*/ milk carton kid @thcmpscns - Tumblr Blog

It was such a simple movement that if Charlie didn’t have ample experience in the realm of weird fuckery she most likely would have missed it: His hand to his bare wrist. Up until now she had never given much thought to the time-keeping accessory that was usually adorned to his pulse point, to be fiddled with and glanced at in moments of nerves. In the darkness of the radio station she suddenly felt like maybe she had never seen Dayn without his watch. This was the picture frame that was out of place, a detail so minute which confirmed the perverted sub-reality they both found themselves in. Well, not him. Dream within a dream Dayn (whose face in the dark sometimes morphed into Conor’s) didn’t exist here, not in the same way Charlie did. It was Charlie’s whose mind had bent to the fabric of time and space to occupy the place between conscious and unconscious, a plane where monsters took on the shape of memories. This dream had a purpose, a test. It always did. Charlie was done navigating them.

Charlie brought her hand behind her to the small of her back, felt the familiar carbon fiber of the handle of her hunting knife tucked into the waistband of her pants. She curled her fingers around it, kept her hand hidden behind her back as her eyes stayed on Dayn’s face. “Don’t be afraid,” she heard herself saying. A shrug. “He’s not real.” Her other hand traced her lips, where she was now becoming aware of the warmth of Dayn’s kiss, a sensation delayed from the delirious entry of his presence into Charlie’s space mere moments ago. It came to her so clearly now. “Take this kiss upon the brow,” she whispered softly. She dropped her eyes to darkness, tried to recall the quickest way to wake herself up. Her eyes darted back to Dayn’s, locked and stayed there. Her voice was more certain as she continued to recite. “And, in parting from you now, thus much let me avow—” She pushed herself off the door and pulled the knife out to hold at her side. “You are not wrong, who deem that my days have been a dream.” A step forward, she gestured helplessly with both arms. “Tell me Dayn, if hope has flown away, in a night, or in a day? In a vision, or in none? Is it therefore the less gone?” She laughed, quiet but it seemed to echo back at her. She swore she could see him smiling in the dark. “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”

She brought the knife slowly up, pressed the cool blade of it to her throat. “I will go back to sleep. I will wake myself up. I cannot save you from the things you see,” She turned her wrist out, extended the knife towards him pointedly. In an instant she could have it buried in his heart, in the same way that Dayn (real Dayn) had decidedly buried his affections into hers. “But I can take you with me. Is that what you want?”

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// charlie clayton }#{ charlie clayton *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// event }#{ event *// nyx }#this hurt

The way her face was scrunched up in her tired confusion was almost cute, and Dayn almost found the corners of his lips curling up at the sight. He made the right decision, coming to check on her. Whatever had been going on outside the doors surely wasn’t something she hadn’t already seen in some capacity either, with her near decade-long time in Arcadia. He had so many questions for her, about what it was like being here for so long, but he wasn’t ever sure he totally wanted to hear it, in the event it only prolonged a sense of hopelessness that he too, would be here for an indefinite amount of time.

Dayn took a careful step forward when he thought he heard her speak again, in a whisper that he couldn’t understand. It was so dark and he hoped there would be a change in light somehow, that her face would get a little clearer. Maybe it did, but light didn’t help any. He’s not real, he caught quickly, and his breath hitched a bit. He looked behind him, but the windows were covered. Does she see him too?

The poetry should have been the first indicator something was wrong here, but Dayn caught on way too late and his reaction times were muddled, interrupted by her raising a blade to her throat. He hoped it was dark enough for her that it was harder for her to see his movement, the way his hands braced themselves in front of him, as if he were mere steps away from subduing a wild animal. That glint of the knife, that he could see, a fucking beacon that drew his eye right to it. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes were wide, playing out instances of bloodshed and worst-case-scenarios in his mind’s eye as he assessed the situation. “You don’t want to do that,” he found himself saying on instinct, because that’s what people said in movies and he didn’t know how much that sort of speak would help here. If it only spurned her on. What had gotten into her?

Her eyes had looked sunken in now, the closer he got, like she had barely slept. Was she seeing things again, like she had talked about before, when they made up? His memory always went to what happened after, the passionate fun they shared once they were on good terms again. But suddenly all he could think about was before, about her seeing things, people no longer around. Could she have been seeing him as some abomination, that was let into her home and needed to be eradicated?

Joel would have been so mad at him if he went out this way. A dream within a dream. God, she thinks she’s asleep? Suddenly the stakes felt so much higher.

Suddenly Dayn had an idea, and he held up his right hand closer to her, to calm the wild in her eyes. “Let me help,” he murmured, hoping against hope that his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt. His left hand gently lifted to the knife, not in any surprise attack, but obviously, so she could see it happening. And he stepped closer, feeling the sharp blade against his pounding chest, right at his sternum. “Let me do it,” he said, his right hand gently stroking her cheek, as his left started to slide it out of her grip and into his own. “You’ve suffered enough. I don’t want my blood on your hands.”

It was fucking dark outside. Not that he expected any less, what with it being night, but it’s been so long since he’d been out that late that it felt impressively blinding. There wasn’t a window in their room to glimpse outdoors. Not since that night Dayn freaked out and covered it, having seen Arthur or some shit speaking to him from beyond. Joel wouldn’t allow him to go through that again and the following morning, made sure to patch it up with some loose wooden planks and nails he found in one of the empty homes. Gotten rid of the threat all together, but tonight? Joel knew his brother better than to expect him to not go out blindly.

Little help that it’d do, but he had to ensure to get to him before Dayn noticed the light was out. Joel was hoping he was tucked away in bed, already asleep and he’d just need to walk in and do the same. That his brother wasn’t as crazy as he was now, and somehow found himself wandering through the thickening woods in the middle of the night. Not a light in sight - not even the flash of their useless phones. “ Shit. ” he cussed, as his foot caught in one of the tree branches. Joel was able to halt his fall by reaching for the tree itself and gripping onto its bark.

Perhaps he should have asked for better directions on his way out, but he had been scared that someone would stop him from going. That he’d be tied down until the morning because they couldn’t understand that he needed to return to his brother. That they couldn’t go through another separation again.

“ Fucking hell! ” he cried out as the darkness opened up to a smiling figure before him. Joel’s chest began to pound a mile a second, but he knew better than to let his fear take hold of him. Instead, he backed up from it - ignoring its coaxing words as he dipped and ran around it. Somewhere in the distance he swore his name was called and while it sounded like Dayn, Joel knew those things would stop at nothing to cloud his better judgement. “ No, thank you, Satan! ”

#{ joel thompson *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// joel thompson }#{ event *// nyx }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// event }

Fucking hell - an echo, faint as it was, that sounded like his own voice. That was promising– “Joel!” he shouted back, doing nothing to hide the panic in his voice; maybe that would have been what set him apart between Them and the real him. A spike of fear went through him at the idea of multiple versions of him formed around Joel, impossible for Dayn to set himself apart in time. Though there was one thing that twins had a leg up on, over these creatures that walked the night.

Common sibling-friendly insults.

“Yo, dickhead, I’m over here!” he called, feet picking up into the direction that he heard the voice. How much did these things know about the pasts of the people they were trying to lock in their grasp? Clearly they knew about Arthur, as that was almost exclusively who Dayn saw in any direction he looked with Them in it. Varying ages, or stages in life. Work uniform, casual. Indecent. Bloodied. But did they know everything? Dayn needed something that would set him apart from anything else calling Joel’s name. “The street I disappeared on was West Kilbourn, behind the theater. And I know you knew about me blowing up gummy bears in the teacher’s lounge in eleventh grade!”

tessaendures

Closed for @thcmpscns | Tessa & Dayn @ The Bar

Even before the town was plunged into an endless darkness Tessa had been struggling to find entertainment within it's borders. At least when the sun was in the sky they stayed away, and being out on the streets was an option. Despite the chill still in the air, being outside was better than being cooped up within one of these many buildings for endless amounts of time. She was almost certain she was going to lose her mind if she had to stare at the crackling static projection Emmett was throwing up on the walls in the cinema and claiming it was actually playing a movie.

Truth be told, she was almost more willing to face off with them than spend another night trying to visualize images in the gray and white snow on the screen. Almost. But she was definitely more than willing to get out of the building and walk the streets, risking those things chasing after her. Which was how she'd ended up at the bar, shoving the door closed behind her and leaning back against it, certain there would soon be faces in the windows if she were to turn and look.

Catching sight of the guy behind the bar, her eyes narrowed the slightest bit. "Someone with your face was looking for you the other night," Tessa states, waving a hand in a gesture to circle his complexion. "Unless you're the face that was looking for a matching set. Did he ever find you? Or you ever find him? Or...whatever?"

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// tessa liddle }#{ tessa liddle *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 }#{ event *// nyx }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// event }

There was a special kind of exhaustion that had seeped into his bones since all the light was gone. Dayn could remember the cold basement, the lack of sunlight for years that he had endured. It wasn’t something he’d wish on even his worst enemy. These circumstances were wholly different, obviously, but that creeping unease was still the same. Though one longed to feel sun on the skin in its absence, Dayn knew for certain that the feeling was never one that was forgotten.

No wonder so many people had gone in and out of the bar so much. Dayn had barely touched alcohol since he was a teenager, too young to be as familiar as the burn of whiskey and vodka as he had been, but he understood now. It was tempting to distract.

But instead of reaching for a bottle like his body seemed to want, he kept his head in his crossed arms, attempting to get a different kind of rest. Maybe They figured he’d be at the gas station and would just try and torment an empty building. He couldn’t take that voice, the same one over and over again that crept into his nightmares, and now into his waking world. Finally, Arcadia had caught up with him. The bell ringing over the door sent him straight up - shit, he thought he locked that behind him. There was nothing to defend himself with if it was one of Them, a quick panic before remembering the amulet by the door. It was a young woman who walked in and Dayn slouched in his seat, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand. “Yeah, we’re twins,” he answered. He didn’t even have it in him to make his usually jokes about it, who was better looking, or nicer. “We found each other, thanks. We always do.”

She wondered which of the three brothers was weaving this particular dream. A few weeks back it had been Phobetor who had herald nightmares from the depths of hell, a serpent that had poisoned her blood with fear and reduced her mind to ash. Perhaps she would be lucky this time, and Phantasus would dust her slumber with fantastical stories that pulled Charlie from the repetition of her own life in all it's various twisted formats. It was something that Charlie was still learning: the reality that dreams were not reality at all, but rather the reflection of reality. When she dreamt, which she hardly did these days, Charlie often felt as though she had stepped through a mirror and into a world that was not her world, but wanted her to remain there anyways. It was too easy to lose yourself in those realities, which were not her reality, those worlds, which were not her world, and herself, which was really not herself at all. Maybe it had been that Charlie had, many dreams ago, stepped into a world, stepped into Hell Town, and had been trapped in that reality ever since. And so maybe it was that this was a dream within a dream. God, was it possible to manifest headaches while you slept because Charlie felt the onslaught of one battering against the doors of her temple.

A dream within a dream. What was the purpose, then, in making her care for someone in a dream and have them manifest in the dream within a dream. She stared at Dayn (dream Dayn, dream within a dream Dayn) as he walked into the radio station (the dream within a dream radio station, which really looked no different then the radio station from the initial dream). There would be a difference somewhere: a book out of place or a picture that had never been there, in which Charlie would know that she had fallen into a mirror and was continuing her plunge through the many mirrors of her mind (and they were not mirrors so much as pools of water in a picture frame that had no water at all). She would resurface, breathe again, many dreams from now and who would be in her space then? Dayn? Conor? Her father? And truly, if the initial dream of hell town was not, in fact, a dream, but a nightmare, then would this be a dream within a nightmare? Or a nightmare within a nightmare? The answer laid in whatever the apparition of Dayn (dream within a dream Dayn) wanted from her.

Is it alright if I stay a while? What would happen if she said no? She could see it now: the shattering of a mirror that was more of an explosion, glass shredding through the air; the lights would dim, though there was no light now, so maybe the lights would surge and she would be blinded and cut by the glass and there would be no Dayn and no radio station and no reality left for her to exist in. Would she wake then? Or would she remain infinitely in the light, which would not be very warm, and the glass, which would never dull. Charlie turned her back from Dayn and shut the door. Her eyes, adjusted to the darkness from the slumber, lingered on the ivory doorframe longer than reasonable. An ivory gate, a false dream then. She would not be so lucky, she thought, for it to be gentle. Charlie pivoted towards Dayn, pressed her back against the gate of false dreams, and wondered what deceit he would bring.

There was no point in delaying it, she just hoped Phobetor could be merciful.

"Why are you here?"

Here being subjective of course. The dream within a dream radio station. Or her mind in the dream within a dream.

"What time is it?"

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// charlie clayton }#{ charlie clayton *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// event }#{ event *// nyx }

Whatever she was dreaming about before, it must have really been throwing her for a loop. It felt like forever that Dayn stood there, watching her expression barely shift, barely being able to see just how much exhaustion was affecting her. He couldn’t see red eyes, or puffy cheeks, and barely any tired blinking. But her movements seemed sluggish and her words slurred together the tiniest bit. Briefly, he wondered if it was alcohol related, but he wasn’t sure if Charlie would bother to do something like that during a power outage. This was the first time in her space and in any other circumstances, he would have really liked to enjoy that change of scenery, but it was hard to see in the dark and things were a little too dire at the moment to think about what he really wanted to do in here.

She turned away, shutting the door, and not a moment too soon. Dayn thought he could start to see the outlines of heads, morphed faces in the dark. Voices might have been too far away, or he was so preoccupied with Charlie in front of him and the concern and concentration of said concern won out over any other senses. “Charlie?” His voice sounded smaller than he would have liked, more confused. This wasn’t one of those situations where she was seeing people near him again, was it? He hoped not, and his shoulders rolled uncomfortably at the thought of it. He still wasn’t sure if that was a figment of her imagination or if this town really had a way of harboring their dead only so few could see. Stranger things have happened, and this was one strange place.

Dayn checked his wrist only to find that his watch wasn’t there. “Shit, I gave my watch to Joel,” he said, his hands falling to his sides with a slapping sound, frustrated at his own naivety. Neither of them could have predicted this, but he was still one of the few old souls in the world that wore a regular watch, not the fancy tech shit he was used to seeing. Those gears would have lasted until he had great grandchildren, probably. “I don’t know what time it is, I’m sorry that I woke you up.” He took a careful step closer. “I was just worried, that’s all. Do you want to go back to sleep? I can like… keep watch, or something. Or just be next to you, that’s fine, too.” He swallowed. “I’d like to just be near you, at least. I kept seeing, uh… I keep seeing the same face outside and it’s making me a little scared, Charlie, I’ll be honest. I haven't seen him this much in a long time.”

The separation between dreams and reality was a thin line that Charlie danced on in the liminal space between conscious and unconscious. Most nights she hardly knew when the hand of sleep wrapped itself around her throat, or if the darkness of nights spent awake reliving the hurt of this place was the cause of her suffocation. It had gotten better since Roux had moved back into the radio station; if she startled awake now she could look over at the other girl and, in spite of the cavernous space between them, feel a sense of peace. Roux always managed to draw her back to reality. She was never soiled in Charlie's memories by the evil that grew here.

Tonight Charlie had fallen asleep alone again, her bunkmate MIA in attendance of the Settlement party. If they were talking (which they weren't), Charlie would have begged her not to go, the mistrust she had for the settlement deep, and the mistrust in herself deeper still. So it was she had retired to bed early, alone in the rare creature-less quiet.

She dreamt. Always of Conor. Always of his death. Sometimes of hers while he watched and screamed an echo of her name. It layered in her mind until the sound of Charlie became so loud it woke her. Someone, something, was screaming her name. She reached for the light switch but the action of flicking it did nothing to ease the darkness. Charlie extended her hands in front of her, found she could not see past her fingertips. The knocking on the door persisted. Charlie, it's me, please. A count, one she did too often nowadays: Ten fingers flexed back at her. A dream then —a dream knocking at her chamber doors and nothing more.

There was no great sense of urgency as she navigated the familiar layout of the radio station to the front door. When she opened it, with no great care or caution (in her dreams the creatures were never the ones that hurt her), she fought the dark to make out Dayn's figure. Charlie rubbed at her eyes as her vision struggled to see. One moment she imagined Dayn and the next she could see Conor. In both iterations there was something frightfully anguished about his demeanour. But such things were always sent to test her in her dreams, she would be mistrusting but had no choice to go through the motions of it until the call of consciousness pulled her back to reality.

"Yes?" she said, eerily calm.

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// charlie clayton }#{ charlie clayton *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 }

Thank god. There was a part of him assuming the worst, assuming that Charlie was having a nightmare or was seeing things again in total darkness. The fear that when Dayn approached her, that she’d assume the worst, that he was just some creature outside begging for entrance just for carnage and not only would she not trust him, but he’d be doomed outside and would have to dash all the way back to the gas station, and he was not as in shape as he thought he was.

Normally, he’d be a little more polite and wait for an invitation, but he’d been hearing Arthur’s voice through this entire journey over and he ducked inside, shutting and locking the door with a breath of relief, the weight of his body falling back against the wall. A relaxed smile (as relaxed as one could be in this situation) stretched over his features and his hands found her waist. “You’re alright,” he said, giving her a quick kiss before looking around. “You know, I’ve never actually been here.”

Dayn takes in her space, how it was like his - an amalgamation of things found over the years, that someone before had taken the pains to move and arrange into something of a home. Or it could have been Charlie - sometimes he forgot that she had been here for nine years. It was so long to him; he could imagine what it was like to a degree, not knowing how long he would have been stuck in that basement if he didn't make that leap of faith, but this was different. It hurt a little to think of her so young, so confused, sitting on the bed and wondering when she'd get out of Arcadia. He looked back at her and tried hard not to think about it. "Is it alright if I stay here, for a little while?"

It took quite a good year or two for Dayn to fully grasp the level of depravity his early adolescence was wrought with. He could remember months after, his father raising his voice at him over something completely unrelated - probably him doing something he shouldn’t have, like not finishing homework or getting into trouble of some sort - and he automatically turned from his father, as if waiting for something of his choice to strike at his back. He’ll never forget the look on his father’s face after that, and they both had an unspoken agreement to just never bring it up again.

That didn't even include all the language, the vernacular of the charges brought against Arthur. His parents weren’t the ones to sit him down and elaborate on what it all meant, matching charge to punishment. It was a lawyer and a child psychologist, and then days later, when he was alone, looking up online what it all meant. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it - it was bad, he knew it was, and the severity of just how bad didn’t come for a few years. By then, he had barely spoken of it anyway and had made a pact with himself that it was better left buried. Maybe there was some sort of instinct in him to shield his brother from that - no matter how close they were, how quickly Joel entered the world after him, he still referred to him as a little brother, that sensitive kid on the playground drawing with chalk instead of playing kickball with the rest. Dayn had grown up too quick, and quicker still after he had escaped, as if he was making up for lost time. There was almost a competition-like aspect of it, to prove to other people he was fine - more than fine, pursuing physical relationships, sneaking into concerts, anything that struck him - and it granted him more than a few run-ins with the city police.

The inner turmoil swirling around him then dissipated some when he saw Joel stand and move over towards his bed. Somehow, even before he opened it from the way it was folded, Dayn knew what it was. His eyes shut, and a long exhale left him before he could help himself. That letter; that godforsaken letter that got the both of them stranded here. Arthur had to just take one more thing from him, didn’t he? The words surprised him though. “You didn’t? Why?” Respect where it was earned, but Dayn would have read it all. Even if it hurt. He poured over every line, one at a time, for days until it was time to read it aloud; it was practically memorized by this point, and he wondered where Joel decided to stop, when it got too much to stomach.

This simple piece of paper felt heavy in Dayn’s hand, so he extended it back to Joel. “Read the rest of it?” he asked. Maybe it was for the best, that it was an opening sort of bridge that Dayn couldn’t stomach to say out loud. If the basics were covered, maybe he’d feel okay enough to continue on, and to answer long dormant questions. “It does matter, and it’s fine. It got us here, so you might as well know why.” A long pause, and Dayn couldn’t quite look him in the eye just yet. “You can read it. And then you can ask me stuff. I can’t promise it won’t piss me off or whatever, but you can.” For him, he'd try. "Or if you have nothing to ask you can yell at me for keeping quiet, I'll take that, too."

#{ joel thompson *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// joel thompson }#{ end }

In the time it had taken for Joel to find Dayn again, he had run through this interaction countless times. Each and every time he attempted to piece together the reasoning behind breaking his brother’s trust, he came up empty. There was no reason other than his sheer need to know more. To understand and find ways to help Dayn in whatever way he could during a time when things were so incredibly difficult. “ I guess, I just wanted to do more… ” was all he allowed himself to say. Let Dayn come up with his own thoughts on what that meant. Being on the outside their entire lives, Joel tended to avoid asking prying or what he would consider to be risqué questions. Avoiding all topics that would link back to him.

Looking at the letter now, he couldn’t help but shake his head, though he did reach for it and folded it, tucking it into his pants back pocket. Having already had a go at reading it while he’d been alone, he couldn’t imagine the emotional battle Dayn would go through if he read it before him when the mere thought of Joel getting his hands on it had driven him away. In the end, it wasn’t reading the letter that he’d been after. It wasn’t even knowing the full traumatic experience his brother had endured. Joel had simply wanted for Dayn to want to tell him. Not because he needed to know, or because he asked to be told, or even because they were meant to know each other more than anyone else knew them. He wanted Dayn to want to share with him.

“ I’m not mad at you for keeping quiet, Dayn. ” he said pointedly, though how valid the words were, Joel couldn’t define. “ But I also don’t want to press for information you’re not ready to approach. We have nothing but time, and more than a bit of it by the looks of it. ” he went to say, pointing at their enclosed surroundings and the lack of fresh air throughout the night. “ We’ll figure it out. ”

END

It almost made her feel normal, having this conversation with Joel present, like a buffer for all the uncomfortable tension that had followed the entanglement of bodies and scars. There was so much Charlie wanted to say to Dayn, things she had spent nights staying up thinking about, apologies spoken in the dead of night to monsters who would never relay them. She wanted to say I haven't had a moment where I haven't thought about you, or, do you think you could hold me again, just for a minute, just so I can know it's the last time. I didn't before, and I never conveyed it to memory. She had thought then, before things turned, that had he wanted she would have conveyed him to memory every night, every moment, and everywhere.

Charlie looked away from the brothers, tuning out their nonsensical banter to remind herself as to why she had pulled away from Dayn in the first place, his scars etched into her mind and this place taking him from her. While it had been painful to keep her distance, to sneak out before he ever arrived at the bar, to avoid him knowing she had hurt him, it had been necessary. I can't want you, she wanted to say, knowing that she did anyway. Charlie felt her head spin and she took a couple of stuttered steps backwards before grabbing onto the edge of the bar.

He looked at her then, spoke to her. She hated the way her heart stuttered and suffered at his attention. "It's fine. Or, it will be. Just... um.. Jude is fixing up the door today so." Despite herself, she added, almost like Joel wasn't there, "I didn't think you'd want me to. Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't kicked me out of here after..." A glance in Joel's direction, and she trailed off as she caught up to the conversation. So, Dayn hadn't even bothered to tell his twin brother about her. "Oh, right," she said, throat suddenly thick. She thought of her honesty, admitting to her fears, showing her scars, telling him about Reyna. She thought of the careless way she had handed her heart to him, how easily he had misinterpreted her care, how they would do nothing but destroy each other if she let them. "I guess we don't really know each other, do we." @thcmpscns @wickedsurrender

The air around them grew thicker, if that were even possible, so Joel did his very best to merely blend into the background. Side comments ready for whenever he felt the moment needed it most, but the intensity of those two - the longing glances being exchanged, and the silent conversation traveling in the silence - felt thick enough to cut with a knife. A butter knife even, which only amused him further. Joel wondered just how long they would talk around each other in an attempt to appear as though nothing was the matter.

Had he not already felt the grip Dayn had on his collar, Joel would have easily gotten away with his tongue. One too many jokes at the ready. “ Just cause you can’t claim the same. ” he said, holding back his laughter at his own tight ass comment as he moved further away from the pair. He knew all he needed to do was start a conversation about something - anything else - to disturb and distract the pair, but he found no amusement there. Besides, life was too short - even shorter in Arcadia based on what he’d heard - so he’d much better enjoy the bit of entertainment his brother and Charlie provided him with.

Having found himself a clean enough cup to fill with the bottle’s contents, Joel sipped back his drink and watched the pair. Glancing between one and the other, as if waiting to see which one would break first. Who would reach for the other, or end up walking away in despair. His own untelevised soap opera. The only thing missing from the moment itself was the popcorn or mike and ikes. Later on in the night, when the two had nowhere to run to escape the conversation, Joel would investigate the meaning of this. Find out whatever he could about the tension he saw dance between Charlie and Dayn. // @thcmpscns

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// charlie clayton }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// joel thompson }#{ charlie clayton *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 }#{ joel thompson *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 }

“Well, I don’t own the bar,” he retorted, with a light chuckle. It was all he could do to try and keep things as light as he could. This was going to be a nice introduction, he thought, a way to bridge the gap… but maybe he just made things worse. Maybe Charlie was still mad at him, or maybe Dayn still had some resentment in his heart that he didn’t even realize. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine sharing his body with another, but there was actually a connection here, he thought - maybe it wasn’t resentment that he was feeling, but something else. Something a bit more personal, a bit more vulnerable.

I guess we don't really know each other, do we made him feel that much worse. Okay, so that’s how things were going to be. He realized after a moment that Joel had stood, and was standing further away now, leaving him to sit in the awkwardness that was the relationship he now had with Charlie. These have been the strangest few months of his life, in more than one way. “You got me there,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking to Charlie or Joel in that moment - maybe both. Dayn stood then, and made his way to where the other bottles were stored and clearing his throat. “Charlie, I know it’s early, but do you want anything to drink? Joel’s already started for the day, you can catch up with him.” *// @charliexclayton @wickedsurrender

✶ 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 ; after the blackout, on his way to town ✶ 𝐅𝐎𝐑 ; dayn @thcmpscns

His chest felt heavy as the moment fully set in. The lights had burned out a mere hour or two by now, and the chaos that surrounded him alluded to an endless despair. Monsters hid in the darkness is what he had come to know over the last few weeks. They hid in the darkness and waited patiently for their prey to emerge, and with the sudden lack of lighting he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d venture indoors now. Would they have to hide until sunrise came out? And if they do, who could they trust? Mental games was what the creatures were known for so who was to say, in the midst of their hysteria, someone wouldn’t open the door for them - unlock a window, or even use others as shields to get out?

Joel pushed through the crowd, finding one of the plethora of entry ways to the building and rushed out of the door. Leaving behind the only shred of pretend safety but hopefully not his life. Dayn was nowhere to be found within, so the only other place for him to be was back at the gas station. He wasn’t aware of his brother’s departure from the party, but he could at the very least hope that it’d been early enough to see. In the pitch blackness now, he couldn’t make out a single step before him. The moon felt almost useless in its rotation, but he - along with the bat he has found in one of the rooms - made way towards his twin.

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// joel thompson }#{ joel thompson *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 }#{ event *// nyx }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// event }

Whatever was going on with the power had happened about twenty minutes after Dayn had walked all the way home from the settlement - it wasn’t like it was a short way either, taking him a good thirty-some minutes that felt a hell of a lot longer, constantly looking over his shoulder in the event there was something lurking in the woods somewhere. He had overheard someone in the settlement speak: they would be safe from Them. But that didn’t mean Dayn was completely overjoyed to listen, having no choice but to be wary.

Especially because Joel hadn’t made it home yet. Dayn waited for awhile, in the event that maybe Joel left quickly after he did and was on his way back to the gas station, but more time had passed and while it could have been one minute or one hour, it still felt like forever and he decided to venture out to look for him. He took the same route that they did hours ago, hoping his brother would think to do the same - how many times had Joel been to the settlement? Dayn never took him there. He’d only been twice himself.

Armed with nothing but his own fists, he kept his hood down so that his peripherals could be of some use, and he barely blinked as he began to walk briskly through the town. It was scary dark, so much so that he could barely see five feet in front of him. If They were out tonight, they were being awfully quiet, and had quite the advantage. “Joel?” he whispered, before hesitating - if he could hear him, what was stopping him from thinking Dayn was one of Them? “It’s me, if you can hear me.” That was lame - but god, it was so dark. How would he tell?

Something cracked over to his right, and his fist raised on instinct before his pace quickened. “Joel, that better not have been you, now’s not the time for jokes.”

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// playlist }#i remember the good old days when only i knew this song #and it didn't make an appearance in every store i ever visited #Spotify

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// mirror }

sentrysvoid

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World dir. Edgar Wright | 2010

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// musings }

Fear was one of those ever persistent things that crept on Dayn when he least expected it. And the worst part was that it seemed to come from anywhere. A bad combination of lack of sleep and catching sight of a scar could be enough for his heart to race, or the right kind of smell of liquor, the ones he’d been force fed before. He hadn’t seen Arthur in a long time - when he was a teenager, he was this perpetual boogeyman in his imagination that he’d see behind doors, in the corners of rooms, walking on the streets or driving a car somewhere.

Of course, he never really contended with all of that, not until he was older (and even then, barely so). He hadn’t seen Arthur until that night at the gas station, when he nearly freaked out at Joel, who had been completely patient over the last little while, despite surely dealing with his own demons and fears. Luckily, his twin was safe, and they agreed to tell each other everything, even more than usual. Where they were going, how long they expected to stay, don’t go anywhere without telling me. Hopeful they’d stick with it, because the perpetual darkness was starting to get to him. He’d spent four years of his life indoors, with minimal sunlight - it was enough to make anyone crazy.

That wasn’t even mentioning Them, those who wandered the dark looking for prey. He heard them then, even caught glimpses. Almost all that he saw were Arthur - from when he was younger, from when Dayn say him at the trial, and the hearing just months ago. Repeats and copies over and over, taunting and sweet talking to get him anywhere. What started off as a brisk walk with his head on a swivel, up to the radio station turned into a full blown sprint as he started to hear it more. Words that peppered silence turned into a white noise that flowed through his mind. “Charlie!” he shouted, panic in the edge of his voice as he approached the door, before giving it some knocking. They were ways away, not close so much anymore, but he still felt their presence in the way the hairs on his neck stood up. “Charlie, it’s me, please– are you in there?” *// @charliexclayton

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// charlie clayton }#{ charlie clayton *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// closed }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// event }#{ event *// nyx }

There had never been a part of him that felt entitled to information Dayn held close to himself. Never would Joel go out of his way to make his brother feel like it, despite how much the questions burned. Desperate to burst out of his lips in order to better comprehend not just the thoughts his brother struggled with, but the muffled screams he’d hear some nights. Joel wasn’t even sure if Dayn knew it happened. It certainly never felt right to remind him of the monster that still invaded Dayn’s dreams, but he had done his best to ease the moment. Read a book out loud so that even as he slept, Dayn would know that Joel was near. Hop into his brother’s bed, making a little too much commotion to help him escape the nightmares and claim his bed felt too uncomfortable. That he could not sleep.

Though Joel could easily ignore the comment made, he couldn’t ignore the pain he felt at the reaction. Why would I ever want to talk about it? It was more than a valid question. Why should Dayn talk about it? Why was he so invested in knowing more than allowed? Joel felt ashamed of his selfishness. Unsure of how to retract his questions, though every ounce of him wielded Dayn to continue. To give light to the very thing that stood between them. That would keep them from fully knowing all about each other. He felt himself seconds from terminating the conversation and walking away but grew rooted to his spot by his brother’s following statement.

Gaze turning to watch Dayn, Joel held his breath. A shrug escaped instead of a response. Joel didn’t know what he thought. That he'd be trusted enough to have known? That Dayn felt as safe with him as he had - perhaps - someone else. The list of things went far and spread wider than Joel cared to indulge, all the while knowing that he may never get a real answer. Unable to form a proper reply, Joel shook his head instead. It wasn't so much knowing, as it was getting it to hear straight from him. Joel couldn't pretend to be clueless when the entirety of their town had their fair share of comments to make upon Dayn's return.

Over the years it became too hard to glance over at the opposite side of the room. At all the toys the two had shared and the clothes his brother wore. Getting rid of them had been the only thing that kept him sane. He never thought it’d cause so much turmoil upon Dayn’s return. It was true that he had grown, but regardless of Dayn’s belief - so had he. They weren’t the same, though Joel could easily understand the need to experience their moments lost. To turn back time and make it as though their reality had not been so. That Dayn had never left, or he had never moved on.

I’m sorry, Joel wanted to say but felt the words were more damaging than not. Or fear that it would be the wrong ones to spill. Joel listened quietly, averting his gaze once more - for privacy this time ‘round - and fixated back to his bed. Slowly, he forced himself to rise and retrieve the crumbled piece of paper from beneath his mattress. He felt the moisture coating his palms as he handed it over. “I didn’t read it all the way.” he explained, wishing he had left it alone those weeks back. Knowing they wouldn’t be in this place if he’d just minded his business and given Dayn the respect he deserved. “Shouldn’t have at all, but…” I was curious didn't seem like a reason enough to break his trust. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to go on. “... I mean, it doesn’t matter. What - happened. It doesn't- change-” he struggled once more, plagued with the thought of all the pain his twin endured while he remained safe at home. Tucked into bed each night without so much as an inkling to his suffering. “I should have left it alone, and I didn’t, and for that, I’m sorry.”

And because words were not enough, Joel reached over to Dayn. Helplessly needing that touch of comfort he didn’t deserve. “I wanted to be there for you. I just didn’t know how, or even if I could when… I guess, when I didn’t truly know. But it was my mistake picking up that letter when you were so vulnerable.”

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// joel thompson }#{ joel thompson *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 }#tw implied abuse

It took quite a good year or two for Dayn to fully grasp the level of depravity his early adolescence was wrought with. He could remember months after, his father raising his voice at him over something completely unrelated - probably him doing something he shouldn’t have, like not finishing homework or getting into trouble of some sort - and he automatically turned from his father, as if waiting for something of his choice to strike at his back. He’ll never forget the look on his father’s face after that, and they both had an unspoken agreement to just never bring it up again.

That didn't even include all the language, the vernacular of the charges brought against Arthur. His parents weren’t the ones to sit him down and elaborate on what it all meant, matching charge to punishment. It was a lawyer and a child psychologist, and then days later, when he was alone, looking up online what it all meant. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it - it was bad, he knew it was, and the severity of just how bad didn’t come for a few years. By then, he had barely spoken of it anyway and had made a pact with himself that it was better left buried. Maybe there was some sort of instinct in him to shield his brother from that - no matter how close they were, how quickly Joel entered the world after him, he still referred to him as a little brother, that sensitive kid on the playground drawing with chalk instead of playing kickball with the rest. Dayn had grown up too quick, and quicker still after he had escaped, as if he was making up for lost time. There was almost a competition-like aspect of it, to prove to other people he was fine - more than fine, pursuing physical relationships, sneaking into concerts, anything that struck him - and it granted him more than a few run-ins with the city police.

The inner turmoil swirling around him then dissipated some when he saw Joel stand and move over towards his bed. Somehow, even before he opened it from the way it was folded, Dayn knew what it was. His eyes shut, and a long exhale left him before he could help himself. That letter; that godforsaken letter that got the both of them stranded here. Arthur had to just take one more thing from him, didn’t he? The words surprised him though. “You didn’t? Why?” Respect where it was earned, but Dayn would have read it all. Even if it hurt. He poured over every line, one at a time, for days until it was time to read it aloud; it was practically memorized by this point, and he wondered where Joel decided to stop, when it got too much to stomach.

This simple piece of paper felt heavy in Dayn’s hand, so he extended it back to Joel. “Read the rest of it?” he asked. Maybe it was for the best, that it was an opening sort of bridge that Dayn couldn’t stomach to say out loud. If the basics were covered, maybe he’d feel okay enough to continue on, and to answer long dormant questions. “It does matter, and it’s fine. It got us here, so you might as well know why.” A long pause, and Dayn couldn’t quite look him in the eye just yet. “You can read it. And then you can ask me stuff. I can’t promise it won’t piss me off or whatever, but you can.” For him, he'd try. "Or if you have nothing to ask you can yell at me for keeping quiet, I'll take that, too."

silicasalt

Raising her half of the sausage in a gesture mimicking a cheers, Roux took her first bite. Like the cat that got the cream, it was well worth the potential trouble should anyone else find out she had only allowed the two of them to indulge in a bounty that could have served several. Alas, Roux would defend, charcuterie is a concept; not shareable. “We deserve it,” she dismissed with a half-hearted shrug. Completely desensitised, Roux knew she was not above ransacking a car in broad daylight nor pulling desirables from the clutches of rigor mortis. That the sight of gore did nothing to disturb her appetite. Even contaminated pieces had their place, privately tucked into her pocket to share with only her roommate — so long as she promised not to judge, or traded something of her own contraband stash. “Add in some mozzarella sticks and I’m sold. We could turn this joint into a sports bar… don't know who I’d trust to be Hell Town’s star athletes though.”

The idea posed also inspired a strange swell of borderline fond memories, wherein she’d made cutting corners her mainstay. During those first few years parading about as a hunter, far less committed to utilising the woods. Rather, her food sourcing ventures were often defined by the results of camping out near the outskirts of town in the hopes that a drunk or distracted driver would literally crash around the corner so that she could be the first to intercept. On a few less eventful days, Roux had enjoyed playing the distraction role herself. “We’re overdue for something like that. So far the top tier crash was an ice cream truck, and that was like… 5 years ago? They had a horde of snacks and drinks that lasted ages. No one's been high on that much salt and sugar since.” If luck was all that had to do with it, Roux would be the first to beg the next Irish person she saw for a talisman. “It’s a real shame no one’s committed to road tripping with full buffets. I’d kill for a catering truck to visit."

#{ roux chase *// 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// roux chase }#we can start wrapping up if you like!

“I agree.” Dayn kept up with the casual tone of it all - the trick was, he was learning, not to indulge too much in the horrible aspects about the town. The sooner it became “norm”, while it sucked, was a much more mentally sound option. If there was something morbid to be seen, he’d wait until he was in private to hear about it first. Luckily, he hadn’t seen any dead bodies since being here, so that was a nice sign of luck he was hoping wouldn’t run out on him anytime soon.

It was horribly morbid that they would wish for another unfortunate soul to be claimed by the town, dead or alive, to allow them a bit of a treat for themselves, but that’s what they’ve come to. That’s the kind of place Arcadia was. In some ways, Dayn hoped he never truly got used to things here.

“I might save the rest of mine,” he stated, then - thinking about this all too hard made him lose his appetite. Dayn could understand then and there why being a hoarder in situations like this was so appealing to some. He was no stranger to captivity, even if Arcadia gave him far more breathing room. He masked any rising unease with a smile, putting his share in the small refrigerator, the one that held cold beers once upon a time was now storage to the finds people brought him. “Well, this is about my whole day - I’ll be spending the next few thinking of ways to top the charcuterie. Nice job.”

@charliexclayton

#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// charlie clayton }#{ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍 *// playlist }#i know i already sent this to you but i wanted it on the blog too #Spotify

Peace did not come from tenderness or silence. It was born from violence and fear, and the space those two things left behind with their absence. She felt it now, the way peace wove itself around them. They were owed this moment where nothing existed but the two of them, the way their bodies were pressed together, the hammering of her heart so hard against her chest she knew that Dayn could probably feel it against his own. She tried to remember what it was like to exist outside of this moment, released a breath when her mind did not allow herself the cruelty of doubting that she deserved this.

She wanted to explain to him that there was nothing more sure than rain on the pavement on a hot day, that the relief from the clouds opening when heat threatened to consume you felt like being reborn, that he smelled like earthly tones motivated by the pounding of rain drops against the steaming ground, and he felt like the salvation of precipitation on the cusp of dehydration. As a young girl from a fire town in California, Charlie used to run into torrential downpours like it might just save her from her fate of burning alive. "You just smell good, okay?" she settled on saying instead. "Like home."

She met his gaze, eyes searching for any signs of dishonesty, like maybe he was pretending to be fine with her admitting that she was letting hallucinations control her actions, that he accepted her for hurting the both of them with her fears. All she found was the flicker of regret of time lost. She felt it too, had thought of where they might be now if she had admitted to the third person in their bed, hated that she would never know if they could have loved each other through the hell of the last few weeks. Her hands moved to cup either side of his face and she flicked her gaze between his lips and his eyes. There would be time to memorize the lines on his face, time to wonder which (if any) had been caused by nightmares, and time to lick at their wounds. But now was the time for making amends, for salvaging against lost time.

"I've been thinking lately," she said softly, "of how much I want to spend the rest of my time here living with my heart, and not with my head, however long or short that may be." She ran her thumbs against his cheekbones, in a much similar pattern that he was holding her at the waist. "I'm tired of being afraid, I just want to do something good. There is nothing in this place that makes it worth the suffering it causes —except for this." Her hands pulled his face down as she pushed onto her toes to press a soft kiss to his lips. She pulled back so that there was the faintest space between them and added, voice barely above a whisper. "I want to love, could you let me?"