid was often unaware of her looks, but right now it was impossible to think she was anything but beautiful. She slipped the lipstick down her cleavage, and admired herself one last time. Then it was back into the rave.

The lights were flashing and blue, and occasionally ultraviolet, making Astrid’s nails and some flecks of her glitter light up. Heads turned. A small smile flickered on her face. She liked the attention. She drew it towards her as she made her way to the centre of the dancefloor. She loved dancing, and it showed, body moving to the thumping beat, feeling it through her feet. Her eyes drifted across the bar and she found her mark. He was wearing a suit, the tie looking like it was made of some tightly woven mesh, his cufflinks flickering through advertisements. His eyes dragged up her body and when they reached her eyes, she did not shy away.

It was a slow game. One made of many dances, many glances and finally, a slight touch on her wrist. He had finally joined her, his chest against hers, his hands finding her waist. He leaned down towards her lips and she tilted her head so his lips made contact with her neck. She tangled her fingers with his, kissed his knuckles and after three songs, lead him from the dancefloor, catching the eye of Syn as she left.

The cloakroom was warm but blessedly quiet, and Astrid had to stand on tiptoes to finally kiss him. Her lips grazed his, his tongue flicking out to taste her. It took a few seconds for the effect to take place. His pupils widened, his breathing hitching a little. Another minute and he was asleep. Astrid loved her lipstick. Carefully she turned the gentleman over, hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve his credits and wallet, the watch around his wrists, his IDs. She left the cloak room, shutting it behind her and going to find Syn.

Imaginary Friends Tea Party

I don’t know why people think little girls’ imaginary friends are sweet. Mine never were. And now, with them all sitting around the table, I realised they still weren’t. Except now I was clever enough to be afraid of them.

I raised the tea cup to my lips, ignoring the slight clatter when I placed it back down onto the plate. I hid my hands in my lap, not wishing for them to see my trembling. They looked like they smelt fear as clearly as blood.

The First sat at the other end of the table and I wasn’t versed in etiquette enough to know if he was the head of the table or I was. I avoided his eyes every time I glanced up, pretending to be fascinated by the silverware, the napkins.

He was a brute, unreasonably huge. He was what I thought wolves looked like, informed only by picture books and my father’s imitation howling. There was a shock of grey fur, shot through with black, a muzzle that was disproportionately large. His teeth were sharp and his mouth was red red red. He was not delicate, shoving his nose into tea cups, slobbering all over the delicate saucers. He did not have a name. There was a noise I used to make to summon him, beyond words.

Beside him, there was the one from when I was old enough to realise that I was a girl. She was doll like, tiny and short, golden curls hitting her tiny waist. Her eyes were a little too big for her face, her movements slow and measured. Her name was Grace and I loved her once. She was an idol, a mentor and a crush all at the same time. I wanted to be her and when I was a teenager I wanted to destroy her. The cracks showed now, up along her forearms, at her temples. Her mouth was red too, but gave the impression that the wrong touch would smear them.

There were more animal-like creatures dotted here and there, looking like nothing that actually existed but like an amalgamation of many. It wasn’t actually the mammal constructions that frightened me the most. It was the bird-like creatures, with sharp movements, beaks and talons. None of them were plain - all of the colours were eyewateringly bright. These tended to be from when I was younger, fascinated with the world around me. As I got older, they took on different shapes.

They were human shaped, all of them. Their eyes flickered to look at me constantly, adjusting their movements whenever I moved, like I was the sun around which they all orbited. In a way, I was. Lonely, frustrated, surrounded by depictions of love that seemed out of reach. So all of my imaginary friends built when I was a teenager had one thing in common - they adored me.

Ailliana wanted to be my best friend. She thought I had the best advice and the best hair and the best sleepovers. Tate thought I was the most gorgeous thing to ever walk the earth, always wanted to hold my hand and stroke my hair when I slept. Ethan (as I got older, they nearly all became boys) featured mainly in the soft time before sleep, where I would dare to imagine his lips on mine, his body pressing me into the mattress.

This meal had the feeling of an intervention to it, I realised. They wanted to know where I had been, what I had been doing. The reason given was curiosity but I saw the sidelong looks, the clenched fingers around cutlery. The accusation thar sat as heavy in the air as Grace’s perfume.

Why had I left them? Well, I had replaced them with flesh and blood. I had found that I rather enjoyed it when I didn’t know what someone was about to do. I loved looking over at my friend and trying to guess what they were thinking. People were entire worlds contained. My imagination was only a reflection of myself. And I didn’t always like my reflection.

But I wanted them to go even less.

The Fae Prince of Thorns

The stone walls had been carved to look as though they were not stone at all, but wood, growing naturally and strong. Unmoving marble leaves and ivy decorated each column, promising a breath of wind would shift them. False promises were woven into the fabric of this place.

The throne looked rather plain in comparison to the surrounding hall. Flint, it looked like, pieced together to make the seat. A single beam of light from a hole in the far-away ceiling fell on it, letting in rain and sun alike. The reason became clear once you’d looked at the throne for a few moments. Inbetween the gaps of the flint, something grew. It curved around pieces of rock possessively, rooting it to the ground. The throne would be immovable. This place is where it lived and this place is where it would perish. It would outlast the monarchs that sat on its uncomfortable mantel.

The Prince’s clothing (and to a lesser extent, skin) was covered in the small cuts and tears that told any passerby exactly where he had been sitting. It was an unofficial sign of office, less obvious than the crown of thorns that graced his head or the red rose that bloomed in his lapel, the only splash of colour in his otherwise monochrome outfit.

When he sat on the throne, he did not flinch. He tossed his leg over the arm of the object as though he was lounging on a couch, his obsidian eyes trained intently on whoever had presented themselves to him that moment. Sometimes he would lean forward, placing an elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm, not concious at all of the small ripping sounds that would follow the forward motion.

His title, it was rumoured, did not just come from the seat of the kingdom on which he sat. He looked soft at first glance - skin the dark blue of the royals, lips plush, hair pin straight, motions full of grace. It would be easy not to pay much heed to the fact he rarely smiles. But it is not his physical form that was thorny. His tongue and wit was known to destroy emissaries, reduce diplomatic relationships to tatters, break hearts. His appearance was the rose - it lured you in, so you didn’t notice the thorns.

The Heart of the Kraken

The deck was slick with blood, seawater and slime. Even the most seasoned sailors wrinkled their noses in disgust, stepping over the still twitching tentacles and broken planks alike to fetch more water to try and shift the viscera. It was half practical, half a method of avoiding looking at the scrum huddling over the body of the beast.

It was Good Thomas who knelt closest, feeling for the dagger on his hip. The eye of the creature watched him with wary hatred. While it had dealt a fairly sizable blow to the ship, it had ultimately lost. Now it would pay for the loss with it’s life. Such was the way of things here.

Good Thomas took the knife and as though gutting a pig, plunged it into the kraken and dragged it down, steadily. A cry of disgust went up as its insides spilled onto the deck, a stench following it shortly after. Thomas seemed oblivious to the reactions of his cohorts, rolling up a sleeve and plunging his arm inside the cavern he had created. Eyes closed, he felt around until he withdrew his hand.

His fist was closed around something. He gestured for a bucket, putting his fist inside it. Slowly, he washed whatever he was holding, until it was revealed. The green gem was sharp enough to cut his palm, scarlet mixing with the saltwater. There was a mass in the centre of it, darker than dark, looking like ink. Good Thomas held it up to the sunlight, watching it glitter.

“Here it is lads.” He whispered, feeling his comrades lean in around him, no longer fascinated by the body of the monster and instead drawn in by the promise of treasure. “This is the start of it. We’re gonna be kings amongst men.”

The Desert in His Heart & The Storm Rider

Once upon a time there was a beautiful king. His skin was as dark as the nights sky and his eyes sparkled like stars. He was just and noble and loyal, however, he was not perfect. He did not love easily or indeed at all. He was not unkind, but nor was he accustomed to softness. And because of this, he was accused of not truly understanding many of the struggles his people went through. He could trace back his troubles. As a child, he had been cursed by an old warlock to love like the desert until he found an oasis. Now, it was well known that the desert in which his kingdom resided, once you left the capital city by the river, the desert had no such oasis. And thus he was doomed to be lonely forever.

There were rumours however, that you could summon an oasis. But you had to call out to the son of the storm god, who would decide if you were worthy of rain or not. Not a single person had ever been judged worthy of his blessings so far. Entire caravans had perished for want of a single drop.

The kings parents had been trying unsuccessfully for many years to find their son a marriage. He had refused all hands offered to him, stating that he would only marry for water or for love, and he had neither. However, it was becoming harder and harder to deny his parents. They argued that if he was never going to love anybody, what was the harm in marrying someone he simply liked?

They gave him a date - two weeks to find the oasis he sought, or he married the Princess of the Masonry Guild. She had been his best friend since birth, and though neither loved the other passionately, they enjoyed each other’s company. This seemed fair, if less than ideal, and he set out into the desert for one last attempt to find the oasis, and so his heart.

On the first day, a mighty sandstorm blew across the rolling dunes. He continued walking, covering his eyes and mouth with a fine scarf that cost hundreds of pieces of gold to make. He walked for many miles before coming across an old man with eyes like emeralds coughing and spluttering. The king took off his scarf and gave it to the elder, and walked on without asking for compensation.

On the first night, when the sun sunk below the horizon, chill descended across the land. He set up a fire, and as he was getting ready to sleep, he saw a dog with eyes like green grass shivering not so far away. He brought him close to the fire, wrapped him in his cloak, and slept. When he awoke, the dog was gone along with his cloak.

On the second day, he saw a green rattlesnake trapped beneath a rock that would surely crush it. Despite the risk of poison, the king used his walking stick to free the creature, and when it curled around the staff, he decided to leave it rather than wrestle it from the tired animal.

On the second night, he was cooking some of the supplies he had brought with him. A child with eyes like seaglass watched hungrily from a nearby settlement. He gave the child half and when he was still hungry, gave him the rest too.

On the third day, he found himself further than he had ever walked before. He did not recognise the curve of the land or the whispers of the wind. He knew that before long, he would have to turn back or be lost to the sands forever.

Between two dunes stood a young man who seemed as much a part of the desert as the grains beneath his sandaled feet. His eyes were like fresh mint and his sun-kissed skin shone with sweat. He was beautiful in a way that made the king suspect that he was seeing things, that nobody could be as perfect as this. But he approached nonetheless.

“Youth! Could you tell me where I could find an oasis?” “I could.” The young man looked him up and down, clearly deciding something. “But it would cost you all the jewels in your crown.” “Then the deal is done -” The king began to take the crown from his head when the youth caught his wrist, eyes wide in surprise. “But sir, you are the king. You could order me to tell you, or have me executed, or a million other punishments.” “I could.” The king reasoned. “But these jewels are not more valuable than the oasis I seek. And I seek the oasis to help my subjects. And you are one of my subjects, so I am bound to help you.”

As he spoke, clouds gathered above, darkening the sky that was a moment ago utterly clear. The green of the man’s eyes darkened until they resembled the depths of the ocean. The sky crackled and broke, and suddenly, between the dunes, rain began to fall, slowly, then faster and faster so water flowed down the dunes and began to form a pool.

The king watched, open mouthed and humbled, turning to the youth.

“It is you.” “It is me. I am the son of storms and I have been watching you, my liege. I was the old man, and the dog, and the snake, and the child. I wanted to be sure you were worthy of my blessings. I know you seek the oasis to seek your heart. But I see no lack of love in you. You are not lacking. Go with my blessing to your kingdom and rule it with the love you have shown here.”

The king fell to his knees and kissed the youths feet, thanking him both for the rain he had brought here and for the rain he felt filling his heart. He walked back to the palace, shoulders back, head held high.

He found his fiance, the daughter of stone, and told her what he had discovered. He told her off the journey, of the cold nights, of the beautiful youth. He also told her how he could think of nobody fairer to rule by his side and nobody cleverer to keep him in line. She could take any lovers she desired, if she desired any, love whoever she wished to love, but he still wished for her to be his partner, his friend and his queen. He would not love her as a poet, but he would love her like the sun.

Joyously, she agreed. She did not mourn the lack of carnal activities or romance (truth be told, she had always preferred women to men besides) and she celebrated the idea of being bound to her best friend. Silently, she said a prayer thanking the son of storms for making her friend see how little he was missing.

They were married and the kingdom had never seen better days. They lived to be old and of course, to be happy forever after.

1970s Ghost Ship

There were no billowing sails here. No swinging ropes or creaking planks. The shape the mist was formed of metal and paint. And it was huge. It brought to mind the whales that moved beneath the waves, enormous silent shadows. The ship left no wake, made no sound.

Inside, the corridors were lit by an eerie red light, occasionally flashing. An alarm had been set off and never put to rest, though the sound had long since burnt out. Every cabin is empty but the beds are in various states of disarray. Clothes linger on floors, ash remains in ash trays and in one case, a bottle of nail polish sits waiting to be used.

The bridge is the interesting bit. Only the light of the stars and moon filtered through the windows, but the control panel was still lit up in shades of green. The radar blinked, the small beeping sounding like cymbals in the silence of the ship. Inspect the display and it showed multiple foreign objects in the water around them. If you squinted, made sense out of the mist, there was nothing there. But still the radar beeped its warning to anybody that would listen.

Salmon Earrings

She hated them of course. They weren’t her at all. But what did he know of that? They were pink and pretty and therefore perfectly suited for his wife. They had been married for ten years. She crossed her ankles, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the small velvet box in her hands. She supposed she should still be grateful. That she had a husband that bought her presents for no reason at all. That kissed her cheek when he came home from work. That gave her money to hire nannies and cleaners and gardeners and anything else she liked. That loved her, for all intents and purposes.

Why did she loathe him so very much?

Was it his niceness? His utter lack of edges? His bland smile, his blue eyes? He was like the platonic ideal of a husband. But that was all he was. As a teenager she had dreamed of torrid affairs, of sex after tempestuous arguments, of love against all odds. What she had gotten wasn’t passion, wasn’t even love. It was tolerance.

She snapped the box shut with a sharp snap that echoed around the perfectly tidied bedroom.

Fundamentally, she was lazy. Of course she could pack her bags and leave. She could have an affair with a wild girl. She could scream and shout and smash every mirror in the place. But all of that was a lot of effort. And for all she despised him, she did enjoy the comfort of her life here. Her background was not moneyed - she had grown up in a house with cracked windows and no carpets. She did not want to go back to that life. She didn’t care if that wasn’t how this story was meant to go.

She prayed for an accident. For him to be hit by a car, a heart attack, lightning. To give her a reason to mourn publicly and loudly then move on. Then invite the wild girl into her house to be her mistress. To live her life free of strings and obligations. To be her own person, to be in control. She wondered what god she could pray to for that because the christian one didn’t seem to be particularly forthcoming.

Maybe she could be her own god. Make her own fate. She could lose her benevolence. Enact judgement.

The Boy with the Pearl Earring

He lounged on the couch, shirt falling open. His eyes were half closed, hair tousled, cheeks flushed with either heat or wine. For some reason the artist’s eyes kept flickering to the pearl earring peeking through his ebony locks. Eroticism, the painter reasoned, was all in the details. The slight hint of blue at his wrist, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the ring on his finger.

He had known the boy for a little while, though he had known him by sight for longer. He was in the same bar every evening, in the same seat, dark eyes watching the door for any likely clients. He was beautiful, and he was aware of it, and his business was swift and steady.

Gio wasn’t quite sure where he had managed to find the courage to ask him to model. Not that he had ever had any trouble before. Sex workers were used to such requests, no respectable noble willing to take their clothes off even in the name of art. He was however, the first man he had asked, and therefore the first there had been a spark of attraction with. The girls, he was friends with. They laughed and joked the entire time, stayed for dinner afterwards, teased him with promises of finding him a friend to settle down with.

This was different. The air was charged. They hadn’t spoken much, the man just counting the coins and positioning himself on the couch, though he had been amiable to being told to make adjustments so the light from the wax candles fell on him perfectly. He was hyper aware of his own breath, every small movement he made, how he himself looked. It felt odd to feel he was the scrutinised one. He was usually safe behind the canvas.

The boy opened his eyes and looked at him directly. He felt afire. His eyes were dark, impossible to discern pupil from iris. Gio swallowed, let his own eyes drop. For the first time, he was in the presence of the sublime.

It's a Sin to Tell a Lie

They arranged themselves in a tableau, the blonde twins curled at the feet of Miss Anguila, Hermione and Elsie in the straight backed chairs they all loathed so much. Hermione’s hands were occupied with some embroidery, though if you inspected it closely you could see she was making rather a mess of it. Elsie had opted instead for paging through a book on the native birds of the land, seemingly utterly absorbed in it. Every white dress was spotless. Every cup of tea was steaming merrily. Even Arthur, the dog was well turned out and calm, snoozing by the empty fireplace.

They were thus arranged when the policemen knocked at the door.

Miss Anguila gave each of the girls a warning look as she stood, smoothing her skirts. The twins sat up, looking less like smug cats and more like innocent children. Miss Anguila paused by the door, took a breath, arranged a smile then answered the door.

She let a surprised laugh escape, raising her hand to her chest. “Oh, gentlemen! To what do we owe the honour? Do come in, we’ve just brewed a fresh pot of tea -”

The two men stepped inside, removing their helmets as they did so. They stood out, like foreigners fresh off the boat. They were men in a land designed for women. Every trinket was made for delicate fingers, everything decorated with fresh roses or frills or cherubs. They glanced at each other, biting their lips, trying not to touch anything they shouldn’t. The elder began to make demurring noises, but the younger nudged him and sat in the offered chair, on the very edge of the seat. After a moment, the elder followed.

As the mistress poured the steaming tea into cups and saucers, Elliot (the younger) finally answered her question, turning his hat with anxious fingers. “Strictly procedural only miss. We shan’t take up much of your time.” “Oh, don’t be silly. It’s a pleasure, isn’t it girls?” A chorus of affirmative twitters and eager agreements came from behind her, colouring Elliot’s cheeks a alluring shade of pink. Edgar, the elder, frowned at his colleague and leaned forward, taking over the steer of the conversation. “You see miss, a man has gone missing. A Mr Samuel Thomas.” Miss Anguila arranged her skirts and took up her seat, one of the girls passing her cup to her. “Oh, I do recall him. He’s the horse merchant, is he not?” “That’s him miss. His wife hasn’t seen him since Friday night, and he isn’t in any of his usual spots, so we thought we’d do the rounds.” “At a girl’s finishing college?” She raised an arch eyebrow but Edgar didn’t quail as Elliot did.

“Well, his wife said he sometimes had business here.” “He shoes the horses we own I suppose. But the groundskeeper would really know more about that. I try to keep my own contact with such masculine business minimal. It isn’t becoming for a lady to deal with money.” She cast an iron eye over her pupils who demurred softly.

“Of course not. We never meant to imply - “ Elliot began. “Water under the bridge. Now, my groundskeeper has Sundays off, but by all means return tomorrow, or I can pass along his home address. He doesn’t live too far away at all.” Edgar nodded. “That would be helpful.” He drained the last of his tea and stood, replacing the hat back on his head. Elliot followed, albeit reluctantly and with much less vigor, trying very hard to stop looking at Elsie.

Anguila showed them to the door graciously, opening the door for them to take their leave. She gave a courtsey to each of the men, who each fumbled something resembling a bow. As he took a step out Elliot remarked on the freshness of the flower beds and the corresponding smell of spring. “Nothing like a bit of fresh turned earth.” Miss Anguila smiled. “I quite agree.”

Albatross - HDM

The sky promised rain. The sea promised storms. Harry leaned on the rail, breathing in the salt air. His skin stung a little with the spray and the cold, but the tingling actually made him feel more alive, not less. He was made for this, the feeling of a heaving ship beneath his feet, his palms warm with rope burn, hair thick with salt. He knew this to be true.

The confirmation had came when Kess had settled. He watched her now, her wing tips brushing the waves before she soared back up, as far as the bond would allow her to go. She was beautiful to watch, her huge wings responding to every updraft, every breeze. He could feel her joy, her freedom, and regretted only that his human half did not have wings to join her. Occasionally she fluttered back to affectionately nuzzle at his neck or gently peck at his fingers before once again throwing herself to the sea.

He wanted it to be like this, always. When he got too old to sail, he would find a house by the sea, as close as he could manage. He would leave the windows open wide to let her out and the sea in. He would live somewhere where rain and mist were common. Where the wildness of the the waves was so close he could hear it.

When they dropped anchor, he had a ritual. He would strip his clothes off inch by inch, discarding them to the side. He would dive from the side of the boat, the water would drag every worry he did have from his skin. Kess would dive beside him, and it was the closest they would experience to being one body. It was the closest thing they had to heaven.

#prose #short stories #larp #writers on tumblr #prompts

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undertaleowl · 6 years

Text

Expanding the Canon, chap. 2

Hey all! Here’s the second chapter, and the fic is now officially on AO3, so go to the link to read, if that’s easier for you!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027401/chapters/34837757

Expanding the Canon, chapter 2

FOUR MONTHS LATER…

Averia stood in line for the hot dogs and hot cats as she listened attentively to the twins, both talking her non-existent ears off about different topics on either side of her. It was a crisp fall day, the perfect day for her siblings to be playing at recess in their matching green and blue striped t-shirts and jeans. Today was a teacher work day, meaning the kids had the day off. Normally, she would be at work right now, but since her number one babysitter was a high school student who DID have school today, and her other younger sibling also had school today, that left her to take the day off.

It was always a pleasure to have more time with her siblings since she was usually at work from 5:00 AM to 5:00 PM. Her work hours made it so that she only had three or so hours with them until they had to go get ready for bed. Except on the weekends, then they had four hours to spend together, because the twins’ bed times were 9:00 instead of 8:00. She at least got more time with Merri, the oldest of the younger siblings. She was the equivalent of a human twelve-year-old, and so she got to stay up until 9:00 normally and 10:00 on weekends, and she would talk to her book-lover sister about her day and what movies and books were out there, and they would geek out together.

“Next up!” Averia gently pushed on her siblings’ backs to push them towards the counter.

“Think about what you want, you two,” she prodded gently. Sans the Skeleton gave her a lazy salute.

“Hey there, Ms. Averia. What brings you by so early?” he asked as he went to make her usual, her hot cat with the ends so burnt that they were charred. Averia chuckled and gestured to the two kids.

“These munchkins didn’t have school today, and normally they have lunch at 11:00 instead of 1:00, so I’m here early,” she answered, grinning at him. “Glad you were open. Wasn’t sure if you were gonna be or not.” Sans nodded in acknowledgement.

“Oh, you know me. I can be here early since I can do the job with my eyes closed,” he replied. Averia breathed out a laugh.

“Are you sure you actually do the job with your eyes closed, or is that your excuse to sleep when you’re supposed to be working?” Sans was about to respond when he heard two amazed “whoa’s” come from either side of Averia.

“Can you really work while sleeping, mister?” the little girl skeleton asked while wringing her hands, obviously in awe. Sans’ smile became a little softer when he saw the little girl flush purple when he nodded yes to her question.

“That’s SO cool! How do you do it?” the little boy skeleton interjected before Sans could answer, practically jumping up and down. Lato's skull kind of reminded him of Papyrus while his eye sockets were wider, like Sans' own. Averia chuckled and ran her fingers down the back of the boy’s skull.

“Lato, Mr. Sans is just-” Loud, theatrical snoring from the stand interrupted her, and blue magic levitated hot dogs and hot cats onto the grill while condiments were also floating at the ready. The twins giggled while Averia smirked with her arms crossed, her phalanges tapping on her humerus. Her hot cat floated over to her, along with Lato’s and Lora’s plain hot dogs. Sans opened his eye sockets and winked at them.

“Like that, kiddos.”

Averia finally decided, “To hell with it,” and played along. “Mr. Sans is a skeleton of many talents. Now what do you two say to Mr. Sans?”

“Thank you, Mr. Sans,” the kids intoned in unison before taking their hot dogs and rushing to the nearby oak tree, where there was a purple and white checkered blanket spread out for them. She chuckled softly, shaking her head slightly before she looked back to Sans, who regarded her little brother and sister with a warm, content look on his face. She would try to guess why later. They were still only acquaintances, after all, so it would be rude if she asked.

“You know, you’re the first one I’m coming after if Lora or Lato begin sleeping in class while trying to listen to the teachers,” Averia stated, trying and failing to keep her tone serious. Sans shrugged.

“Welp, wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing,” he replied before winking again at her. Averia raised both bone brows and was about to ask what he meant by that when he added, “I’d just give you a free hot cat, and you’d let me off the hook.” Averia felt her cheek bones heat up, nearly glowing green, as he snickered at her. “You’re not as much of the strict librarian that you pretend to be, Ms. Averia.”

The petite skeleton librarian went to retort, but she was interrupted by an unfortunately VERY familiar voice shouting, “Hey thief! How about you do a decent thing for once in your life and stop running?!” Averia closed her eye sockets in exasperation and sighed. Out of instinct, she put her leg behind her and tripped the perp trying to get away. On cue, Armata rushed by in her navy blue uniform and tackled the other skeleton, putting handcuffs on him. The broad and big-boned woman took her role as the first monster police officer very seriously, and the dark circles under her eye sockets revealed that she hadn’t slept in a while. Averia made a note to force her to sleep later in the day or in the week.

“Aw, come on, doll face, it ain’t like the dead broad was gonna miss whatever was taken!” This time, it was Sans who closed his eye sockets and sighed. The handcuffed skeleton must have been one of Sans’ alternates, based on the other’s reaction, the handcuffed man’s short stature, and the identical eye socket shape. Only in contrast to Sans’ blue hoodie, this Sans wore a sweater with a black leather jacket with a fur hood, despite the 60 degree Fahrenheit weather. The other Sans met Sans’ eyelights and brightened. “Classic! Buddy, chum, amigo! Can you please tell the psycho police lady that there’s been some sort of mix-up and that I’d never do anything that bad?” The two female skeletons looked at Sans expectantly, and Sans felt a little bit of sweat drip down the back of his skull.

“I’ve never seen this guy before in my life,” Sans lied, you know, like a liar. Averia had to avert her face to the ground to keep herself from laughing at the obvious falsehood as the alternate growled in the back of his throat.

“Classic, you are fucking dead to me. When I get outta these cuffs, I’m making you pay,” the alternate Sans growled. Sans shrugged while Armata tightened the magic-repressing cuffs, yanked him up to stand on his feet, and scowled at the back of the perp’s skull.

“The only one who’s paying is you, bucko.” Armata turned to Averia and grinned, her cheeks flushed a light pink from the running. “Morning, Avie! Beautiful Autumn day, right?” Averia chuckled.

“I guess so, though I don’t want to keep you from doing your job by talking about what a good day it is,” she tried to coerce, continuously glancing at the arrested skeleton, who seemed to be growing more and more irritated. However, the bulky skeleton woman just waved her free hand as the other hand held the middle chain of the guy’s handcuffs to prevent him from escaping.

“Ah, this bozo isn’t going anywhere. I never see you unless I go to the library, and when I do, you don’t wanna talk to me,” Armata whined. Averia raised both of her bone brows, amused and exasperated at the same time.

“It’s because I work at a library, Ari. Literally, it is the only place where being quiet is an expectation and a rule, so I can’t make an exception for you just because we’re friends. It would be like if I committed a crime, and I told you not to arrest me,” Averia scoffed. Armata responded with a scoff of her own.

“You’re too much of a good-two-bones to do anything like that, so that’s a stupid comparison. Seriously, how have you been? How are the kiddos?” Averia finally caved to her friend’s enthusiasm and giggled.

“Kiddos are fine. Lora and Lato are over on the blanket by the tree.” She motioned over to the two children as they talked with their mouths full, causing Armata to laugh while Averia winced at their lack of manners. “They didn’t have school today, so I took the day off to hang out with them. It’s been nice. Poor Merri had a presentation in her Human World History class today, so the kid will have cookies waiting for her when she gets home,” Averia answered, her voice pitching a little lower sympathetically. Armata hummed in understanding.

“Poor kid. So tell me, sweetie bones, does the fear of public speaking run in the family, or is it a learned trait?” Averia glared at her friend for the comment. “Come on, Avie, it’s an honest question! You’re a grown-ass woman, you don’t even have to speak in public anymore, so why’s it still have you and now your younger sister all fucked over?” Lora and Lato rushed over to them, grinning. Armata grinned down at them. “Hey, who are these big munchkins? I don’t think I’ve seen them around before!” Lora giggled.

“It’s us, silly Ari!” Armata fake gasped.

“No,” she said in fake disbelief. Lato smirked.

“Better believe it, Ari. Also!” He pulled out his wallet, opened it, and pushed it into her side. “Swear jar, two times. One dollar, please!” Armata scowled and fished in her pocket for some loose change. By some miracle, she found four quarters and dropped them into the kid’s wallet.

“Jesus fuck, this is so corny that this could be in family sitcom that airs in the early morning ‘cuz nobody fucking wants to watch that shit. Just get me outta here already,” Sans’ alternate self griped. Armata grit her teeth and dug an elbow into his spine. “Ow, fuck!”

“Are we allowed to ask him for money for the swear, Avie?” Lora asked.

“No,” all of the skeleton adults answered in unison, even the alternate Sans. Armata glared at her captive’s head.

“You don’t even get to think of corrupting these beautiful skellie angels by talking to them. Come on, bastard.”

“Swear jar!”

“Take an IOU, kiddos. I gotta go work.” Armata replied, grinning wryly at them. She looked in Averia’s direction. “Milonga’s got a gig Saturday. I’m sending you the info, and you are coming. It’s after your shift at the library, so you’re coming, and I won’t take no for an answer!” Before Averia could respond, Armata was strutting down the street to the Ebott City police car.

“Avie? We finished our lunches. Can we go play on the playground, pleeeeeeeeeeease?” Lora begged, making her eyelights turn into stars. Averia looked at the close playground and back to her little brother and sister, who were looking at her with pleading eye sockets. Averia nodded, smiling when the two brightened and ran off, giggling.

“Stay where I can see you,” she called after them. Neither responded, so she sighed and shook her head before turning to smirk at the skeleton vendor.

“So...you have an alternate, huh? What’s that like?” she asked, barely restraining a laugh. Sans chuckled despite himself.

“The ones I’ve met are ok, even the dumbass who just got himself arrested. It’s harder to feel bonely now since I know there are other skeletons, even if most of them are my weird twins I never knew existed. I’m pretty sure my brother and I were the only skeletons in our sector,” he explained lazily. Averia cocked her head to the side.

“What sector are you from? I don’t think I’ve ever asked, sorry,” she inquired apologetically. Sans waved a bony hand.

“Meh, it’s not like you’re the type to pry out the bare bones of my life story,” he joked, smirking a little bit when Averia failed to bite down a smile at the pun. “I’m from Sector 1. So is my bro.” Averia gave him a confused look. “What?”

“You sure you’re from Sector 1? I think I would remember a short, punny skeleton with a hot dog and hot cat cart wandering around,” she noted. Sans felt his eye lights flicker for a moment as he eyed the skeleton regular, intrigued.

“What, you’re from Sector 1? Which area? The capital? I didn’t spend too much time there, so that could be why we never ran into each other.” Averia shook her head. “No, we were in between the locked entrance to the Ruins and Snowdin Town. My aunt was a great climber, and there was this crevice that looked like a jagged crack in the ground, but it led to a canyon. That’s where we lived. We used to come out a lot more often, but then someone decided to build this weird bridge thing with bars. So that decreased mobility a little bit, but we came out to do major shopping in the Capital, for food and blankets and stuff.” Sans looked like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “Mr. Sans? You ok there?” Sans decided to go with laughter apparently. Averia regarded him with the same confused expression until his laughter faded.

“Thank my bro for that. We were sentries in Snowdin Forest. That was supposed to be a gate to stop humans in case they came from the Ruins,” he finally explained. Averia’s expression must have darkened because Sans gave her a guarded look. “Look, my bro wouldn’t have intentionally hurt a fly. If we’d known there were monsters--”

“Oh, I’m gonna have some serious words with her,” she growled, interrupting Sans’ assurance. Sans cautiously reached out and poked her arm, and seemed a little bit apologetic when she jumped nearly a foot in the air, like a cat that got spooked.

“You aren’t mad at my brother for building that bridge and gate thing, right?” he asked. Averia felt her face flush the same color as her magic, a lime green.

“Oh, gosh no! Sorry, I just got lost in thought, I guess, heh heh,” she tried to chuckle, but it was obvious that she was still tense and uneasy, especially since he was still eyeing her like a bomb that might blow any moment. “My aunt just told us that the bridge was to keep bad monsters out. I’m miffed because it wasn’t anything like that after all.” Sans was still kind of gaping at her, so she just accepted her failure at socializing. “Ugh, sorry. I should really go and check on the twins. Nice seeing you again, Mr. Sans,” she rushed before practically sprinting off, almost barreling over a human child with a purple and blue striped sweater, and was that the former queen with them!? She rushed past even more quickly as the human child and Toriel went to Sans’ stand.

She REALLY needed to learn how to not daydream or get lost in thought while she was talking to someone.

#ETC #original work #fan fiction #ut sans #ocs #uf sans #slice of life fic #Ebott is a multiverse theory

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i-write-shakespeare-not-disney · 7 years

Text

Barrio Slums and More Ch.2

Click Here for Chapter 1

Let me know if you need translations! -- Feedback appreciated!!! -- edits and fanart too!!!

Watching everyone rushing to make food and set the table couldn’t be more painful. Lance felt like he was falling apart and he couldn’t show it. He couldn’t bring himself to disappoint them.

He’d rehearsed so many times. As he worked on his mom’s car, as he showered, as he got dressed, and as he watched. But it never made it easier. Not once, did it feel like he could tell them without bile rising up in his throat.

His little cousins were running around the adults, being ushered out to the front yard, but they were too hyped to listen. Suddenly, his cousin Lily shrieked and began bawling. “Guys, give her back her doll,” Lance scolded the two twins that were her older brothers. “You know how she gets, and unless you want me to tell Tia Carla what you did-”

“Ugh, Lance you’re the same as before you went to college,” Jose grumbled, tossing back the doll.

“Just go back to college,” Jesus, the other, muttered, sticking his tongue out. They ran out, screaming after their other cousins.

Lance sighed and mumbled, “Wish I could, buddy.” He went to be sure the kids weren’t fighting. The boys were running, and the girls were playing with dolls. Until Lance’s brother, Miguel, decided to pull their cousin Rosa’s pigtail and began a gender war of tag. He shook his head and turned back to look at the house. His tios were drinking, claiming to toast to them. His tias and his mom were cooking, gossiping in Spanish. His Papo was asleep on the couch with a cup of soda in his hand. His buela was cleaning, setting out a new mantel for the table.

It was too much. It was way too much. Despite the humid heat, Lance left the house and went to the back where the dogs were. At his Papo’s house, they had a chicken coop. Lance hated those chickens. He could still hear the shrieks of laughter and anger from the kids in the front, but from where he stood, Lance could close his eyes and pretend that it was a normal day. That he wasn’t about to drop the worst news in months to his family. That he wasn’t about to explain what a failure he was, and how he didn’t deserve anything they were doing for him.

He could pretend he had never gone to college, that it was last summer and he was filled with hope to envision all the possibilities the future would bring. He was still Lance, the jokester, the fun cousin, the fun brother, the troublemaking son, the smart one.

“Lance!” one of his tias called. “Your friend is here!” Lance frowned and went inside, surprised to see Keith at his front door with his tios and tias and mother and buela surrounding him, inviting him, offering things, asking him questions.

“Oh God,” he muttered. He interceded and made his family back off. “Come on. I’ll introduce you, but you don’t have to remember.” He gestured to his uncles. “That’s my tio Angel, my tio Selso, and my tio Ramon. Tio Angel is my mom’s brother. Tios, this is… my friend, Keith.” Keith waved and shook each of their hands, refusing the beer they offered. “That’s my Papo, you met him.”

“Won’t that glass fall?” he questioned.

“No. He always falls asleep with a cup of something in his hand.” He pointed. “That’s Buela Prudencia. I call her Buela.” He took Keith to the kitchen and pointed. “Mom at the stove. Tia Carla’s dicing, she’s the restaurant owner. Tia Lourdes. They’re Mom’s sisters.” He coughed and gestured to Keith. “This is my friend Keith. Please don’t smother him.”

“Cabron,” his tia Lourdes said with a swat of his arm. “Hi Keith, it’s so nice to meet you.” Keith smiled nervously and nodded. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Very,” he said.

Lance hurried him out and pointed to the kids. “My sisters, Emily, Jackie, and Alexia. My brother Jorge. I call him Bobo. The twins, Jose and Jesus belong to tia Carla with my cousin Lily in the pigtails. The other kids are tia Lourdes’ kids. Rosa, Diana, the girls. Ricky and Victor, the boys. And the other little boy there is my tio Angel’s kid, Saulo.”

“That’s… a lot of kids.”

“And it’s just the little ones. I have older cousins, but I pretend they don’t exist.” He shrugged and gestured him back inside. “Dogs are in the back. Quique and Luna.” He sat down on the bench outside. “So… why are you here?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…. You don’t remember me from high school. You don’t know me at all, but you agreed to have dinner with my family. All I did was wait your table and fix your car. Why are you here, what do you want?”

Keith frowned and crossed his arms as he looked out at the road. “Food, I guess. Look, I got invited, so I came. You want me to go?” He almost said yes. But he wasn’t sure how to explain that to his family either. Besides, if Keith stayed, then maybe Lance wouldn’t have to tell his family he dropped out. “Do you?” he asked.

Lance looked at him and felt his cheeks warm. “No. Not really.” Keith took a breath and nodded as he slumped in his seat and kicked at the ground. “I’m just… dealing with stuff right now.”

“It’s cool,” he said. “You want to talk about it?”

Before he could answer, his tia Carla came barging out and screaming. “Ya esta la comida! Vengan a comer!” Keith and Lance had both cringed as she went back in.

Keith looked over at him. “I take it dinner’s ready?” Lance nodded and nudged him before standing. They walked in and Lance found himself sitting across from Keith. The kids were on one end of the table and his aunts and uncles sat around him. At the head of the table were Papo and Buela.

Everyone began serving themselves from the food available in large dishes along the center of the table. Before they could all really dig in, Lance’s mother stopped them. “Wait, wait! No toquen esa comida, werquitos!” The kids stopped midbite. “We can’t forget who this is for.” Lance gulped and felt his chest constrict. “Mijo,” she said proudly. “My little boy, all grown up. Back from college. The first of all of us to go. You’re leading a better life, mijo, which is all I could’ve ever wanted for you. You’re the best role model for your siblings and your cousins. And I love you so, so much.” Her voice broke and Lance already felt his tears spilling over. And she wrapped him into a hug and smoothed down his hair. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I know you hate when I get like this, but I’m just so proud of you.” She hugged him tightly and Lance was grateful because if she hadn’t, everyone would’ve seen how hard he was shaking. “Don’t cry. We don’t want your friend to get uncomfortable.” She kissed his forehead and sat back down. “Okay, eat!” she said with a teary smile.

Everyone lunged for the food except for Lance. He was trying to stop the guilt from eating him. It took a swift kick from Keith under the table for him to start piling food onto his plate. He picked at his food and ate as everyone around him started their questions.

“So what are you studying? Will it get you a good paying job?”

“When do you graduate? When can we get tickets?”

“Is it true that the parties are crazy?”

“Remember, you have to stay focused on school, no girls.” His tia Carla nudged him and winked on the other side of him, as did his mother. The women in the family were far more understanding.

“I just knew you’d get this far, mijo,” Buela said. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, everyone listened. “You’re going to be somebody, Lance,” she said certainly, breaking Lance’s heart further. “Dime, were your teachers impressed? You were number three in school here. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were number one when you graduate.”

“And speaking of graduating, we need to start saving if everyone’s going to go.”

“What about after graduation? What are you gonna do? Tell me you’re not just gonna live here again. You got out for a reason,” one of his uncles said.

Lance kept his mouth full of food he couldn’t eat just to keep from answering. “What about you, Keith? Do you go to college?” his mother asked, finally removing the focus from him.

“Uh, yeah- yes, ma’am. I go to the community college. I want to transfer to a university for my junior year. Community college is just cheaper right now, which is what I need.”

“Lance here is at a private college,” his papo bragged. “He got scholarships.”

“That’s really good,” Keith said with a sincere smile.

“Una porra pa’ el futuro licenciado!” A cheer for the future graduate.

“Stop,” Lance choked.

“A la vio, a la vao!”

“Stop,” he said a little louder. But he couldn’t compete with his family’s roar.

“A la bim-bom- ba! Lance! Lance!”

“I got kicked out!” he shouted, standing, silencing them. He stared at his plate, unable to breathe. “I’m not in college,” he croaked. “I messed up. I’m just another drop out.” He swallowed and felt his tears slide down his face. “I’m sorry.”

He turned away before he could break completely, before the shouting could start, before his mother’s or his buela’s crying could start. He couldn’t look at any of them. He left the house and prayed that no one followed him. He sat on the steps and felt sobs rack his body.

He hadn’t even heard when someone walked out behind him, until they were sitting beside him. “Want to go somewhere?” Keith asked.

Lance wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Why are you here?” he hissed. “Just go.”

It was quiet for a moment. Then, “I remember you. From school. You were the guy that pantsed Coach Reyes.” Lance shut his eyes and scowled. “And then you cried for a half hour outside of Principal Miller’s office. But when you got called in, you stopped, and you took a breath and you went in. You were in there almost all period. Then you came out, eyes red, smiling. I’d have thought you were high if your nose hadn’t been running.” Lance looked over at him and furrowed his eyebrows. Keith looked at him. “I was in the office that day. I was an office aide and… I guess you hadn’t seen me. But I’d heard of you, and you’d never been in the office before so….” Keith scooted closer. “I’d always wanted to talk to you, but… you were so smart I didn’t think I could without sounding stupid. You just… you had your life made. Teachers respected you. I was the kid teachers glared at because they thought the phone ringing was mine. It was theirs.”

Lance scoffed and shook his head. “Why would you want to talk to me?” he muttered.

“It seemed like you were the only one who wasn’t trying to get laid or high. You were one of the few nice enough with actual goals in your life.”

They heard the increase of shouting inside and muffled arguing. “Where should we go?” Lance asked, unable to sit there and listen to his family fall apart because of him. Keith twirled his keys and nudged him as he stood and walked to his car.

Lance followed without looking back and slid into the passenger seat.

Keith drove with ease. One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the door as he chewed on his nails. He leaned back, his head against the window. “So, this is a stupid question, but… why didn’t you tell them?” he asked once they’d driven nowhere for a while.

Lance hugged himself and rubbed his head. “You heard them. I was the one who got to leave, first-generation student, I…. I was the role model. And then I went and fucked it up.”

“How did that happen?” he asked. There was no judgement in his voice, no pity. Just curiosity.

“I couldn’t keep up. Aside from scholarships, I had to work for the money. I kept missing work, which was fine at first… but after a month, my professors weren’t so sure I was being honest. So I started slipping. And then I lost my scholarships and… I couldn’t keep going without offering the devil my soul.” He leaned against the window. “I dropped out in March. And I’ve been crashing with different friends, working to pay them back for letting me stay, and pretending I was still in college. I wanted to tell them, but… I was so fucking scared. I don’t want to disappoint them. I didn’t want them to know that all my dreams were for nothing.”

“Dude,” Keith interrupted. “You talk like… like you can’t try again. Get more scholarships and get in another if not the same college. Write a killer essay about why you fucked up before and get back in. Online classes. You’re not a deadbeat or a failure for messing up. You’re only a failure if you don’t bother trying again.” Lance stared at him and sighed. “You can’t give up on all your dreams just because it got shitty. That’s when you fight most, and prove you deserve to get what you want. It’s not gonna get handed to you all wrapped in a nice bow.”

“Oh what you think that’s how life is? You think I’m making excuses?” he shouted at him. “You think I haven’t had to fight all my life for people to take me seriously? Everyone expected me to join a gang or knock some chick up- thank God I like boys too, it kept my mom from freaking anytime I dated- or to just inherit the stupid shop or the fucking restaurant, okay. Everyone just expects my life to be this, to be here, in this shitty part of Houston no one gives a shit about and where people show up dead in a ditch for Univision to broadcast on!” He ran a hand through his hair and felt the anger make his limbs shake. “I had to fight to stay in advanced classes in each shitty low-grade public school I went to, I had to fight to be in enough extracurriculars while still getting home in time to watch all those kids, help them with homework, feed them, and still get my own done. I didn’t whine and bitch when I had three hours of sleep before a final. I didn’t care that my dad ran off when I was starting high school and left my mom with all those kids on her own, because I knew I could step up. I’m not excusing my fuck ups with my life, okay? So don’t you dare make me seem like I’m playing the victim, Keith. Don’t you dare.”

It was quiet for a while and then Keith started laughing. Lance stared at him incredulously, but Keith just kept laughing and shaking his head. They’d parked at a What-A-Burger and the lights reflected of his violet eyes as he laughed. “I’m sorry,” he finally said through a chuckle. “It’s just…. I didn’t realize I’d wake this ferocious beast just by telling you to fight for what you want.” Lance scowled and looked away. “Hey.” He felt Keith’s hand on his arm. “I wasn’t painting you as the victim. I just… you sounded defeated. And I wanted to show you that you still had fight left in you. And you obviously do.” Lance furrowed his eyebrows and Keith smiled at him. “You messed up. Fine. So try again. This was your first try. Not every kid works a bunch while going to college their first year.”

Lance took a breath and nodded. He let his head fall back against the seat and shook his head. “I just… I can’t go back, knowing that they’ll look at me like….” He couldn’t even put it into words. But it made him want to cry nonetheless. “I disappointed them, Keith. I let them down. And I hid it for a long time, how are they going to forgive me?”

Keith bit his lip and shrugged. “It’ll be rough for a bit, yeah. But… based on what I saw? They love you so fucking much, it’s crazy. They’ll forgive you. They’ll help you. They’ll understand. They’ll be hurt you didn’t tell them, but… they won’t shut you out. They won’t hate you.” Keith let him mull over that for a while until Lance was ready to go back.

Instead, Lance looked over and asked, “Why’d you pretend you didn’t know me if you did?”

Keith seemed shocked by the question. His eyebrows went up and he looked over at Lance with his mouth half-open. He grimaced and scratched his neck. “It took me a moment to place you. You were usually really loud and… obnoxious if I’m honest.” Lance scoffed. “You’re quieter. I know why now, but…. I didn’t realize it was you until I brought back the tip. And then… I just didn’t bring it up.”

“So you remember me as the guy that pantsed the coach then cried about it in the principal’s office,” Lance said with a scoff.

“No,” he answered, sounding shocked. “No, I…. I remember you as the guy who knew how to get what he wanted. You were crying, but… you managed to convince the principal not to give you a punishment for that. And you apologized to Coach too. Lance… I remember you as the guy with the determined blue eyes and easygoing smile that never took no for an answer and owned up to his actions.” Lance gulped and stared at Keith, feeling the familiar flutter in his stomach he used to get back in high school around him.

“Oh,” he said weakly. They both looked out at the diner and seemed to grow smaller in the silence. Lance’s heart was beating fast, and he suddenly never wanted Keith to go away. He knew what to say, and how to make him see things differently. And Lance hadn’t met someone like that in a long time.

“Do you… want to get food?” Keith asked softly.

Lance shook his head, suddenly self-conscious and nervous. “No…. I think I should go home. I can’t run forever.” Keith nodded and started driving back.

When they reached his house, he parked and asked, “Want me to get out with you?”

“No. It’s fine. They’re my family, so I should… deal with them. Besides, half of it might be Spanish and then I’d lose you.” Keith laughed and shrugged.

“Maybe you can teach me, then.” Lance bit back a smile at the idea of seeing Keith again if only to teach him Spanish.

“Sounds like a plan, Mullet,” he said. “Thanks.” Keith nodded and Lance took a deep breath before he walked into the house again.

“Where have you been, carajo!” his tia Lourdes hissed, pinching his shoulder as soon as he walked in. Lance yelped, and rubbed his arm as everyone else came in.

“There he is, the non-college boy,” one of his cousins teased.

“Too good to be a worker like the rest of us, or what?” his tio Selso said. “Running out the door como una marica.” Lance winced and was grateful when his tia Lourdes yanked his ear and scolded him.

“Lance,” his mother said tiredly, shutting everyone up. “What happened?”

Gathering strength, he began to explain how he ended up getting kicked out of school. He explained it all with no excuses, solely facts and kept talking even when his mother’s tears began.

“So you just stayed at your friend’s like some kind of beggar?” she cried. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I didn’t want to let you down!”

“Oh, that worked out great, didn’t it?” his brother muttered. Lance couldn’t even bring himself to punch him.

“So you have us making you this big dinner, celebrating you, and you weren’t going to say anything?”

“I wanted to,” he began. But the look on her face, and on his grandparents’ faces silenced him. “I’m sorry. I messed up. But I can try again. Apply again, get scholarships again, explain what happened.”

“You think they’ll give you anything? With the grades you finished with and the way you dropped out? You had your high school grades and rank going for you before. Now, you have nothing!” Lance tried not to show how much his mother’s words hurt him.

“Ma, I’m not giving up,” he whispered. She clenched her jaw and stared him with watery blue eyes.

“Oye, pues no somos una familia?” Tia Carla said. “We’re Mexicans. We don’t give up. We don’t just sit back. And as a family, we support each other.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “We have the restaurant. We have the shop. Lance can make the money he needs. And we can help him. I have Beto’s college fund that he never used.”

“Tia, you want to open your salon-”

“Callate, chingado,” she hissed at him. Lance promptly shut up. She looked at the others with a ferocity he’d always admired in her. “We’re not letting him deal with this alone. Not after all these years. He wants to fight. God knows Beto didn’t. Did Carlos? Did Benny or Esmeralda or Vanessa?” His aunts and uncles looked down in shame at the mention of their older kids.

Beto was always drunk, never where he should be. Carlos had died in a gang fight in high school. Benny was quiet and never called, and he worked at the gas station the next county over. Esmeralda had gotten pregnant in high school and Vanessa never wanted to go to college. She married her boyfriend and moved out, and they only heard from her on the holidays.

“Lance is here. He’s fighting. And he needs help even if el pendejo doesn’t ask for it.” Lance sighed and shook his head at his tia. “So we’re gonna help him. I don’t want any of you talking down to him because at least he’s trying! Me oyeron?” They did. They had no choice but to hear her.

“Do the dishes, Lance. We’ll sort everything out tomorrow,” his mother said. “Kids, get ready for bed.” His aunts and uncles left with their kids and his Buela and Papo stayed behind while his mom got the kids settled.

They walked over to him and Lance began shaking his head before the money was put in his hands. “Take it,” Buela insisted, pressing the crisp hundred dollar bill into his hand.

“Buela,” he moaned. “No. I don’t deserve it.”

“You’re fighting. You deserve it more than anyone,” she said firmly. “You use this, and you open a savings account, and you work hard and keep putting money in it. You’re going to be somebody, mijo. I know it.” Lance couldn’t speak so he just nodded and pocketed his money.

“I love you,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “And Papo, I’ll be at the shop after the restaurant every day. I’ll help you. Forget Beto.”

“I know you will,” he said. “Be patient with your mother.” He patted his shoulders and they left. Since they lived down the street, they always walked.

Lance did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen and the table. By the time his siblings were asleep, and he’d finished cleaning, his mom was sitting at the couch with a rosary and a tissue. He walked over to her and kneeled in front of her, cupping her hands and the crisp, quick prayer slipped through her thin, pursed lips.

“Ma,” he murmured. “Ma, look at me.” She did. “I know I messed up. I know I disappointed you. But I won’t let you down again. I’m gonna fight. Like I always do.” She blinked and nodded, pulling him into a hug. The rosary beads dug into his back, but he didn’t mind. Not when his mother was holding him, making him feel like he was five years old again.

Click Here for Ch. 3

#klance #lance mcclain #keith kogane #keith and lance #lance and keith #au #voltron #in the heights

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soprano193 · 7 years

Text

100 Ways to Say... (43/100)

So this isn't even done... I had originally picked a different sentence, but here I am, 4,500 words in, and I am not even halfway done. The good news is, I am working on the second half, with a different sentence. I have it all planned out, actually! I don't know when it will be posted, because I am slowly working on it for camp nanowrimo. So it isn't done yet. BUT, I won't post anything else here until the second part is done, so I don't mess with continuity. Wit all that said and done, enjoy!

Next door neighbors in the suburbs AU.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.

Ricky Rogers had been in Katie’s life for as long as she could remember. From the moment she was born, Ricky was never too far away. His Mom, Martha, lived next door, and worked all the time, so Katie’s Mom used to watch him for free. It was like growing up with a slightly older brother.

Her first concrete memory is of him crying. He had spilled his milk all over his clothes. Her Mom had a lot, but she didn’t have a key to his house. It was the one day Martha didn’t pack extra clothes. So he was wearing her shirt, one with yellow sunflowers on it, crying about wanting his solar system shirt back. She tried to distract him by pulling him out to the sand pit in her backyard. “Sandcastle?” As she spoke she offered him the bucket. “Build here.” When he took the bucket, she kneeled down and started to dig the moat.

It took him some time to join her, but soon he was down in the dirt next to her. “Want help?”

“Yes please.” She filled his bucket with the excess sand from the moat. After a few moments of silence, she looked up, grinning at him. “You’re okay. Don’t be sad. Sandcastle.”

He turned the bucket over in response, the sand crumbling at the edges. “Thanks, Katie. I’m not sad anymore.” He poked some holes in the top of their sand mound, like windows, and grinned. “Who lives here?”

“Hmmmm.” Katie bit her lip as she thought. “A Princess and her Knight.”

At her words, he leapt up, his feet kicking sand into their moat. “Let’s play pretend! I’m a Knight.”

“I’m the Princess!” She joined in, standing with him. She only gave herself a moment to laugh before pointing at a tree behind him. “Help! Monster! Get it, Knight!”

“I’ll save you!” He shouted as he ran off, pretending to fight whatever imaginary creatures she came up with. He ran around so much, he didn’t even hear when Katie’s Mom yelled that his shirt was all done. Instead he spent his day rescuing his closest friend. A few of the monsters, Katie got herself. She loved teaching him the best way to defeat a porch monster and a garden ghoul. The swing monster almost got them both. Never once did she think that a Princess couldn’t save the day. Sometimes though, she needed help from her brave Knight.

Saturdays were the days she looked forward to most. Saturdays were Martha’s day off, which meant the roles were reversed. Katie’s Mom would go out and do the errands that she couldn’t do while Ricky was at the house. Katie’s Dad usually worked. Which meant that Katie got to go spend time at Ricky’s house.

His house was so cool. There were more musical instruments than Katie thought existed. Martha always let them play with each one, and she taught them the history behind them as they played. Also, Martha’s dress up trunk marveled any other one Katie had ever seen in her short life. But to top everything off, Ricky had a pretty amazing treehouse.

Katie never found out who built the treehouse. It had been there as long as she could remember. It was pretty high up in the tree, an old rope ladder the only way to get up. Once inside, they had a view of the forest that seemed to go on for miles. The cramped space was filled with books and art supplies that kept them busy for hours. Martha even let them color on its walls. They covered the inside of that treehouse with doodles and designs, and random splashes of color, as tall as they could reach.

Over time, they filled in that empty space at the top. Their hands grew steadier, the drawings more concrete. Once in a while, a math problem showed up whenever they ran out of scrap paper. Katie knew one day they would grow to be too tall to stand straight up. Ricky was already getting to the point where he had to hunch over. It started to amuse her, once she realized they had spent their whole lives there.

In school they sort of ran in separate circles. Ricky made friends who were other boys, who enjoyed playing King of the Rock and having races. Katie spent more time with the girls in her class, making clubs and playing make believe. It seemed like such a natural progression, she didn’t feel like she was missing anyone. She still saw him on the bus, when he sat next to her. On Saturdays she still went to his house, where Martha taught them duets on the piano and they played in his treehouse. On Sundays he came to her house for the sand pit and make believe, usually with a bouquet of hand-picked flowers in his hand for their table. He was still her best friend.

It was the summer before freshman year that he asked for help in the treehouse. “I need to get some of the junk out.”

She regarded him with a wary look. “Our crafts?”

His blue eyes grew wide as he vehemently shook his head. “Of course not! Those will stay forever as far as I am concerned. But there are toys and books up there that I haven’t looked at in years that need to come down. It will free up some space.”

It had been getting cramped, now that they both were almost full grown. Whoever built it had children in mind, and not the young adults that they had become. “I have some free time. I could come after dinner?”

He laughed, his eyes softening. “I think this will be a really long process. Can you stop by tomorrow?”

“Sure!” As soon as the word was out of her mouth, she realized she had no clue what the plans were, and she did need to double check with her parents. “At least, I’m pretty sure. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Okay. See you soon!” He hugged her at the point where their properties met, and she nuzzled her face into his shoulder. Before long they had parted ways, each going into their respective houses.

She headed over the next day, dressed in her cleaning clothes, a black bandana keeping her hair out of her eyes. She headed straight for the treehouse, the sound of him whistling drawing her nearer. She yelled to let him know she was there and not to climb down, and started climbing that old rope ladder up to meet him.

Inside she found him surrounded by piles and piles of books. “What are you doing?” She teased as she squeezed in next to him.

“I’m trying to separate them by age range.” The one he held in his hand was Goodnight Moon, a book she didn’t even realize was still up there. “We’ve never done this, and Mother doesn’t come up here, so there is lots of clutter.”

Looking around she could see he was right. A doll sat in the corner that she hadn’t touched since she was ten. And etch-a-sketch on the windowsill still had his sad attempt at a circle. The bins filled with matchbox cars and baseball cards were old too. She couldn’t remember the last time she had looked through those. She pulled the box of cards closer to her and pulled off the cover. “Can I have these? My Dad would like them.”

Ricky shrugged. “Most of them were yours anyway. I never liked baseball as much as you.”

She muttered out a thanks before scooching toward the door. But it was once she got there that she realized the problem. “Uh, Ricky? I don’t feel comfortable crawling down one handed.”

He didn’t look up as she spoke. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how am I supposed to climb down this ladder with a box in my hands?”

This piqued his attention, and he put the books down and crawled over to her. “No, you won’t have to. See this?” He pointed to a pulley that was hanging below the door, something she had never noticed before. “Mother and I used it when we filled it the first time. She filled a box and lifted it, I unloaded it up here. We can do the same thing to clean it out.” He pointed to the one large box that was already in the treehouse. “We can use this to get everything down once we have it all together.

“And one of us can fill boxes on the ground and send the big empty one back up.” She finished for him, catching on to his plan. They shared a smile, the connection between them clear, and they both moved to different ends of the treehouse. Ricky stayed near the books while Katie started looking at the art supplies. Anything broken or dried out got thrown in a trash bag. She sorted the crayons, chalk, and markers into separate boxes. She got rid of paper product warped by water. And then she just crawled around collecting trash.

Between both of them, it took three days to clean all the stuff they didn’t want any more out. Martha took loads every day to the dumpster or to donation centers. With more room, they found themselves enjoying the treehouse again. Now that they were older, they enjoyed it in a different way. Ricky became Rick, and started writing short stories. He would sit up there with his head in his hands, the notebook on the side of him as he worked through writer’s block. Katie would read through and offer suggestions. She started bringing her own books up with her to read while he was stuck, sometimes reading out loud to give him ideas. Maybe it helped, maybe it didn’t. He let her do it all the same.

The week before starting freshman year, they watched the stars together through the little window. They sat against the wall, her head on his shoulder, while he pointed out constellations. He knew what he was talking about, and his confidence gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. So she stopped him by lifting her head from his shoulder to look in his eyes. “Will you bring girls up here on dates?” His eyebrows scrunched together as he narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out where her question came from. “Just because this would be, like, the perfect free date. And I just got this image of you up here with girls, and I don’t want to crawl up here to visit you just to find you kissing someone else.”

He laughed then, shaking his head. “What? No. That’s insane.”

“But it’s not insane! You have this space up here that is pretty private, your Mom never comes up here, and it would be the perfect place to bring a girl.”

He chuckled, the tiniest shake of his head calming her down. “No. It’s insane because I don’t bring anyone up here.”

Her mind went over their fourteen year friendship, as she racked her brain for a name. “Anyone?” She asked as she came up empty handed.

“Well. I don’t anymore. I tried once.” Whatever look she had on her face must have amused him, because he laughed. “Not a girl! I promise!” He leaned back against the wall. “No, not a girl. It was Dylan Cummings, in second grade. He came up and wanted to add some drawings to the wall. I wasn’t watching, he started to draw over your princess.” Her eyes drifted to the spot on the wall where her large Princess was, dressed in a blue dress, a spiky yellow crown on her head. “I stopped him, but I told him it was your picture. He didn’t care, he thought his was cooler. So I made him get out.” As he spoke, she resettled against his shoulder. “I decided this was our place. No one else needed to come up here.”

At his words, she smiled against his shoulder. “I like our place.” They stayed in relative silence for a bit, listening to the crickets.

It was Rick who broke the silence this time, shifting his weight so he could look down on her. “Did you get your class list yet?”

“No.” She lied. She already knew they didn’t have classes together. They’d been together every year with the exception of seventh grade. She didn’t like the idea of taking classes separate. “I think I’ll get it in the office on the first day.”

“What if we don’t have a class together?” His voice was softer, broken in a way, and it made her heart clench.

“We’ll have lunch. And weekends. I’ll still be next door.”

He resettled, his arms crossing over his chest. “You’re right. Nothing will change.

But it did change a little bit. They barely saw each other. Their classes had separate lunch periods. Their interests were different. Rick joined the school newspaper and creative writing club, while Kate took up track and field and model debate. They didn’t always take the bus home together, sitting side by side. Sometimes they skipped hanging out on weekends because they had too much homework. Of course, they were still friendly when they passed each other in the hallway. But every time he passed, Kate felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She found herself looking out her window at his treehouse and wondering if he was up there, working on his latest story.

It surprised her the week before school let out for the summer, when he approached her after his lunch period. “Hey, Kate, I have to tell you something.”

She hugged her books closer and pulled him to the side of the hallway, so he was out of the way. “Okay. Shoot.”

She could see him bite the inside of his cheek, and his eyes drifted down to the floor. “It’s just…” He fought to get the words out, his feet shuffling as he raised his eyes to meet hers. “The first day of summer vacation. Can we maybe do something? Just the two of us?”

Taking in his body language and awkward question, Kate’s mouth fell open. “Richard Rogers, are you asking me on a date?”

His head fell again and she couldn’t see his face. “Something like that, I guess.”

A million thoughts went through her head. First and foremost being that he was almost like a brother to her, and that was weird. But she also kept drifting back to the summer before, sitting up in that treehouse with him, resting on him, the jealousy she felt at even the idea of another girl up there with him. She didn’t want to ruin what they had. But she couldn’t see herself with anyone else. “Let’s do it.”

He looked up at her, nodding, but he didn’t seem as excited as she was. No, instead he looked nervous, his face paler than she’d ever seen it. “Okay. Great. I’ll meet you at your place.” His shoulders hunched up as he turned, running to his next class.

She didn’t see him again for that last week of school. He caught rides with some of his friends from the newspaper, she would get picked up by her mother. In a way, Kate liked that more. It built the anticipation.

He showed up at her house at four the day of their date. He was dressed in a nice button down shirt, a bouquet of hand-picked flowers in his hand. As Kate opened the door, he thrust his hand forward. “I picked these for your table.”

Kate could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, and she bit back the giant grin that was threatening to make her look like a fool. “Thank you.” She responded, taking them from him and leading him to the kitchen.

Her Mom met them in there. She was preparing dinner, her case files open on the counters as she tried to multi-task. As if she had eyes in the back of her head, she whirled around as they entered, a grin on her face that made Kate turn red from embarrassment. “Hello Ricky, it’s so nice to see you again! What are the plans for tonight?”

“Well, I was thinking of going to Anne’s for some ice cream, then a concert on the common, and maybe some stargazing.” At the word ‘stargazing,’ Kate’s heart began to flutter as she remembered that night almost a year before.

Johanna just nodded, leaning against the counter. “And she’ll be home by ten?”

He nodded once. “Yes ma’am.”

This caused her mother to laugh, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed. “Please, Ricky, I’ve known you since you were in diapers. Don’t call me ‘ma’am.’”

“Don’t call me ‘Ricky’ and I’ll drop the ‘ma’am’.”

Johanna reached for his hand and shook it firmly, her jaw set, but a smile creeping into the corners of her mouth. “Deal.” She looked at the clock before flicking a towel in their direction. “Now go! It’s getting late. Have fun!”

Kate locked hands with Rick as they ran out of the house. “Bye, Mom!” She called over her shoulder.

Anne’s was the best small town ice cream shop in the state. All the ice cream was made by hand, and they had all the staple toppings. The stand was small, with plenty of open field space to sit, along with a few tables and a fenced in area for especially buggy nights. They got theirs to go, choosing to walk with it to the downtown common.

Rick was uncharacteristically quiet. It made her uncomfortable. He had trouble meeting her eyes as she spoke, and the rare smiles he gave her held just the tiniest hint of sadness.

She didn't get the chance to ask him about it. Her words were cut off by the community band, a sweeping start to their opening number, including the trilling piccolos. This kind of stuff drew him in. Martha was a music teacher, and his house was almost never silent. He always knew every song the bands were playing without the aid of a program. He also had quite a bit of knowledge about musical theater. It was just one of those quirks about him that Kate had begun to find interesting.

On their walk back to his place, he talked about the final issue of the school newspaper, and what it was like to earn that coveted, and of the year interview with the Principal. When he began to talk about his creative writing club though, his face out up, more than it had all night. “Tell me about the story you're working on now.” Kate requested, hoping it would loosen him up.

It seemed to work. It was a high school story with a cheating scandal, where friendships were tested and strengthened. He grew more excited as he told her about the characters, continuing to look behind him to gauge her reactions as they walked through his backyard. “There’s Henry who is kind of like me. Creative and kind of a slacker, who would rather draw pictures in class than take notes.”

Kate called out to him as he climbed the ladder ahead of her. “Do you write stories during class?”

He leaned over the edge and smirked down at her as she climbed up. “I'm gonna plead the fifth on that, counselor.”

When she reached the top, she found him leaning against some pillows, his eyes trained on the sky through the window. Crawling over to him, she found the spot next to him set up just right so she could squish right into his side and still have plenty of room. Kate didn’t know anything about what she was looking at. She could find Orion, but so could everyone else. She loved doing this with Rick because he could identify more constellations than anyone she knew. He told their stories with such detail, no book ever did it the same way. Even Rick never told the same story the same way. It never felt like they were doing the same thing again.

Today Rick didn’t talk about the constellations. Instead, he talked about the character in his book that he based off of her. “Her name is Alison. Ali for short. She looks like you. I picture her looks on your face when I write her.” His arm tightened around her. “She and Henry have been friends since kindergarten. He tells her everything. She is his rock throughout this whole scandal. In fact, because she knows he didn’t cheat, she’s been helping to tutor him all along because she’s smart. She wants to be the first female Chief Justice just like you.”

Kate laughed, pulling her head off his shoulder. “So basically, you just put me in a book and changed my name?”

His eyes narrowed. “Is that okay?”

She grinned. “I think it’s great. I’m honored to be a part of something so great.” She watched him as his eyes drifted from her eyes, down to her mouth, and back up again. Subconsciously, Kate pulled her lips between her teeth, her stomach filling with butterflies as she looked away from him. He seemed equally as uncomfortable, and switched the conversation to Cassiopeia. Which then shifted to the valiant rescue of Andromeda by Perseus.

Hearing him describe this rescue brought her back to the days of make believe in the sand pit. “You used to rescue me from monsters.”

He chuckled. “Plenty of times you rescued yourself. You didn’t need my help.”

“Yeah, but the sentiment was nice.”

They laughed together, and she saw his eyes again drift down to her mouth. It made her heart pound in her head, and her hands shake, but before long she was leaning forward, her mouth puckered and her eyes closing as she braced for impact.

He spoke before it happened. “I’m moving.”

It felt like the world had stopped. As she backed away from him, the butterflies in her stomach turned into emptiness. “Moving? To where?”

His shoulders slumped. “New York City. Mother got a part on Broadway.”

She moved so she wasn’t touching him, her arms dropping to her sides. A part on Broadway, that was what would take her best friend from her. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Martha went to auditions all the time. But for fifteen years she had been the town’s elementary school music teacher, and at some point, Kate stopped believing it could happen. “When?” It was all she could make sense of. Her head was screaming a million different questions.

“Two weeks.”

“So this wasn’t a date. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be a date.” She tried to hide the disdain in her voice, but it crept through anyway. “You let me think it was.”

“No! Well, yes, sort of, but no! I didn’t mean for it to go like this.” Under different circumstances, she would have laughed at him. The boy with the ability to string words together to tell stories she couldn’t even dream of was struggling to find them. “I wanted to tell you in the hall that day. But in the moment, I realized that this wasn’t news you dropped on your best friend in the middle of the day when we can’t talk about it. So I wanted to do it while we were alone.”

“On a date?”

“No! I didn't mean for this to be a date.” His words cut through her heart, and he must have seen her face crumple, because he started stammering all over again. “Wait, no, that's not what I meant! Can you let me explain?”

She scoffed, moving away from the spot he had set up for her, and sitting right under the window, so she could see him better, and get out easier if she needed to. “You better explain. Because I'm lost.”

His hands ran through his hair, and his eyes fixated on the sky above her as he planned out what he was trying to say. “Kate, I've wanted to ask you on a date since the last time we both sat up here together, stargazing. I was gathering the courage to.”

She watched as he shrunk, his shoulders sinking and his arms wrapping around his knees. “Why didn’t you?” She asked, her voice still accusatory.

“You started talking about me bringing other girls up here, like you and I weren’t even an option. And I started to doubt you saw me the same way I saw you. So I chickened out. Then we saw less of each other at school, and we didn’t get together every weekend like we used to. I didn’t think it was meant to be anymore.” He scratched the back of his head, and stretched out his muscles. “But then Mom got that part, and I realized how hard it was going to be, to live in a new place with you so far away. And I wanted to spend as much time as possible with you. When you suggested a date, I just went with it.”

She threw her head back until it thumped against the wall. “Worst first date ever. You didn’t even let me kiss you!” She chuckled, looking at him and shaking her head. “You’ve ruined me for boys for a bit.”

He laughed back, the corners of his mouth just starting to pull upwards. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t lie. Yeah you did.” He laughed then, and relief washed over her. The air cleared, she moved back over to her spot next to him. His arm wrapped around her, and he pulled her into his chest.

After a moment, he spoke. “We can still be friends, right? You can come visit me in the city whenever you want, Mother already agreed. And you can call me whenever. I’ll send a letter with my new number.”

This statement broke her a little, but she bit back her tears as she answered. “You’re my best friend. Always. You living in a different city won’t change that.” Even though it pained her that this would be nothing more, even she knew that long distance relationships never worked. Especially brand new ones.

“Good. I’m sorry about our date.”

“You would have had to tell me at some point.” They stayed there for only a few minutes more, until his watch beeped and told her it was time to go home.

The next day, she helped him move all of his things out of the treehouse, and helped box up his room. She returned almost every day for those two weeks to help. They never discussed their almost kiss. They didn’t talk about their failed date with anyone. He talked about the school he was going to in the city, she discussed joining the Model UN, and they both managed to avoid talking about their feelings.

The day he moved, he gave her a rough draft of his story, the one with the character based on her in it. He dedicated it to her, and put it in a binder so she could read it as many times as she wanted. He hugged her tight until it was time to leave. As he pulled away, Kate felt the ghost of his lips on the top of her head. She didn’t let the tears fall until the moving truck was out of sight.

#castle fanfic #Castle fanfiction #my fic #castle camp nano #100 ways to say #au #caskett #otp: under my skin

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