#livingbyacode

[ifthemoneysgood]

   “ I went to the doctor like I was supposed to! I went, I went, I went, I went! That motherfucker wouldn’t give me antibiotics because ‘we’ve just been seeing a lot people have viral infections and allergy problems, so we’ll try a decongestant and see how that works’! You know how it worked, Chris? It didn’t! One day later, I have a fever. Two days later, I’m half deaf and dying in an urgent care center! I had to get a shot--a shot, Chris! And antibiotics, and gross-ass cough medicine on top of that! Go find that fuck-up doctor and destroy him!”

[ifthemoneysgood]

   She’s dying, Chris.

[ofsacrifiices]

╳┆( salvation )

       ❝ Does he know... what I am? ❞

[ifthemoneysgood]

   “ Chris. . . Where are you? Come closer so I can see you one last time.”

    One last time, indeed. She just has a cold. Not the Black Death. She’s just acting like it because she’s miserable.

[ofsacrifiices]

╳┆( salvation )

Now that Vivian stood outside of the familiar apartment it seemed as if only days had passed since she left Beacon Hills to attend her niece’s wedding. In reality it had been close to eight months, however as she stood silent with her hand half raised to the doorbell; that whole time-span seemed like a mere dream, a nightmare really, nevertheless faded somewhere into the back of her conscious mind. The woman knew that she could have easily reached into her purse and grabbed her set of keys to the apartment but the fear of not being welcomed back kept her from doing anything aside from breathing. 

After the events that had transpired in New Orleans Vivian automatically expected the worst in any situation— it was easier that way. Foolishly she had briefly allowed herself to cast away that frame of mind after discovering that she was not the last of her bloodline, and after falling for the man she was preparing to face. Now, however, she had found herself standing paralyzed by the thoughts of every negative way the evening could end. 

As she stood almost breathless, she heard a pair of familiar footsteps approaching the door, without thinking she quickly grabbed her suitcase and tried to run but by the time she turned completely she felt the warm air from the apartment rush into the hall and hit her like a ton of bricks. Knowing that there was no point in running then, she slowly turned to face the man that she had been both yearning and frightened to see. 

            “ Chris...” 

[ifthemoneysgood]

H e a d c a n o n

LAX

Braeden is stupendously bad at getting up early. And consequently, going to bed early. She’s missed many a flight this way. And after a couple of bad experiences being surprised by hotel staff, if she needs a wake-up call to make her flight home, she’ll just ask Chris to do it. Whatever timezone difference they may have, it does not occur to her, at all. She does not realize that a 5am phone call to her in North Carolina, is a 2am call from him in California. She just knows he’s better at planning and time management than she is.

Because Braeden will say it’ll take her ten minutes to pack. And then take two hours to do it.

That, and even if she’s on the complete other side of the United States, or Canada, or Mexico, or that one time in Bermuda (too much water, never again), if he tells her to go to bed in his ‘Dad voice’, she’ll do it. Mostly because she misses him. But she probably needs the sleep too, to be honest.

It’s all worth it when she can come off her plane, come down the walkway, and Chris is right where he said he’d always be: where she needs him. And he usually has food.

[ifthemoneysgood]

      She’s left a note for her caretaker to explain her absence. She's somehow (after being clear for her entire adult life) contracted the flu, and in an effort to avoid infecting him, she's running away to a hotel until she either dies from this miserable thing, or gets better. Then she'll return. There's also the room number so he knows exactly where she is. X’s and O’s, Braeden.  

[ifthemoneysgood]

Idea pool + 1.