hey wikster!! hey can you tell me more about riffincest? like, what do you like about it? and what are your favorite headcanons? and do you ship boy corey with boy trina or girl corey with girl trina? not really cest anymore but still awesome.
CERTAINLY omg
jimminy jamminy i love the fact?? ?? that they’re both p messed up and awful in their own ways?? idk this has been said a bunch but tbh they deserve each other bc they’re both awful ppl and no one can make them better. run away everyone run far away
hmm as far as headcanons go?? ? i always feel like through a series of bad choices/life events, they’ll end up living alone together for the rest of their lives. also this is just a general headcanon but corey is totes trans and no matter how awful they are to each other it’s a nonissue between them bc trina isn’t like actual satan u kno
carrie/trina is GREAT w/ me omg. also gender differing aus are beautiful. ALSO AGE SWAP/PERSONALITY SWAP AU PLS THANK U
anyway i've been hearin a lot of talk about how riffincest is gross blah blah so in this one i made trina 20 and corey 17 :^)
also warning for parent death
and incest and of age/underage heavily implied sex and emotional abuse whoop
+
Corey had always been a loud crier.
She felt like the way she liked his weird hiccupy, ugly kicked-puppy howls was some vestige left over when she loved upsetting him, and making him cry seemed like some strange highest of victories.
But they never made each other cry like this, not on purpose. Through her weird enjoyment of his sobs, she felt more heartbroken then she had before she picked him up and took him home. She was sitting up in bed, not really able to do much else but listen to him.
She thought back to the time it had finally hit her (after many very direct statements from Nick and a few from others) that Nick would never love her, would never want to date her. Even Mina had gotten scared away.
Corey broke into her room (picking the double lock and managing to shimmy open the bar - she could have stopped him, but she figured if he was going through all that trouble she should at least see what he was working so hard to do). He jumped into her bed and hugged her, braving her punches and choked scream, that quickly turned into more crying. She had always been quite the drama queen, but that time her tears were silent, for the most part.
"I'm sorry, Trina."
He put his head down on her shoulder, like she was the one comforting him. "For what?"
"Messing with you about him. I didn't mean it. I didn't think--" He cut himself off. She could feel his lips tightening against her shoulder. And then the small, pre-crying whines he liked to make started, and she ran her fingers through his hair.
"It's alright." His whines turned to breaths, calmer. "Messing with each other is what siblings do."
For some reason, this made him push away from her. He plopped down on the floor, nearly falling over. He kept his hands on Trina's bed, and Trina scooted over and put her own hands on top of them.
"Trina, I-"
She tilted her head. He put his head down, like he was trying to hide, and wouldn't look up at her no matter how many times she pushed at his head, so she smacked the top if his hands and said, "C'mon, let's go play Grave Puncher: Blood Undergroud. Beating you always cheers me up."
But this time it wasn't something either of them could mash away on video game controllers. None of it was.
She had meant to tell him that their dad was dead right away, she really had, but he practically stopped her from doing so all by himself. He ran to her and kissed her in front of a bunch of people who Trina was only halfway sure didn't know she was his sister, hooking his arms around her neck and grinning at her like she hadn't even told him that their dad was in the hospital over the phone (which she had; it was a lie, he never even made it there).
"How's dad?" He only asked when they were in the car. He looked down at his phone, scrolling through old texts from their dad, which only made the uneasy, scummy feeling in Trina worse.
"He's alright. Sorry if he hasn't texted you, he's all doped up on pain meds."
Corey made a noncommittal noise, like he wasn't sure if he minded, wasn't sure how to feel. He seemed to immediately pick up on her anxiety.
"It'll be okay," he said, and she almost started crying over how wrong he was.
She pulled over before they got to the highway, taking off her seatbelt and pulling on Corey's.
He looked confused for a moment, then took off his own. She took him by the hips and coaxed him into her lap. He settled there nicely, immediately kissing her.
"I missed you," he said. Trina smiled. "And Dad, and the guys." Trina frowned. Corey noticed, and kissed her. "Mostly you, though."
His hair had gotten a little too long in the month he'd been poking around Portland for musical connections. She wondered how many times he'd slept outside or gotten hurt. She wondered how his guitar was still intact, his hat was still on his head, and his eyes were still young and wide.
He smelled like himself, and cigarettes, and a patch of musky cologne on one side of his neck and fading into his hair. There were a couple of hickeys on the other side of his neck to match it.
"Couldn't've missed me that much," Trina said, frowning.
"I missed you a lot. He was awful." Corey's face was scrunched up in a kind of baby-ish way. He shrugged. "He got the band a gig in some tri-state area fest, though."
"You always were weird about making friends," Trina said, and remembered why she had quirked her brow when Corey declared he wanted to spend his summer with their grandma, who was so far into her dementia she had repeatedly asked Corey if he was pregnant the last time she saw him. He quickly admitted, to both her and their dad, that he really wanted to run around meeting new people and making connections for his band. But his grandma was cool, too.
As soon as she got the thought of their grandma out of her head, she pulled him closer and started her reclamation.
She skimmed her lips along his jaw. "I told you boys are awful." He made a small noise when she tugged at the belt loops of his pants.
"Yeah," he said, sounding like he wasn't sure what she was talking about anymore. She decided to go with the side of his neck that had, in their proximity and probably completely in her head, started to reek of gross men's cologne. She left her own marks, while he whined and squirmed in her lap.
She looked at his blushing cheeks and wide, hazy-looking blue eyes. Even though he had marks from someone else up the other side of his neck and probably elsewhere, and he smelled like ten different strangers, she never felt like he belonged to her more.
He blinked, and his eyes were suddenly clear. He was no longer putty in her hands. But he still felt like hers. He felt like hers as he climbed off of her lap, as he settled in the passenger seat, as he hugged his knees.
"You okay?" she asked, once he was settled.
"I'm just worried about Dad."
She put a hand on his knee, her stomach knotting. "Everything's gonna be alright."
"I love you, Trina."
She almost gave their customary "Yeah, I know," or, "Shut up," response, but instead she said, "I love you too."
It was very rare that response was used between them, and Corey seemed settled and comforted instantly. This was why Trina scoffed when people said families should show love to each other at all times. With her and Corey, shows of affection were significant, special.
She told him she loved him too after she took his virginity (in an attempt to dispel the sick knot twisting inside her, to push away the dizzying thoughts, he's your little brother, he's only fifteen). She told him she loved him too when, weeks later, she noticed a change in his face and stopped after a few uncertain answers to, "Are you okay?" and suddenly had a crying mess who needed her help pulling his boxers back on because he was shaking so badly.
She would tell him when they got home. The more the thought cemented in her mind, the less and less she wanted to end the little road trip.
But Corey wasn't that easy to trick. It wasn't like she could suddenly diverge from the road home without him noticing.
So she only drove a little over the speed limit, feigned being nervous about their dad when she stopped at almost every rest stop, feigned exhaustion when she parked in some dark corner of a rest stop and declared that they should sleep.
Corey knew what "we should sleep" usually meant, especially when they were both clearly not tired. He seemed relieved, eager, to Trina's slight surprise. It was comforting, whenever he seemed to need her more than she needed him.
Trina was never a master of timing, or tact, or emotional grace. Or much good at all in the whole “how to treat people” area.
So when Corey was half asleep, curled up into her, his face still a little red and his hair sticking up in strange places, Trina said, “Dad’s dead.” She could only look on with dull surprise as he pushed away from her and fumbled with his clothes and then actually scrambled out of the car.
She let him sit out on the asphalt in just his boxers and hastily-yanked-on binder for a good while, slowly getting properly dressed, combing her hands through her hair, thinking.
She was all he had.
Trina got out of the car.
“Take me back to Portland.”
“No.”
He was shaking. It wasn’t that cold.
“Take me back.”
“No.”
Right about now would be the time that he launched at her, punched her, screamed and kicked and scratched. But he was seventeen, and she was twenty. They were both too old for all of that.
So Corey walked to the stucco pavilion that sheltered the rest stop’s rusting vending machines and began attempting to destroy the place with his bare hands, which only lasted about three minutes. Trina only approached him when he seemed spent, sitting on the ground and breathing and surveying the damage.
“Do you want me to take you to a hospital?”
“No.”
There was glass in his knuckles, it looked like.
“Are you sure?”
“Let’s go home. Right now.”
Corey didn’t cry until he got into his room.
His crying stopped abruptly. Trina looked at her clock. The sun should be coming up soon, she thought, before the sound of her door creaking open caught her attention.
They made up pretty quickly, and gently. After all, she was all he had left.
