to be made of glass

this is a story blog for characters belonging to rian found in various universes around the writing world. x victims have been have been destroyed. Writing Count 2012: 55,353 Writing Count 2013: 35,280 Writing Count 2014: 21,032

[writtenunderground]

a christmas wish

george & jamie; rated pg 1867 words

George’s sitting next to the Christmas tree when Jamie makes his way into the living room, two cups of coffee in hand. “They’re not as good as yours,” he says as he hands one of the mugs over to George, making sure it’s the one he’s added the cream and sugar to before he sips his plain coffee, trying to inject the caffeine into him before the gift exchange happens.

“No, it’s better,” George responds. Jamie chuckles before he sits down on the floor next to George, smiling as he spots a momentary flash of gold against the wall as the sun bounces off his wedding ring. It’s still a little surreal to Jamie that it’s been almost a year since they’ve gotten married when it sometimes feels like yesterday and other times feels like decades. George is distracted by the pile of gifts, Jamie knows, which makes him smile.

“Do you ever think about how most of those gifts under the tree aren’t even for us?” he asks, noting the heaps that are set aside for Jamie’s large family and George’s even bigger one. When they’d gone over to the Kellers last year, the sea of gifts had formed an actual moat around the tree, and Jamie knows this year it’ll be even worse with the new additions to the Keller family tree.

“That’s what makes it the best,” George responds. “Gifts are the best, but I think giving them’s more fun than receiving them.”

“I agree,” Jamie responds with a soft chuckle. George leans against him, causing Jamie to instinctively wrap an arm around the man’s waist as they sip their coffee together. It takes Jamie at least one mug before he’s properly awake, so he’s in no rush to get to the unwrapping, especially since he’s thinking about the one box in the back of the pile that he knows is going to be George’s favourite gift.

Once he’s finished downing the coffee and George has disappeared to make his second, Jamie’s pretty sure he’s ready to start the day. He’s turned his phone off, knowing that it’ll be nothing but a slew of Christmas texts from friends, family, and everything in between. His notifications have been going crazy since the start of December, when everyone seemed to remember at once that his one year anniversary is at the end of the month, so keeping the phone as quiet as possible is definitely something Jamie’s been needing on his break from society.

“You almost ready?” he calls to George, smiling when he gets a noise in response instead of proper words. Jamie fumbles with the empty mug for a moment before he sets it down on the table, eyes shifting to where he’s sure he’s seen a flash of white dart into the tree. “Snowflake…” The bunny’s head pops out near the middle of the tree, her nose twitching as she looks around the room. Jamie laughs before he stands and reaches into the tree, pulling the bunny out from the lights and ornaments, cradling her gently in his hands as she nuzzles her face into his palm.

“Was she in the tree again?” George asks as he comes back into the room, coffee mug in hand. He’s brought a fresh one for Jamie too, causing the singer to smile. George knows him far too well, and he loves him dearly for it.

“When isn’t she in the tree? She likes the warmth.” Jamie sets the bun down on the couch before he takes the mug from George. “Thank you, love,” he says softly before he leans in and kisses him. George pulls back from the peck and smiles before he sits back down on the ground, Snowflake immediately trying to find her way into his unruly mop of hair.

“Easy,” George says with a laugh before he sets his mug down and picks the rabbit up, holding her in his hands until she calms again. Jamie smiles at the two of them. His little family is all he needs right now, really. Sure, there’s so much more to what Jamie considers his family, but right now, between George and Snowflake, he has everything he needs.

Once Snowflake wriggles her way out of George’s grip, the man looks to Jamie, watching the man for a moment before he smiles. “Where do we start?”

Jamie fishes the gifts for the two of them out from under the tree, piling them in front the spot George is sitting in before he gestures. “You can go in any order,” he says. “Except that big box. It’s for last.” That’s all he really needs to say before they go at it, wrapping paper, ribbon and bows strewn across the carpet as they reveal each other’s gifts, each more special and personalised than the last. Jamie’s thrilled by his new headphones and the glitter star case he’s been eyeing for a while, and George seems more than pleased with the new additions to his lingerie collection and the dress Jamie’s had handmade for him by Noel and Arthur. Overall it seems like a wonderful Christmas for both of them.

All that’s left now is the box, and George is curious, Jamie knows. That box was a last-minute addition to the tree, only added three days before Christmas Eve, and George has been inquiring about it ever since. “You finally get to unveil the mystery,” Jamie says once George pulls the box towards him. “Happy Christmas, love.”

George tears the wrapping paper off of the box, raising an eyebrow at the red box with a simple white lid on top of it. He pulls the lid off of the box, frowning as he looks inside. “What is this?” he asks before he reaches into the box, pulling out another box. Jamie merely smiles in response as George looks at the box, this one orange with a similar white lid. He opens it, frowning again as he comes across a yellow one this time. “Are you messing with me, Jamie?” he asks as he looks at the man.

“You’ll have to just wait and see,” he says with a chuckle. “Keep going.” George pouts at him, but Jamie doesn’t give in. Instead, he waves towards the yellow box, urging George to open it. George does, letting out a small whine as he pulls out a green box out of the yellow and then a blue one out of the green.

“This is ridiculous,” he whines as he opens the blue box, pulling out a smaller purple one. “Jamie, did you just get me rainbow boxes for Christmas?”

“I’m not telling you, love. You have to open it and find out.” George makes a noise and he opens the box, frowning when he’s met with a sparkling, pink bag. “It’s your favourite colour,” Jamie says when George makes a noise of distaste. “Don’t give me that, just open it.”

George opens the bag, pulling a thick, white envelope out of it and he shakes his head. “I swear, Jamie Starr, you are lucky I love you,” he says before he peels the envelope open, pulling out a stack of papers from inside.

A frown crosses his face as he looks at the papers, but once George starts reading the letter inside, the frown fades away. He reads the first page, a handwritten letter from Jamie, before he flips to the next page of the stack. A gasp escapes his throat before he looks up at Jamie. “No,” he says as he stares at the man in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Jamie says breathily as he nods, unable to keep the smile off of his face.

George clasps a hand over his mouth as he keeps reading, and Jamie can tell he’s close to tears. It’s a lot to take in, he knows, because he’s been working on this surprise for George for a while now, and now that it’s all in place, he can’t be happier to see his husband’s reaction. George flips through the papers before he drops them to the floor, immediately tackling his husband, pressing his face into Jamie’s neck as he lets out a sob.

Jamie holds onto him, rubbing George’s back gently as he kisses the top of his head. “We’re going to be dads, love,” he says quietly. “They approved us.” George chokes on a sob, trying to speak, but he can’t and Jamie completely understands. When he’d found out that the agency granted approval for them to adopt the two baby girls they’d been hoping for, Jamie didn’t believe it, but when they’d finalised everything and sent him the papers, he knew that there wouldn’t be a better way to tell George than to give him the gift of knowledge for Christmas.

“We— Dads.” George clings to Jamie’s shirt, wiping at his eyes. “This is happening, it’s really happening.” Jamie nods before he gently tilts George’s head upwards so he can look at him, smiling brighter when he sees George can’t stop smiling as he keeps repeating that they’re going to be dads.

“Happy Christmas, love,” Jamie says quietly as he looks at him. “Next one we’ll get to spend with our daughters.” George lets out a tearful laugh, but he’s smiling so brightly Jamie can’t imagine having told him any other way. He runs his hand through George’s hair as the man curls into his lap, leaning against his chest as he calms down.

“I can’t believe it,” he says quietly. “They approved us.”

“Well we did have some glowing recommendations,” Jamie responds with a soft laugh. “How often do you think twenty-seven people write letters begging someone to give someone kids?”

George smiles as he looks up at Jamie. “True,” he says quietly. “I’m so happy, Jamie,” George breathes out. “So happy.”

“Me too, love,” he says before he kisses the top of George’s head, smiling as George nuzzles into the action. They stay that way for a while, not moving from their spot, until George’s alarm goes off to signal them that they need to get ready to go over to the Kellers’ Christmas party. “Come on,” Jamie says as he gently nudges George. “Let’s get ready so we can go tell everyone the good news.”

“Hang on,” George responds before he crawls out of Jamie’s lap. He makes his way over where Snowflake is sleeping on the couch and picks her up. Jamie raises an eyebrow, curious about George’s intentions as the bunny sleepily opens her eyes. “Hey Snow,” George says, beaming as he holds her in his hands. “Did you hear? You’re going to be a big sister.”

Snowflake blinks at George before she twitches her ears, her nose wiggling at George in response to his statement. Jamie laughs.

“I think that means she’s happy about it,” he says as he stands up, moving to clean up the bits of wrapping paper that are scattered across the floor.

George beams. “That makes two of us,” he says before he turns and looks at Jamie. “I love you.”

Jamie smiles, reaching his free hand out to touch the nape of George’s neck before he leans in and kisses him gently. “Love you too.”

[writtenunderground]

christmas 2012

multiple pairings; rated pg 3634 words

“Grab the presents, Lawson,” West states as he sprawls across the sofa, letting out a yawn before he nuzzles under the blanket. They’re at Nick’s house with plans to spend the morning there before West kidnaps Nick for Christmas dinner at his home, but the longer that West spends at the Lawsons’ home, the less interested he is in ever crawling out from beneath the blanket he has wrapped around himself. The snow outside is thick and still heavily falling, which only encourages West to huddle into the comfortable sofa and sleep the rest of the day away, but only after Nick’s mum cooks enough food to make him happy and pleased.

“Get your own presents, Pennington,” Nick responds before he fishes through the pile, pulling the ones designated for him aside so he can open them once his parents are ready. His mum’s been cooking since seven in the morning, leaving the entire home smelling like baked goods and coffee, his favourite. Nick sorts past a few dedicated to relatives and friends that will get their gifts after the holiday, stopping at one that’s got West’s name on it, from his mother. He sighs softly before arranging it in the pile that he’s definitely not been putting together for West. He’s not that nice, of course not.

Once he’s set his pile aside, Nick stands up, fluffs invisible dust off of his jumper, and makes his way over to the couch. “Budge up, would you? This is my house and yet you’re hogging the couch.”

“Make me,” West responds, raising an eyebrow as if to dare Nick to try. Nick pauses for a moment, debating if it’s worth trying to push West off of the sofa before he climbs on top of him, sprawling across the man before he lets out a relaxed sigh. “Get off of me,” West whines, wiggling beneath Nick as he tries to shuffle him towards the spot of couch he’s freed up.

Nick laughs before he flops down next to West, looking at him. West stares him down until Nick says, “Happy Christmas, Pennington,” and leans in for a kiss. West responds almost immediately, his hand coming up to wrap around the nape of Nick’s neck so he can draw him in for a much better kiss than the initial attempt. Nick’s arms situate themselves around West, making sure that he’s properly holding onto his boyfriend. West shifts, the blanket falling onto the couch as he situates himself on top of Nick, kneeling between the man’s sprawled legs without breaking the kiss.

They stay that way for a while, playing tag with kisses between mumbling things to each other. At one point, West starts nipping at Nick’s neck, trying to leave a proper mark before Nick bats him away. “Not the kind of present I want,” he mumbles when West lets out a distressed whine. “Yet.” West immediately presses his hand over Nick’s mouth before he leans back in, licking the mark that he’s started.

“West,” Nick protests as he wraps a hand around West’s wrist, pulling it away. “We’re sitting in my parents’ living room. Behave yourself.”

“Make me,” West responds and Nick grips West’s wrist tighter, waiting until West moves to go back to his actions before Nick catches him in another kiss, being a bit more forceful this time as he distracts the man.

“Starting Christmas off right, aren’t you loves?” They break apart at the sound of Nick’s mum stepping into the room, a warm smile on her face as she looks at the two of them. “You know, there’s mistletoe right over there if you’re looking for an excuse to keep on with it.”

Nick turns a light shade of pink as West grins. “Always looking for an excuse with this one, honestly,” he responds before he crawls out from his spot between Nick’s legs and steps over to Nick’s mum. “Happy Christmas,” he says cheerfully before he hugs the woman, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Happy Christmas to you too, West,” she responds as she hugs him back. “You too, Nick, darling.” Nick watches the interaction for a moment before he gets up off of the couch.

“Happy Christmas, mum.” He comes over to the woman, hugging her quickly before he steps back. “I’ll go get dad, yeah?”

“Sure thing, love,” she responds happily. West’s already back to his spot on the couch, buried beneath the blanket with only his face visible. He’s flicking through stations, the TV on mute as he tries to find a good film to leave on while they unwrap presents, and Nick can’t help but smile as he thinks about just how in love he is with him. It’s a perfect Christmas, he’s certain of it, and he’s pretty sure he won’t even mind having to go to the Penningtons to eat dinner with them, even if it means his boyfriend’s personality will change completely the second they walk through the door. It’s a small sacrifice, Nick thinks, if it means keeping his boyfriend and his family happy. Nick doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Don’t feed West too many treats while I’m gone,” Nick cautions before he makes his way upstairs, chuckling as he hears West insisting that his mum never listen to Nick and to feed him all the pastries she’d like.

-

“Merry Christmas, Brook!” Brooklyn blinks a few times, willing the sleep out of his eyes before he looks up at Lyric, a smile immediately spreading across his lips.

“Happy Christmas,” he responds, the words being swallowed up by a kiss. He responds to the gentle but brief kiss, his smile only growing as Lyric pulls away. They’re already decked up in holiday gear, a jingling cat ear headband on their head and a pretty, oversized Christmas jumper making them look warm despite the chill that’s taking up their tiny apartment. The heating bill’s been due for a week or so now, and the company won’t turn it back on until it’s paid, but neither of them seem to mind at the moment. They’d spent the night cuddled up under a pile of blankets, keeping each other warm, and Brook had definitely noticed when Lyric had crawled off of the mattress they share in the morning.

Lyric rubs at the corner of their eye, carefully trying not to smudge the eyeliner that they’ve clearly applied with care. “I was thinking we could make breakfast and maybe watch something before have to meet up with everyone else? I know Remi said we didn’t have to bring anything, but I was still thinking we could pick something up on the way over to theirs? Maybe a tin of Roses or something? Oh! I got you something. It’s small, but I saw it and immediately thought of you.”

Brooklyn sits up in the bed, watching Lyric as they bolt up and disappear into the closet, rummaging through the clothes until they pull out a small gift wrapped in parchment paper and tied up with string. “I was going to buy real wrapping paper but it was four pounds for the one I wanted, so…” They shrug before setting the gift down in Brook’s lap. “I hope you like it.” Lyric’s beaming as they sit on the edge of the mattress, their tiny countertop tree blinking in the background, illuminating the edges around Lyric’s head as they wait for Brooklyn to open the gift.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, really,” Brook responds as he picks up the present. He’s gotten Lyric gifts too, but they’re already at Shae and Remi’s, waiting under their tree for Lyric to open. There’s also the other gift, but that’s for later, when they’ve come home and settled in for the night. Brooklyn can only imagine that Lyric’s emptied the last of their savings to scrounge something together for Christmas. They only got released a week ago, and still don’t have a proper job, not that Lyric expects they’ll find one anytime soon with the list of charges they the not-so-proud owner of.

“I wanted to,” Lyric responds, the cat ears on their head jingling softly as they crawl over to sit next to Brooklyn. “What kind of person am I if I don’t get my boyfriend a Christmas gift?” They immediately gesture towards the present in Brooklyn’s hands. “Go on, open it!”

Brooklyn carefully undoes the string before he peels the tape off the parchment paper, taking care in opening his gift. It’s the first gift he’s gotten for a while now, and he wants to make sure that he remembers everything about it when he thinks back to this moment years from now.

Once the gift is open, Brooklyn unrolls the fabric, smiling as he looks at the shirt that Lyric’s bought him, the subtle but intricate patterns immediately appealing to him. “It’s wonderful,” he says before he reaches for Lyric’s hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, London. I love it.”

Lyric beams, and Brook swears that their cheeks look rosier than they did a few moments ago. “I’m glad. I was so nervous that you wouldn’t, but I remembered that night we talked about how much you liked unique designs and I just thought ‘why not give it a shot and if he hates it, I’ll get him something else,’ you know?”

“Well you don’t have to. I love it.” Brook pauses. “Can I wear it to the party today?”

“Of course you can,” Lyric says happily. “But I’d recommend a jumper too. It’s freezing out. They say it’s even supposed to snow later on! Proper snow!”

Brooklyn smiles, absolutely delighted by how happy Lyric is about everything. He understands it completely. It’s how he felt when he first got out of the detention facility, and now they’re here together and Brooklyn can’t be happier.

He leans in, kissing Lyric slowly and sweetly until Lyric’s lingering into the kiss when he’s finally pulling away. “No, come back,” Lyric says quietly, pouting a bit when Brooklyn untangles their hands.

“We have to get ready,” Brooklyn responds. “Aren’t we due there at 2?”

“I think so,” Lyric responds, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t kiss me a bit longer before you go shower.” Lyric pauses before they pout. “I wish I had a bow,” they say, causing Brook to raise an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic.

“Why?” he asks as he looks at them, trying to understand.

Lyric smiles, reaching out to rest a hand on Brooklyn’s chest, covering the spot where his heart resides. “Didn’t you know?” they ask. “You’re my present this year.”

Brook feels like his heart is swelling beneath Lyric’s touch. Everything about this moment feels so important to him that he doesn’t want it to end, because he can’t remember a time that he’s been happier, except for maybe the night that Lyric told him that they wanted to be with him. He covers Lyric’s hand with his own, holding onto it before he looks down at their hands.

“I love you,” Brooklyn says softly, twining their fingers together. He looks up at Lyric, who’s smiling so much that he only imagines their cheeks are hurting, but that thought doesn’t stop that light-as-air feeling that he’s filled with.

“I love you too,” Lyric tells him before they lean in and kiss Brooklyn again, and Brooklyn immediately kisses back. The shower can wait, he thinks. He’s got the best thing in the world right here.

-

“You had better not be calling me to tell me to report to work when I’m thousands of miles away,” Cadenza says into the phone as she slips her flip flops off of her feet, dropping down onto the warm sand. “You gave me the week off, remember?”

“I know,” Svante responds with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m not that cruel. I just wanted to let you know that we’ve wrapped up the shoot for Jamie’s music video, and I wanted to see if you opened my present yet.”

“You do know it’s six in the morning where you are, right?” Cadenza responds as she lowers her shades to keep the summer sun out of her eyes. The swimsuit she’s wearing isn’t comfortable, but it’s the best she can do on short notice to keep her abdomen out of her father’s sight. “You should be curled up with your boyfriend, not asking me about your generic gift.”

Svante laughs. “So you did open it,” he says. “The hiring company bought all the PAs perfume or cologne. Did you really think I thought you were the kind of person who likes Chanel No. 5 when I smell you wearing Marc Jacobs Daisy Dream every day?”

“Considering you don’t know how to schedule your own dates around your work life and that’s my job, I wouldn’t have been surprised.” She smiles a bit as she listens to the protests on the other end of the phone. Maybe it’s too soon to be getting this close with her boss since he’d only hired her four months ago, but Cadenza thinks that they’ve got a good enough work relationship that she can be snarky now and again and get away with it.

“I do just fine with my dates as long as the restaurant doesn’t tell me they’ve overbooked, thank you,” he responds.

“It was one mistake! How was I supposed to know they were going to close down the back room last minute for an X Factor event? I don’t work at ITV, thank you.” She’s smiling as she listens to Svante laugh again.

“You’re forgiven. Anyway, your actual present is under my tree. I just didn’t have it wrapped before you left, so you’ll get it when you return. How is your trip to another season going?”

Cadenza busies herself with burying her feet in the warm sand as she listens to the waves hit their private bit of ocean. “It’s warm, which is much better than the snowy abyss I left behind. I feel like I’m also obliged to mention that my dad wanted me to tell you thanks for hiring me and not firing me for my sass.”

“Tell him he’s welcome, and that I’m reconsidering it every day,” Svante responds, causing Cadenza to sigh.

“I knew this would happen. Shall I be looking to ring in 2013 unemployed? That’ll be a big change to deal with.”

“No, just working harder than ever. I keep getting request after request, and once this video releases it’s going to get busy. Be ready.”

The thought of having an even busier life has Cadenza almost excited, but at the same time, she’s concerned about her relationship. Sean’s already unhappy with her hectic schedule and how late she’s been staying on set every day, but she really loves working for Svante, so she’s been dealing with it, even if it’s been making their relationship harder with every passing day. “I’m always up for a good challenge,” she finally responds, realising she’s left the conversation silent for too long.

“Good. Now as you so wisely said, I’m going to go back to cuddling my boyfriend. Tell your husband happy Christmas from me and make sure you actually enjoy yourself. I hope you left the work phone at home.”

“I didn’t,” she responds. “What if I need to schedule you an emergency dinner? You’d be lost without me, you know.”

“I think I’ll survive. Happy Christmas, Caz.”

She laughs. “Merry Christmas, Svante.”

-

“Are you sure you have to go?” Anton’s fumbling through the bag he’s brought over, trying to find his toothbrush that’s apparently run off without his knowledge.

“You clearly don’t know much about Christmas at the Ellström house,” he says. “Didn’t Svan teach you anything?”

“Surprisingly enough, Christmas traditions with your family hasn’t been one of those things.” Keavy climbs off of the bed before he rummages through one of the drawers in the bathroom, pulling out a spare toothbrush. “Here. I’ve got dozens of these things.”

“For all the people you have sleep over?” Anton asks as he looks at him.

“Because I did a dental commercial when I was eighteen,” Keavy responds with a laugh. “They keep sending me new packages of their products and asking my agent to convince me to do another one.” He holds the toothbrush out to Anton. “Take it, seriously. I can’t get rid of them.”

Anton takes the toothbrush from Keavy, unpackaging it before he grabs the tube of toothpaste so he can brush his teeth. “If you really wanted to, you could probably just use a different one each week until they’re all gone.”

“If I did that,” Keavy responds, “What would I have do when you need a toothbrush next time around?” Anton pauses.

“I could just leave this one here,” he says. “Use it next time instead of keep bringing one along.” Keavy goes silent at the suggestion, looking down at his hands as his hair falls into his face. “Or I can just take it with me.”

There’s an awkward moment between the two of them, and Anton half-wishes that he’d just started brushing his teeth instead of saying anything before Keavy looks back up at him. “You can leave it here,” he says softly. “I don’t mind.” Anton glances at the toothbrush before he nods, offering Keavy a small smile before he turns back to the sink to start brushing his teeth.

By the time he’s finished, Keavy’s dressed for the day. Anton knows that the man isn’t going home today, that Christmas in the Mannix household isn’t happening until the 28th when the family can get together for the weekend. “You’ll be back for New Years, right?” Anton asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. He just wants to make sure, because as of right now, he doesn’t have any plans or parties to go to.

“Yeah,” Keavy responds as he steps over to him. “Are you coming over?”

“If you’ll have me,” Anton says before he shrugs. “I mean, if I don’t, the only thing I really have to do is get some studying done. Never too early to prepare for classes.”

“You’ve done a fair bit already since break started, and I don’t doubt that you’ll be studying while I’m gone too. You can take a night off. Come over. I’ll get champagne and we can toast in the new year and spend some time catching up on shows or something like that.” Keavy pauses. “And when you come round next time, if you want to leave more than just the toothbrush here, you can. I’ve, uh…cleaned out a drawer for you.”

Anton smiles. “Yeah?” he asks as he steps over to Keavy. The man nods before he rests his hands on Anton’s sides, holding onto him.

“Yeah.” Anton leans in and kisses him, his arms reaching up so he can hook his hands behind Keavy’s neck and pull him closer.

He lets the kiss linger for a few moments longer than intended before pulling back. “I’ve really got to head out,” he says, reaching for the tie he’s been avoiding putting on. He doesn’t really like them, finds them a bit constricting, but it’s almost like a tradition to show up in ties and end the day not knowing where they’ve ended up in the house because everyone seems to tug them off after the family photos are taken.

“Give it here,” Keavy says as he reaches for the tie. “Every time you try, you always mess up the knot.” Anton wants to know how Keavy’s so certain of this, because he’s only worn a tie around him twice, but apparently that’s enough to solidify the fact that he’s not that good at tying ties. He hands the clothing over, staying still as Keavy loops it around the collar of his shirt and begins the knotting process. Anton doesn’t really know how it all works or what kind of knot is what. All he really cares about is that it looks decent enough, but he’s more than happy to let Keavy take care of that for him.

Keavy fixes the knot and tucks the spare bit into the back of the tie before he smoothes down Anton’s collar. “Don’t forget to take your present,” he reminds Anton.

“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t going to?” Anton asks. He’s pretty sure he didn’t, but now’s as good of a time to mention it as any. “Yours is still at my dorm room, so I’ll bring it over and we’ll exchange them when I come back tonight.”

“You’re coming back tonight?” Keavy asks, a hint of a smile on his lips as he asks the question.

Anton nods. “Is that alright?”

He doesn’t think he’s seen Keavy smile as brightly as he is right now. Anton has to wonder if maybe it’s because of the fact that Keavy didn’t think he’d be back until after the trip to Ireland or maybe it’s because of the drawer or the toothbrush or something as simple as that. Either way, it warms him to see the man smile the way he is. “Of course. Just text me before you leave? I’m going over to Carter’s for dinner, but I should be home before you’re done with Christmas at the Ellströms.”

“Sounds good,” Anton says before he grabs for the bag, moving to take it with him before he leaves it be, thinking about the drawer that’s now his to put the clothes and toiletries in. “I’ll see you later.” He leans in and kisses Keavy once more before he grabs his keys and the bag of presents he meant to take home last weekend and runs out the door to catch a cab to his parents’ home.

[writtenunderground]

let birds fly free

dmitri (slava); rated pg 1413 words

“Where are you going?” Dmitri looks up from where he’s staring down at potential freedom. he doesn’t expect to leave for good, just long enough so he can get a breath of air and maybe clear his mind. There was something that Nikolai said earlier today that has Dmitri unnerved, and he needs a break from the thoughts that keep running through his mind.

He didn’t, however, expect to get stopped before he could even get away from the fancy home they call a castle.

Dmitri turns around, blinking slowly at the girl who’s caught him. He doesn’t recognise her, which is weird since he knows all of the waitstaff in the castle. The Mikhailovich line isn’t really that profound anymore, not now that most of the country doesn’t believe that Alexei Romanov’s line survived past the downfall of his family, so their power is limited, and with that is the amount of help they can hire. That’s why Dmitri’s made sure to know them all.

“I’m — sorry, who are you?” he asks cautiously. Their security’s pretty good, but he’s never entirely sure who’s going to try and sneak into their home, especially with the sects of people trying to finish eradicating their family line.

The second she sees him, she recognises who she’s talking to. “Sorry! Prince Dmitri, I’m so sorry.” The words come out of her mouth in a quick jumble as she moves to curtsy in his presence. The waitstaff don’t usually do that, not anymore. Things are a lot more casual in their home than they would be if the royal line was still as prominent as it should be, and the gesture surprises the boy.

“Please—”

“I hadn’t realised that it was you,” the girl says as she stands back upright. “If I had, I would not have been so disrespectful.”

“You’re alright,” Dmitri insists gently. “It’s late, and you didn’t think I’d be wandering around the castle, which is understandable.”

“Yes, yes,” the girl agrees, nodding intensely to make her point. “That and you are wearing regular clothing and I am sorry. You had asked my my name, yes? I forgot to give it to you. I am Anya, Prince.”

“Please,” Dmitri insists as he carefully cuts into the conversation. “You do not need to call me Prince or anything like that. Just Dmitri is fine.” The girl looks startled by the prince’s request, but that’s a look that the boy’s used to. He always receives that response when they get a new member to the home, because no one understands him. What fourteen-year-old doesn’t want to bask in the luxuries of being called a prince?

Anya fiddles with the frayed edge of the dress that she is wearing, her gaze shifting to the floor as she speaks. “That is inappropriate,” she tells him softly. “You are a prince, and it would be wrong of me not to address you as such.”

A sigh leaves Dmitri’s lips at Anya’s words. He wishes his best friend were here right now, she’d set the girl straight. “I know what I am,” he explains, trying not to make the words as sharp as he wishes he could. “But that does not mean — I would rather not be. Not right now, at least.”

“If I may ask?” Anya looks up at him, a hesitant look in her eyes. “Why do you not wish to be a prince?”

This is a question that Dmitri doesn’t often deal with. he’s talked about it with his brothers, his sister and his best friend, but there’s something about the way that a stranger’s asking him about it that has Dmitri unsettled. “There is…” He hesitates. How does he explain that he doesn’t like dealing with all of the struggles of daily life? He doesn’t want to deal with going around to meetings in place of his parents, showing up at functions just because it makes the family look better. Why would he want to spend the rest of his life being professional when he’s not even destined to be the crown prince?

“I — my family is… It is different, being what I am. I often imagine what it must be like, getting to go to normal schools, spending time with friends without having to be surrounded by security. I enjoy getting to meet all kinds of people, getting to travel to these unique places, but I do not like the pressure. A lot of people, they think that the act of being a royal is just sitting around enjoying the pleasures, especially because we do not run the government. That’s not what it is, and that’s not what I want to do with my life.” Dmitri turned his gaze to look out at the roaming woods beneath him, the forest that he wasn’t allowed in unless two of their guards went with him. “I want to be free.”

He’s not really paying attention to Anya anymore, too lost in the idea of freedom, the desire that he’s been wanting for years but can’t quite get.

“If you are not the crown prince,” Anya says quietly. “Does that not mean you have the chance to be free?” The words register in Dmitri’s mind, but he doesn’t focus on them. He knows the truth, and he knows that there’s no way to get away from this.

He turns back around to look at the girl, smiling gently. “My oldest brother told me today that I could be the crown prince. They predict that if something happens to Nikolai, I will be the next in line.”

“What about your other brother?”

“Yuri?” Dmitri chuckles weakly. “It would follow tradition that he would be the next in line, but there has been unrest from the people who still follow our line. Yuri is too…rebellious for them,” Dmitri explains. “They think that I would be a better crown prince than my brother. Nikolai — he predicts that he will be dead by the time I reach eighteen.”

The look on Anya’s face is the same one that Dmitri wore when his brother told him that bit of information. “Why does he think that?” she asks carefully, trying to compose herself. It doesn’t work, Dmitri knows that look far too well. She’s trying to perfect a reaction he’s been trained to use for over a decade now.

“The rebelist groups,” he explains. “They’ve been getting out of control, and the police aren’t as worried about it as they used to be. We’re not Romanovs anymore, even though their blood runs through our veins, so we do not need to be protected the way they did.” The boy offers a weak smile to his new companion. “This is why I do not want to be prince. I don’t want to think about my family being killed just because of who we are.”

These aren’t things that the girl has thought of, Dmitri knows. He knows that most people don’t think about these kinds of things when they think of the glitz and glamour of royal life. When they go out next month for the opening of the orphanage that they built, Dmitri knows he’ll constantly be worried about the lives of his brothers. He doesn’t want the crown, had no desire for it in the first place, and if something happens to Nikolai, it’ll start an all-out war between him and Yuri if his brother’s passed up on the crown.

When the girl doesn’t say anything else, Dmitri sighs. “If I could trade places with you,” he tells her, his smile fading at the truth of his words. “I would.”

The girl takes a minute before she responds, the words hesitant as she speaks. “If I could trade places with you,” she tells Dmitri. “Knowing what you have told me, I don’t think I would.”

Dmitri nods, appreciating her honestly. Usually people try and tell him that there’s more good than bad, that they want him to be the prince and they wouldn’t trade with him solely because they wouldn’t deserve it, but they don’t know what he goes through. The boy laughs weakly. “I know,” he tells her gently. “I don’t think anyone would.”

They stand there in silence for another moment before Anya quietly excuses herself, leaving Dmitri staring out the window, hoping for a world where he doesn’t have to fear for his life while performing with royal grace for the rest of his days.

[writtenunderground]

i don't want to remember

valor & roman; rated pg-13 1383 words

warnings for drug and alcohol use

Roman’s drunk. Or high. Maybe both. Honestly, Valor can’t really tell anymore. it’s four in the morning when he finally comes stumbling back into the room, and Valor’s been waiting. He’s always waiting.

It’s not like this is anything new or unusual. He knows that Roman drowns himself in his vices, hooks up with strangers just so he can get his fix and then shows up later, expecting Valor to take care of him. That’s how it’s always been, and he knew that wasn’t going to change just because they shared a few intimate nights together. Valor can count those on one hand, unlike the blowjobs and handjobs, days and nights filled with all kinds of sex that appeases Roman but rarely ever concerns him. It’s gotten better than the beginning, but it’s still not much of anything.

"Where were you this time?" he asks, even though he knows the answer.

Roman stumbles to the bed, dropping down on it as a giggle escapes his throat. “Fucking this bitch, man,” he breathes out. “Her tits were just — massive — and that body…” He rolls onto his side, staring at Valor with a grin. “She was fucking great.”

"Good for you," Valor replies, uninterested in responding to what Roman has to say. He doesn’t care, he really doesn’t. This has nothing to do with him, and he knows that Roman’s always going to want more than just him. It hurts, but for some reason, it hurts a lot more tonight than usual. He moves to get up so he can go brush his teeth or lock himself in the bathroom until Roman’s passed out, but before he can get out of there, Roman’s grabbing onto his wrist.

"Heeey. Don’t get all mopey about it. You can still suck my dick if you want to. You can taste her, know how good she was." Valor tugs his wrist away, pushing himself up off of the bed before Roman can say anything else.

The star stands, stumbling a little bit as he tries to gain his balance again. “The fuck’s wrong with you?” he asks. This isn’t the Roman that Valor knows. The Roman he knows is at least somewhat decent whenever it comes to Valor not being in the mood to deal with his shit. This isn’t what Valor wants, and he knows that.

Before he can remove himself from the conversation, thoughts of sleeping on the tour bus popping into his mind, Roman’s grabbing at his arm. “What? Do I have to pay you now or something? You sick of just giving it out for free and now you want some shit in return?”

“Fuck off,” Valor responds quietly. He knows Roman doesn’t hear that, not with whatever’s going on in his head right now. “You’re fucked up and I don’t want to deal with this tonight.”

Roman relinquishes his grip, leaving Valor to think that the situation’s settled and he can go find some peace on the bus. As he reaches for his backpack, he hears the sound of Roman fishing for something, and by the time he’s turned back around, Roman’s throwing bills at him.

“There!” The singer’s flinging the cash at him, and if this were any normal situation, Valor would wonder how he manages to fit so many bills in that tiny wallet he owns. Instead, the actions are offensive to him, reminders of a time where he’d do anything he possibly could for enough money to get him through til tomorrow. “Take it! Now fucking blow me.”

If there’s one thing that Valor’s learned on the road with Roman, it’s that the man’s inconsiderate as fuck, but he didn’t think that it would ever hit this low. The money’s scattered around Valor’s feet, and the only thing he can find in himself to do right now is to hold onto his backpack like the lifeline it’s always been.

“Fuck you,” Valor says quietly. “I don’t want your fucking money, and I don’t want your grungy dick tonight or anytime soon, either.”

The wallet falls out of Roman’s fingers, and they stand there staring at each other for a moment before Roman drops back down onto the bed. There’s so much venom that can be spit out at this point, so many secrets that they’ve told each other that can be used as bullets against them, that Valor’s not sure what to prepare for. The singer covers his face with his arm, and the silence that follows is almost maddening.

Valor doesn’t know why he hasn’t left yet, why he’s still standing in this spot when he could be free of this shit, but it’s Roman, and even though he wishes that he could say it’s not true, he really loves the dysfunctional singer.

“Get out,” Roman finally says. The words are said out of hate of the current situation, Valor’s sure, but they still rattle the boy. “If you’re not gonna be useful, then leave. I don’t need you, I don’t want you. You’re nothing more than a wet hole, and I can get that shit anywhere.”

Valor tries to speak, to say anything, because it’s not true. They’ve had important moments, they’ve had breakthroughs together. Roman’s written songs about him, but that doesn’t seem to matter at this point. “Roman—”

“You served your purpose,” Roman snaps, not looking at Valor. “And you never meant shit to me anyway, so get the fuck out of here.” He lifts his arm, the look in his eyes something Valor doesn’t recognise. “We’re in fucking Atlanta, you can sell your ass here. Leave.”

There’s nothing that Valor can say at this point, because a part of him doesn’t want to stay, not after this. He loves the boy who’s sprawled out on the bed, and he’s put up with a lot of shit to stay with him, but this isn’t something that he thinks he can come back from. Roman’s had Valor’s heart in his hands since the first month they’d spent together, and now that he knows, Valor can’t find it in himself to ask for it back.

All he can do at this point is go.

“Leave!” A pillow makes contact with Valor’s chest, and it’s not much, but it’s enough to trigger flashbacks that Valor doesn’t want to revisit. He’s been kicked out of so many foster homes, left by so many people who promised in the beginning that they cared, that he thought this was different. He thought that he’d found someone he could truly love in the broken singer, that they’d actually belonged together, but Valor can’t see anything beautiful in this.

“I fucking hate you,” he mumbles to Roman as he backs away from the bed. The worst part about the words that just escaped his lips is that they’re not true, and Valor can’t find any reason to say the real ones now. He makes his way out of the room, slamming the door behind him loud enough that he hopes someone wakes up and questions where he’s going.

The band might miss him, but Roman’s manager will probably be glad he’s gone. Valor tallies a mental list of who he’ll actually miss as he punches the button for the elevator. He will not cry, not here. Not now. Valor hasn’t cried since he was eleven, and almost a decade later, he’s not ready to start, even if it feels like he’s missing a key part of him that he’s given to Roman, one that will end up in the musician’s lyrics, but probably will never reside with him again.

He’s about a mile away from the hotel by the time he breaks. He bends over, hands clinging desperately to his knees like a lifeline, and screams. The sound’s broken, angry, and it’s the only way Valor knows how to react at this point. It’s five in the morning, and he’s standing along an abandoned highway, screaming for Roman, for himself, for letting down his walls enough to believe that he’d finally found something that might actually be good.

But that’s a joke, of course. Valor knows by now, everything good always falls apart in his grasp. He breaks everything he touches, but this time, someone else got the chance to break him first.

[writtenunderground]

don't look too closely

holly; rated pg-13 1711 words

warnings for alcohol abuse, slurs, mentions of self harm and eating disorders; inspired by x

Holly’s fifteen the first time he discovers that alcohol drowns out the numbness. He’s had alcohol before, but it’s always been a small amount; a sip at Christmas when he was five or a shot on his thirteenth birthday that his oldest cousin gave him. It’s never been something like this, but here at a high school party where no one cares about him and very few people even know his name, the alcohol becomes his everything.

He doesn’t really remember who told him about the party, but Holly knows that the person throwing it doesn’t care that he’s not one of the popular kids. Everyone’s drinking their warm beer that was snuck out of households in hopes that their parents wouldn’t notice, but a select few found the harder stuff, and somehow Holly got roped into the crowd that found themselves doing shots.

“Take it, dude.” A plastic cup that’s got a sufficient amount of straight liquor at the base of it is pressed into Holly’s hand, and he finds himself wanting to pass it on, but the guy who’s handed it to him is a senior and if Holly gets on his good side, maybe people will stop trying to beat him up because of how he looks. The memory of the shot his cousin let him have comes back to him, and Holly tries to hide the face that he makes at the cup, but he presses it to his lips. Someone across the kitchen is encouraging their friend to take a shot, but Holly tries to ignore them as he takes a small sip of the potent liquid.

It burns. That’s the first thing that Holly notes, but the burning sensation is only temporary and the warmth that he’s feeling isn’t. It’s been a while since Holly’s actually felt warm, and he’s wondering if it’s always felt as good as it does now. It’s not even cold outside, despite the first freeze of October happening just last week, but Holly’s body doesn’t keep him warm anymore. Even now, he’s freezing in the long sleeved-shirt that he’s wearing while a few of the footballers he shares the room with wander around shirtless.

“Hey, some girl’s taking her clothes off in the pool,” someone shouts, and a few of the people disappear to go and watch. Holly’s not interested. He’s pretty sure that he’s broken, or maybe that’s due to a combination of all of his problems that he’s been facing lately. His thoughts drift to Oliver for a minute, and Holly wonders if he should’ve dragged his little brother out with him or at least told him where he was going. He might not make it home tonight or at all if the thoughts in his head keep persisting. If he hadn’t made it seem like he’d had no interest in this party, Nora would be here with him, but she’s probably out trying to figure out the best way to get laid in their school. Everything’s about sex now that people are finally realising that things down there feel good.

Holly’s had sex. He hasn’t told Nora that yet, but there’s a lot of things he hasn’t been telling Nora lately. He knows that she’s seen the faint scars that grace his arms and she’s probably notice that his bones are becoming more obvious as each day passes, but they don’t talk about it. Nora lectured him once, expressed her worry, but as far as she’s seen it’s just scars that Holly has. The weight thing is an entirely different story, one that Holly hides with baggy clothing and excuses.

Someone nudges him in the arm. “You gonna drink or what?” they ask, and Holly shrugs. He looks down at the cup again and something churns inside of him. He’s not sure if it’s his discomfort, the risk of insecurities being exposed, or if he’s just not doing too well with the little bit of alcohol he’s had so far. The beer that was pressed into his hands at the beginning of the party was disgusting, and this isn’t much better. Still, he’s trying to make some kind of impression, and the warmth is worth the disgusting taste of drinking more of the liquor in the cup.

“I’m working on it,” he says before taking a bigger gulp of the drink. It feels like it’s lighting his insides on fire, but Holly’s enjoying the feeling, especially the lightness that he’s also starting to experience. It’s been a while since he’s felt like he’s not weighed down by the burdens of being him, and he continues to take sips of the liquor into his mouth.

“Fucking finally, man.” The words aren’t much, but it’s the acceptance that Holly seeks. Maybe if he keeps this up, they’ll stop seeing him as different and the spiteful ones so eager to climb to the top of the social ladder will stop calling him a faggot every time they see him.

Someone else makes a comment of approval, and all that Holly thinks is that if he keeps drinking this at an alarmingly quick rate for someone who’s never had a lot of alcohol, they’ll like him. His gag reflex is wonky at best these days, so when he feels like the liquid might make him be sick, Holly forces himself to push past it. He won’t throw up, not here and now. Someone cheering for him to chug, and even though there’s not much liquid left in the cup, it feels like a lifetime before Holly’s done downing the burning liquid.

He has no idea how much alcohol he’s actually put into his system until someone slaps him on the back and tells him he’s a party champion. It must have been a lot compared to most, he presumes, but his body isn’t happy with him. The alcohol hasn’t hit him in a good way yet, and his stomach’s protesting the amount of foreign liquid inside of it. Holly ignores it, dragged into a conversation with one of the guys about the football games, things that he doesn’t even consider attending, and he tries not to think about how attractive he is while he blabbers off things about fumbles and field goals.

All of a sudden, the drunkenness hits. It’s hard and fast, and Holly doubles over when his head starts spinning. It’s not a pleasant first drunk experience, but all that Holly knows is that he’s not worried about these guys picking on him or the whispers of inadequacy in his head. The music’s loud, the popular kids are talking to him, and Holly feels lighter than air.

When the nausea hits, Holly’s prepared. He slips out of the group, makes it to the bathroom on time and locks himself in. This isn’t new. Holly’s spent so much time with his head buried in a toilet bowl over the past few years that he knows what to expect. It’s practically routine at this point, and Holly gets in and out of the bathroom quickly, like the professional that he hides away during his daily life.

“You good?” Someone’s asking about him the second he’s out and another person’s pressing a glass of water into his hand.

“I’m great,” Holly responds. The water tastes disgusting to him, but he instinctively drinks it anyway. It’s not going to hurt him, and he’s not even thinking about what can and can’t hurt him at this point. He’s still drunk, still having fun with the popular kids, and Holly doesn’t want this to ever end.

-

When he wakes up in the morning, Holly doesn’t remember how he got home. Someone’s pounding on his door, the noise echoing in his head and he lets out an aggravated moan.

“Get up already, would you?” He hears his father calling for him through the door. “It’s almost one, and you’re wasting daylight.” It’s a Saturday, so Holly doesn’t care, but his dad’s always been a stickler for making sure his kids don’t sleep through the weekends. If Holly were to guess, Oliver’s out doing something barely considered interesting, and his mother’s out at her gardening club thing, so it’s just him and his dad at home.

He rolls over in the bed, ignoring the slight headache that he has. Considering that he doesn’t know how much he drank, he’s feeling a lot better than he thought he would. The worst part about the situation is the cottony feeling that’s overtaken his mouth, so Holly makes his way to go get rid of that. He’s barely out of his bed before the thoughts come crashing back down on him, the whispers of inadequacy overtaking his mind before he’s even properly started his day. It’s a reminder that he’s sober again, that he can’t drown away his thoughts in alcohol when he has none left.

Immediately he wants another party, another chance to stop thinking about what the number on the scale will be today and where to hide the new cuts that he knows he’ll be making sometime later today when the thoughts get too loud. The alcohol wasn’t the best decision Holly’s ever made, but it helped him fit in, and more importantly, it made him feel like he wasn’t an outcast in every aspect of his life.

Holly’s phone buzzes, a text from a number that he doesn’t recognise, but he opens it anyway.

Great time last night dude. See you at the next one.

It’s got to be one of the jocks, but Holly doesn’t know which one. He doesn’t remember who he gave his number to last night or what he might’ve told any of them, but it must’ve been good if they want a follow-up. He knows that this has the potential to be a downward spiral, but Holly doesn’t care. He wants this because it stops the thoughts, and the fact that he can look forward to a few hours of peace in his mind is enough to make him step into the bathroom without being afraid of what he’ll see in the mirror for a few extra minutes.

Holly might be falling apart, but at least there’s one thing he can find himself in again, and that’s enough for him.

[writtenunderground]

ignite the fire

jonah & zephyr; rated r 2023 words

warnings for self-harm, gore, blood and death (murder)

The sky looks like it’s harbouring an oncoming storm and Jonah’s almost certain that he hasn’t been this happy to see the dark clouds swirling overhead in ages. It’s always refreshing to see the sky shift to darkness and the bleak haze of a powerful storm overtake everything, but today it seems even more necessary than the man thought it would be.

“It’s a good kill day,” he says quietly as he looks over at Zephyr, knowing that the man is listening to him even if he’s flipping through a book that holds no interest to Jonah. He could care less what the man’s doing with his free time, just as long as he continues to listen and acknowledge whenever there’s a desire for killing in the air. “This would be a perfect cover.”

“What, the thunderstorm?” Zephyr asks in response as he marks a page and continues to flip through the hardback. “It’ll draw some chaos, but I doubt it’ll actually provide sufficient cover to kidnap and kill someone without anyone noticing. Besides, that’s not how we do things.”

Jonah turns his gaze to the man, staring at him. “You do realise that we don’t always have to follow the stalk and kill method, right? It’s sufficient for keeping us from getting caught, but it’s tedious and sometimes the best kills are the unexpected ones.” He knows this from experience, from the girl in Pasadena and the boy just outside of Portland. He knows that the couple he found celebrating their first wedding anniversary in Dallas were his best kill to date, even with all the ones that he’s shared with Zeph that resulted in messy sex drenched in the blood of their victims.

“You’ll get us caught,” Zephyr warns, and Jonah steps over to the man, admiring him for a moment before he reaches down and grabs onto the collar of his shirt. He roughly tugs him up by the fabric and looks at him.

“I’ve been killing for almost a decade and I’ve never been caught,” he says fiercely before he leans in and kisses the man. It’s rough, passionate, but there’s no emotional depth to it. Jonah might care enough to assure that Zephyr is alive and still alongside him, but he feels no spark of romance for him, no caring that would require him to actually worry about the man. If Zephyr were to get caught, he would be disappointed, but Jonah’s pretty certain that he could continue on in life without the man, even if the sex is fantastic.

When he pulls back from the kiss, Jonah’s certain that he’s managed to win the man over. It shoudn’t be that hard to get Zephyr onto his side, and Jonah’s pretty sure that if he hasn’t managed by this point, then soon enough he’ll have enough carefully-strung-together words that will make the man go along with his plan to kill whoever they can find as the rain pours down around them.

“Even experienced killers make mistakes,” Zephyr comments as he sets the book down, his fingers twining in Jonah’s shirt in a way that subtly expresses his desire for more of what the man’s just given him.

Jonah stares at him, contemplates the words for a moment before a smile quirks into the corners of his mouth. “Killers might, but monsters don’t,” he tells Zephyr quietly, and the man responds with a silent shake of his head as Jonah cements his decision. He knows that this might not be a smart idea, but the apocalyptic sky has him craving a kill, needing the feeling of a life draining away beneath his fingertips. Even if Zeph thinks it’s a terrible idea, Jonah’s going through with it. He needs this.

-

Jonah’s never liked the idea of killing someone quickly. Guns are too messy and loud, and a stab to the heart is too simple for his desires. He likes to slice his victims into pieces, carve out lines into their skin until every pore in their body is soaked with blood. Maybe that’s why his own arms are laced with scars, why most of the untouched skin on his body craves cuts that bleed and soak his flesh to the point where the pale flesh is crimson. Jonah finds blood to be a shield of some sort, a safety net that makes him feel at home, and he senses that feeling in this moment as he stuffs a rag into the girl’s throat as she wakes from her slumber.

The screaming always annoys him, but Jonah’s almost certain that Zephyr likes hearing the sounds of their strangled cries. That’s why he’s stopped slicing their vocal cords when they kill together. When he’s alone, however, it’s the first thing that Jonah does. Maybe it makes things messy, but the man doesn’t care. He prefers the blood to the screams, and the shaking of tremors of their bodies are better to the man than any outward screams could be.

Jonah knows that Zephyr wants the screams, and he knows that the thunder crackling overhead would help to conceal them as they cut through a fresh kill, dragged off the street less than an hour ago, but he can’t deal with them today. When the sky seems to be opening up overhead, all Jonah wants is the sound of thunder striking in his ears and the pitter-pattering of rain on the metal roof of the abandoned factory they’ve been staking out since they arrived at Jericho. He doesn’t wait for Zeph’s opinion, doesn’t even bother to ask as he quickly shifts and slices the girl’s throat open, severing the vocal cords before he gestures for the man to approach.

“Here,” he says before he takes his hand, guiding Zephyr’s fingers into the cut so he can feel the way that the cords vibrate their way to stillness, the aftershocks of being severed flowing through as the girl jerks and struggles beneath their fingertips. Jonah knows that if she could be screaming right now, she would be, and he’s almost certain that she’s still trying despite the knowledge that no sound is coming out. “Feel that?” he asks quietly, and Zephyr’s eyes seem to ignite as he looks up at the man.

He’s horny, Jonah can tell, and the man bites back a laugh as Zephyr nods in response. It’s the breathless, “Yeah,” that follows that has the man chuckling.

“Every touch, every little vibration,” Jonah starts as the laughter dies away. “It’s all a part of the kill, of dismantling her body into nothing. Maybe she matters, and maybe she’ll still matter when she’s dead, but this… It’s more important than anything she’d ever accomplish with her life.” Zephyr slowly pulls his fingers out of the cut, and he stares at the blood that’s clinging to his fingertips, coating the skin with a life essence that most would hate to part with but he loves to see. Jonah watches in silence as the man lifts the fingers to his mouth, sucking them between his lips one by one as he licks them clean. “How does she taste?” Jonah asks, trying to ignore the desire that he feels at seeing blood coating Zephyr’s lips. There’s time for that later, but when they have the ability of a fresh kill on their table that can slowly die at their hands, it’ll have to wait.

“Like thunder,” Zephyr says before he runs his tongue across the crevice between his thumbnail and thumb, exaggerating the action for Jonah’s benefit as much as his own.

A dark smile hints its way onto the man’s face, and it’s hard not to grin, it really is, but Jonah feels a sense of smugness overcoming him. “I told you it’d be a good day for a kill,” he says before he steps back and reaches for the carving knife, a favourite of his since he murdered his mother back when he was still a teen and had no idea how messy the action could be.

When he turns back to the writhing girl on the table, he watches her struggle. She’s fighting less than she had been before, and Jonah knows that it’s due to a combination of the blood loss and the acceptance that she’s not going to get out of there alive. “Touch her, he says as he looks at Zephyr. “While we kill her, keep your fingers embedded into her skin and feel the tremors, feel the fear and the fight and watch how it changes to her giving up.”

Jonah doesn’t have to keep talking to know that Zephyr will do it. He always listens to the man, and Jonah’s appreciative of the actions as he sets the knife on the exposed skin of her belly, watching as the girl tries to back away from the smooth blade. “Goodbye,” he tells her as he sinks the knife into her flesh, starting to carve patterns into the skin, leaving behind rivets of blood that will paint a canvas too beautiful to ever keep.

-

If there’s a feeling that surpasses the post-coital bliss that comes when one’s covered in someone else’s blood, fucking their partner into screams of desire and submission, Jonah’s never come across it. He’s still panting as he runs his fingers through his hair, the sticky coating of blood leaving a trail in his locks that Jonah knows will stay there for a little while. The blood will dry and flake off of their skin, but Jonah knows they’ll get to a shower before they manage to leave a trace. Right now, he’s too focused on how beautiful Zephyr looks when he’s coming down from a much-needed orgasm, splashes of blood coating almost every inch of his skin.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jonah says before he realises he’s even thought the words, but before he can take them back, Zephyr smiles.

“Not so bad yourself,” he says, earning a soft smile from Jonah. “You know, if spontaneous kills are always going to be like this, we should do them more often.”

“Not too often,” Jonah counteracts. “Like you said, even experienced killers have to be careful.”

He sees something shift in Zephyr’s eye, just a small glint of something that completely changes their playing field. Jonah’s not sure what to make of it, but he doesn’t have to try and figure it now. They’ve got time, and a body to clan up before he can think about the look Zephyr’s giving him. “Killers have to,” Zephyr says, and Jonah knows how it’s going to end before the man even finishes. He’s grinning a little bit as Zeph finishes his thought, and Jonah leans forward to kiss him before he can even finish the, “But we’re monsters, and monsters don’t.”

This kiss is different. It’s short, almost sweet, and when Jonah pulls away, Zephyr’s looking at him strangely. “Come on,” the man says, breaking the silence between them. “The storm’s almost over, and we have a body to clean up.” Jonah makes his way back to the still form that’s sprawled out on the table, and he stares at the carvings in her skin before he feels arms wrap around his waist, distracting him.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Zephyr says behind him, pressing his face into the expanse between Jonah’s shoulderblades. “Come take another moment or two with me, monster. We have a few more things we can do first.” The words have Jonah laughing on the outside, but the man would be terrible if he ignored the feeling of something else completely churning within him. He turns in Zephyr’s grip and shifts ti hoist the man up into his arms.

“We’ve got a bit more time,” he agrees as he looks at the man, using his hand to separate the man’s bloody locks between his fingers. Zephyr grins at the touch and Jonah knows this is far better than the spontaneous kill and the thunderstorms that drowned them out. This almost feels like what he imagines heaven would be, and in this hellish lifestyle, Jonah’s glad to have it. “What do you want to do first?”

[writtenunderground]

something left to save

reece & jaime; rated pg-13 1872 words

warnings for incest

When Reece walks through the door, the first thing that Jaime notices is that the boy’s bleeding. He was trying to work on his history paper, determined to have it finished by the time that he’s called for dinner, but all thoughts of accomplishing that go out the window the second his eyes land on the boy. “What happened to you?” he asks almost immediately, standing up from his chair. Jaime nudges a textbook out of the way as he makes his way over to Reece, and he doesn’t miss the way that the boy flinches when he gets closer.

“Nothing.” Reece shifts the arm he’s got wrapped around his waist, and Jaime doesn’t want to think what it means that the boy’s holding to himself tighter, almost protectively to defend himself from any additional attacks. Jaime reaches forward, trying to see where the blood’s come from, but the second he lifts his hand, Reece flinches backwards, a hiss escaping the boy’s lips. “Mind your own fucking business and leave me alone.” Reece’s tone is laced with poison, venom filling his words as he moves towards the stairs. He finally pulls his hand back from where it’s wrapped securely around his waist, and Jaime immediately sees that it’s covered in blood.

“What the fuck happened to you,” he demands as he follows Reece up the stairs. He knows that he’s not going to get an answer, not immediately at least, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. He hears Reece scoff as the boy reaches for the handrail with the hand that’s not bloody, but that doesn’t stop Jaime’s worrying, especially since it seems to take Reece twice as long as usual to make his way up the stairs. “Seriously, Reece, how badly are you hurt?”

“What the fuck does it matter to you?” Reece snaps, approaching the top of the staircase. He whirls around and looks at Jaime, anger in his eyes, but the man can tell that there’s something there that’s being masked by the anger. It’s something that Jaime doesn’t recognise, and he’s not sure how to respond to it when he can’t even put a name to the emotion that he can see Reece trying to express. “You’re interested in me for two fucking reasons, and neither of them have to do with actually worrying about me so go back to your fucking college shit. I’m fine.”

Jaime stills on the stairwell, not even sure how to respond. He knows that Reece gets like this, that he’s always in a foul mood of some sort, but it’s never like this. He’s seen the few moments when the boy expresses how worthless he feels in a family that wasn’t designed for him to exist in, but none of them have ever held the intensity that this moment does. “That’s not true,” he insists as he looks at the boy.

“Of course it is,” Reece spits back, the venom in his tone only seeming to rise as he talks to Jaime. “I’m here to either be someone to make your life a living hell or so you have someone who’s a convenient fuck for you.” Jaime immediately makes his way up the stairs, trying to shush Reece, which only makes the boy laugh, a bitter chuckle leaving his throat. “What? Don’t want your mom to know that her perfect son’s interested in sticking his dick in the family bastard?”

“Stop it,” Jaime responds quietly. He hates when Reece calls himself a bastard, especially when the boy’s never been one to him. Sure, they’ve had their fair share of odds and ends, but that’s never meant that Jaime hasn’t loved his little brother since he was first brought home. “That’s not fair.”

“No, you don’t get it.” Reece stares at him, narrowing his eyes, and the boy suddenly gets so close to Jaime that he’s forgotten how to breathe. It takes him a moment to regain his breath, but by that time, Reece is snapping at him. “You grew up in this perfect house with this perfect life as the model son that every parent’s ever wanted, and sure, I got to live here, but this has never been my home and your mom goes out of her way to remind me of that every time I’m in her presence. You want to know where I was today? You really want to know what I’ve been up to and why I’m bleeding?”

Jaime swallows. His mouth feels dry, and he’s no longer sure he wants the answer that he demanded just a few minutes ago. The reminder of Reece’s constant feelings of being an outcast in his own home hurt and the man doesn’t really know how to counteract these feelings, this anger that’s built up inside of his brother for so long that it’s sucked away all the happiness he remembered from their childhood.

“I went to see my mom,” Reece says, and Jaime stills. He’s been under the impression for so long that Reece’s mom just up and ran off, leaving Reece with their family, but apparently that’s not the case. “You didn’t know she was here, did you? Guess what, she’s been here the entire fucking time. Another lie from dad, how surprising.” Reece’s sarcasm cuts like a knife, and Jaime doesn’t know why their father’s lies are being placed on him, but he doesn’t try to counteract Reece’s words.

“You want to know what I did today, so here goes. I looked up my mom’s address and I went to her apartment, and apparently she’s been living in the fucking city this entire time so that was really fucking great to find out. She thought I was lying at first, that I was just some asshole who wanted money from her, but when she let me in her entire place looked and smelled like shit. We had a really fucking great conversation, wanna hear all about it? She told me, ‘The only thing worse than letting your dad get me pregnant was that I had to keep you. Could’ve gotten an abortion and moved on with my life, but no, he wanted the baby. Said his wife always wanted to give her son a little brother or sister, so he paid me to keep you.’”

A bitter laugh escapes Reece’s throat as he backs up, leaning against the wall, and Jaime immediately thinks to point out that if he gets any blood on the walls his mom will throw a fit, but he silences himself before he can even say the words. It’s horrifying to hear that Reece’s mother would say those words to her son, and he wants to say something, anything, but it feels like if he says the words that Reece will just hate him even more.

“Then her asshole drug dealer of a boyfriend shows up, right? He thinks I’m trying to get laid, thinks she’s cheating on him with some twink she found at the strip club that she works at, which is fucking great to know, and he pulls a knife. And you know what she did? She sat there and smoked a fucking cigarette while he tried to stab me with it because, hell, if I wasn’t wanted when I was in her she sure as hell wouldn’t care about me now.” Reece shifts to press his hand against his side again, and Jaime can only imagine the wound that must be hiding under the leather jacket that Reece always wears. “Wasn’t until he was prepared to slit my throat that she fucking told him who I was. Kicked me out without another word, too, so there. You happy? I told you my story, now go the fuck back to your life.”

“Reece…”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, alright? Don’t come up with some bullshit about you actually care because you don’t. Dad never gave a shit, your mom fucking hate me and you only liked me when I was new toy you could use for your own entertainment. That’s the only way you still fucking like me, so leave me alone.” He pushes himself off of the wall, wincing at the movement, and Jaime immediately rushes forward to help him. “Don’t touch me,” Reece tells him quickly, but that doesn’t stop the man from gripping onto Reece’s shoulders to steady the boy.

“You should’ve told me you were going,” Jaime says quietly.

Reece looks up at him, and Jaime expects the boy to back away from his touch but he doesn’t. “Why?” he asks, the anger in his tone fading into acceptance of his fate. “So you could tell me it’d have been a mistake and then gloated when you proved yourself right?”

“No,” Jaime says quietly as he shifts his grip on the boy so he can wrap his fingers around the back of his neck. “So you wouldn’t have been alone.” Reece is quiet, and Jaime knows better than to appreciate the silence when there’s still so much to say. “I would’ve gone with you, would’ve gotten you out there before anyone could hurt you, with words or otherwise. You’re fucking important, Reece. Don’t forget that just because of her.”

Reece is silent as he closes his eyes, trying to keep from releasing a bitter response. He feels drained, and Jaime can tell just how beaten the boy is from the incident that he’d just dealt with. “I know you think I don’t care, but I do. You’re important to me for a lot more than fighting and sex, and it’s been that way since we were little, so don’t think I don’t care just because of how tense our relationship’s gotten lately.” Jaime presses his lips to Reece’s forehead and he feels the boy stiffen beneath his grip, but that doesn’t stop him from doing it. It’s a tender action, enough to maybe help so that Reece will see that he’s wanted and cared about in the family he has, even if there’s parts of his family that never really wanted him there in the first place.

“Bullshit,” Reece mumbles softly, but he doesn’t pull back or try to counteract Jaime’s words beyond that. Jaime just shakes his head as he pulls back to look at his brother.

“Not even close, now come on. Let’s clean up that wound and maybe you and I can watch a movie or something? WE can do something we used to do as kids, before everything got so messed up.”

Reece pulls back. “Yeah, whatever,” he says as he looks at Jaime, and the man can see all the walls that Reece has built up around himself to keep his brother from getting in and seeing just how much this family situation has ruined him. Jaime gently tangles his fingers in Reece’s hand and, after a minute of patiently waiting, he feels the boy tighten his grip to Jaime’s hand. The action makes him smile, and Jaime makes a mental note to bring the situation up to his father sometime hen the man gets home from work, but for now, he knows that he has a little brother that needs him more than he ever has before.

[writtenunderground]

you're my sweetheart

king & adaluna; rated pg 3331 words

i.

When King’s timer hits zero, he’s pretty sure it’s a mistake. The first day of school provides for a bunch of antics as per usual, but this one isn’t funny. He’s sitting in the middle of his English class, looking around for someone he considers decent enough to talk to, when his eyes catch a pair of blue ones staring at him and the mark on his wrist stings.

"Ow!" King topples out of his seat, much to the rest of his class’s entertainment. He looks around wildly in search of his soulmate, who he’s still not sure of the name because his life’s a mess and the name on his wrist won’t stop flickering between Luna and Adam, occasionally getting stuck with the two written one on top of the other to look like some nightmare stuck it there. "What the fuck?" No one’s jumping out of their seat to point out that they’re his soulmate, and before he has a chance to try and ask about it, the teacher’s on her way over with her hands on her hips.

"In your seat, Mr. Cooper. I don’t need a repeat of your father in this classroom.” King jumps to his feet, apologising quickly, and he returns to his seat, completely missing the boy in the back of the room who’s slouching down into his seat, trying to hide as his own wrist burns with King’s name.

ii.

"She’s so gorgeous," King sighs as he follows Indigo into the library without question. They never go into the library, and King would ask if he wasn’t so focused on recounting his entire night to his cousin even though the boy was right next to him for a major portion of it.

"Kind of got that the first ten times," Indigo says with a laugh, earning a glare from the librarian on desk duty. "Do you have anything else to say about your mystery girl other than her name’s Luna and she’s gorgeous?"

"Was I supposed to pay attention to anything else?" King asks before he frowns, glancing down at his wrist as the name flickers again. "Why does it keep changing?" he asks as he pokes the name, the finally-still set of zeroes marking the time beneath it staring back at him. "I met Luna, she’s my soulmate, so what the fuck’s its problem?"

Indigo turns to look at him. “You realise you’ve been asking this same question since we were like, twelve, right? Accept that you’re broken and move on.”

"Yeah, well at least mine doesn’t say my—"

"Finally," Parker interrupts as he gestures for them to join him at a table with a blonde that King’s seen around school a few times. He thinks he might have a class with him, but honestly King never pays that much attention. "We’ve been waiting for you." King drops down onto one of the chairs and he looks at the boy across from him, still not really sure who he is, but the way that he’s playing with the band on his wrist is interesting.

"King Cooper," he says as he stretches a hand across the table, choosing to ignore the way that Indigo and Parker drift off into their own greeting. "You are?"

"That’s Adam," Parker comments for him, and he grins slightly as he stares at the boy. King finds this weird, but then again he finds most things about Parker weird.

Adam nods silently in agreement to his name, and he offers his hand in response. “Hi,” he says quietly as he shakes the boy’s hand, almost immediately pulling back at the static shock between the two of them.

"Woah," King responds as he drops his hand onto the table. "You’re really staticky." Adam shrugs and he places his hand back in his lap as his eyes trail over the book he was reading.

"Congratulations on getting yourself shocked," Parker snarks, and King stares at him. "Now tell us all again about your stupid party experience." That catches King’s attention and he launches into meeting Luna all over again, not noticing the way that Adam seems to tense at having to listen to the story of the mystery girl and how King doesn’t get why his wrist won’t stop switching between Luna and Adam.

iii.

"So you asked her about Adam, and…?" King shrugs as he sprawls himself over the table, defeated.

"She just kind of laughed at me and switched the topic." They’re in the library again, Parker sitting in Indigo’s lap as he listens to King’s latest adventures in the world of trying to figure out his soulmate, and Adam’s working on homework, but were anyone really paying close attention to him, he’s not focused on it at all. In fact, Parker notices that Adam looks like he’s about to bolt, so he nudges the boy lightly with his foot before looking at King.

"Probably because she’s done with your idiocy just like everyone else here." Indigo pinches him, causing the boy to yelp, and how they haven’t been kicked out of the library yet for their antics is a miracle to them all.

"Hey, maybe it’s our Adam," Parker teases, and the looks that they all give the boy is enough to make him tense up and splutter out something along the lines of ‘not funny.’

King frowns slightly as he looks at the boy. It’s a common enough name that he hadn’t given it much thought when he first met the boy, but there’s no way it’s him, he’s almost certain. “Leave him alone, you ass,” he says as he turns his attention back to Parker. “The name was Adam for so long but it just flickers now, so I don’t know… Maybe Adam’s in a coma somewhere and that’s why I get Luna. The universe is compensating for it’s mistakes.”

"Sure, King. That’s exactly what it is," Parker responds, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

"It could be, I guess," Indigo comments as he prods Parker’s side. "I mean, no one actually knows the science behind how this works. Maybe you’re just fucked."

"I must be if Luna doesn’t know anything about it," King says before he frowns. He looks curiously at Adam. "What do you think?" King asks, and the boy squirms in his seat at the realisation that he’s being talked to.

It takes him a few seconds before he answers. “I think…you should be happy with what you have, and not to question it because time can tell you what it means.”

"Shit, that was deep," Indigo comments and King nods in agreement as he looks at Adam curiously, surprised by what the boy has to offer to their conversation. He’s about to say something else but Indigo distracts him with talks of maybe if his old soulmate was a ghost and that’s why his name flashes over Luna’s. It’s a good concept, and it’s enough to make King miss Parker’s soft sigh of pity as he watches Adam turn back to his homework, his entire body shaking.

iv.

californiaroyals:

Anonymous asked: did you ever think that you’ve met the guy already??? hope your results are a threesome because that’s hot.

Well thx anon but luna’s it for me. i only know one dude named adam and i met him after the timer hit so it’s not him but man down for threesomes yes please.

californiaroyals:

Day 6553 and still no clue what the hell my wrist is doing. It’s trying to speak to me I know it!

-

"Has anyone ever told you that your soulmate is an idiot?" Adam laughs quietly as he makes his way into his house.

"Are you still on his blog?" he asks before adding, "No one’s told me that except for Parker but he says it to him more often."

Adriana sighs over the phone and Adam imagines her running her hand through her hair or pinching the bridge of her nose to keep from saying anything negative about King. “Despite going back about twenty pages into his ‘this is a soulmate tag’, which is the dumbest name for a tag ever, I still don’t get how he’s not smart enough to piece things together.”

"It’s because he doesn’t pay any attention to me as Adam," the boy says softly as he makes his way into his room. He barely even bothers to set down his bag before he’s rifling through his closet for the notch of the false backing so he can access his Luna collection. "If I’m not Luna, I’m not worth his time."

"That is such bullshit," Adriana says down the line. "That’s almost as much bullshit as my soulmate drama." Adam smiles weakly as he thinks about the girl having told him of her new discovery on the flight home for fall break.

"Tell Tiffany I say hi," Adam says quietly as he carefully sides the false backing away, almost immediately reaching for the wig that he needs to make him feel comfortable right now.

"Yeah, will do," Adriana replies quickly before switching the subject back to King. "Listen to this idiot boy," she says before she reads one of his blog posts to Adam about having already met the boy. "He’s so thick he’s not even thinking about it being you. Are you sure he has a brain in that skull of his?"

Adam sighs as he flicks through outfits, trying to find one that will work. The spare phone buzzes in Adam’s drawer, probably with a text from King reminding him not to forget about the date they have tonight. “He’s sweet,” he says quietly as he picks out a pale blue dress, knowing that King likes that colour on him from one of the many gushing remarks he’s made about Luna. “He’s just not very perceptive.”

"I don’t get why you won’t tell him," Adriana replies almost immediately. "You’re hiding something that would make you both happy."

"Because he wants Luna and Adam’s nothing more than his wrist not being able to decide how to show him that." Adriana starts to protest but Adam wearily cuts her off. "That message you just read me, Parker asked him that the other day; he’s been dropping hints left and right for King to pick up but he hasn’t because I don’t matter, just Luna.”

Adriana huffs. “You and Luna are the same person, little sib,” she comments. “So don’t go acting like a part of you is less important than the rest.” Adam makes a face, knowing full well that she can’t see him. He hates whenever Adriana goes on one of her ‘don’t put yourself down’ rants because it’s never as easy as the girl makes it out to sound.

“I’ll try, now will you help me figure out what to wear on my date tonight?” he asks quickly in hopes to avoid her attempt to talk about it.

“Adam date or Luna date?”

“Adri…” Adam replies almost immediately, his warning tone a hint for the girl to stop before she says something worse, but Adriana doesn’t pick up on it.

“Hey, you’re going to have to tell him someday,” she tells him quietly.

“No I don’t. You read his blog. Luna’s it for him, and that’s okay for now because at least he wants me in some way.” Adam sighs over Adriana’s protest, ignoring his sister’s attempts to try and talk him into considering telling King the truth. “Can we drop it and you just help me pick out stuff to go with this dress, please?”

The noise of distaste that he’s met with makes Adam sad, but makes no mention of it. “Fine, little one, but this conversation isn’t over.”

“It never is.”

v.

“I didn’t know you’ve already found your soulmate,” King says as he approaches Adam. He knows that Parker was just here and got dragged away but a somewhat frazzled-looking Indigo, so it makes sense to him that King shows up almost immediately, but he never expected the boy to talk to him willingly outside of being surrounded by his cousin and Parker.

Adam pushes himself up from the grassy field and he lifts the sunglasses from his face. “What?” he asks quietly.

“Your wrist.” Adam glances down at it quickly to see the band he always wears around it has slid up towards his palm, revealing the sets of zeroes that indicate a found soulmate.

“Oh, uh…yeah,” he mumbles as he tugs it back down, securing it tighter to make sure that it doesn’t do that again. The last thing he needs is for King to see the name that’s hidden there too, because that would cause for too much drama for the boy to handle.

King sits down next to him, his knee knocking into Adam’s and the familiar shock runs through him. “Hello static,” King lightly teases before he looks at Adam. “So what’s happened with that?”

The question makes Adam’s heart hurt and he tugs his knees up to his chest, securely wrapping his arms around them. “It didn’t work out,” he responds quietly. “I just…wasn’t what they were looking for, I think.”

King looks at the boy for a quiet moment before he reaches out and places a hand on the boy’s back. “Hey, they’re missing out, I bet.” The words make Adam want to laugh because the source of the name on his wrist is sitting right next to him, talking about himself without even putting the concept together. “Screw them.”

A weak laugh escapes the boy’s lips. “Yeah, thanks,” he says softly before he offers King a weak smile, but all the boy wants is for King to take his hand back and leave before he starts crying. Every emotion within him is betraying him, and that feeling of tears pricking at his eyes hurts almost as bad as the hollow feeling in his chest when he thinks about the fact that King probably will never love him for who he is, at least not at the rate that it’s going.

“I—uh…” Adam pulls away, slowly pushing himself into a standing position. “I have a project I should go work on,” he says quickly, and King stands as well.

“Want company?” the boy asks, but Adam shakes his head before he’s even finished speaking.

“I’m good,” he tells him. “I uh…think Parker and Indigo headed out to the football field, if you want to go see if you can find them.” He slips away with that, grabbing his bag and leaving before King has the chance to say goodbye. Once he’s clear of the boy, Adam finds somewhere quiet and wipes the moisture from his eyes as he tries to steady the rapid beating of heart that’s emphasising its ache with every passing beat.

i.

“Do you think that Adam kid doesn’t like me?” Indigo raises an eyebrow at King’s question and he waits for the boy to continue to explain his thought process. “It’s just like…he never seems to want to talk to me and he’s always leaving whenever we’re around and it’s weird. I tried to talk to him in the hall the other day and he didn’t even let me try before he was running off saying he was late for class.”

“Maybe he was,” Indigo says slowly and King immediately stares at him.

“You know something, don’t you?” King asks, and Indigo makes a face before he shrugs. “Tell me, now.”

“Can I be sworn to soulmate secrecy?” Indigo tries before King tugs at one of his curls. “Ow, fine! Parker’s gonna kill me, but fine.”

King stares at him. “Do I look like I care? Now come on, out with it.”

-

Adam’s in the middle of trying to find a source for his AP psychology paper when he hears footsteps approaching him. He doesn’t bother to look up, not until the book’s knocked out of his hands and he’s backed up against the bookshelf by King. “All this time,” the boy says and Adam can tell by the look on the boy’s face that he knows, and he’s a little bit terrified about the King’s reaction. “It’s been months and you’ve sat there listening to me talk about trying to figure out my wrist this entire time and never once said a word.”

The boy doesn’t know how to react. He’s scared, wanting to bolt at the mere knowledge that King knows, but there’s nowhere to go he knows that there was always a chance that this would happen. “You only cared about Luna,” he says quietly, his voice trembling as he tries to get the words out and still somehow maintain the library’s rules of silence. “And you guys joked about it being me but you never would’ve…” he shrugs weakly.

“Never would’ve what? Given the thought that it was you? I did but I didn’t meet you until after Luna so I didn’t think it ever would’ve been you.” King grips to the bookshelf behind Adam and he looks angry, but even more than that, he looks hurt. “You told me it didn’t work out with your soulmate. Why would you lie about that to me? We could’ve had this solved months ago, but you kept avoiding it and me and here I was thinking I’d done something wrong to you…”

“You wouldn’t have wanted me,” Adam mumbles immediately. “You just want Luna, and that’s okay. She’s better to get along with, and-”

“Stop,” King says as his hand makes its way around Adam’s wrist, fingers locking securely around where he now knows his name has been hiding this entire time. “Stop thinking you know what I want, because you’re wrong. I wanted to know what the fuck my wrist meant, and now that I know I want to know you, all of you. Don’t you get that? You’re my soulmate, and I want to be with you.”

The sound of shushing stops their conversation and Adam feels that familiar warmth that happens whenever King touches him emanating from the point on his wrist. He listens as King quickly assures the librarian that they’ll be quiet, and when she leaves, Adam doesn’t give him the chance to say anything else about the situation they’ve both gotten themselves into as he pushes himself up and kisses him.

King almost immediately kisses back, the feeling of Adam’s lips so familiar from all his nightly kisses with Luna, but different at the same time. His head’s spinning a little bit as the kiss, and when Adam pulls back and whispers, “I just wanted to try that once,” King can’t help but laugh.

“You can try it a lot more than once,” he says as he looks at Adam. “You can try it all the time if you want.” He’s chuckles a little breathlessly as he leans in and kisses Adam again, his arm shifting to hook around the boy’s back, and when he pulls back, they’re both smiling. “I want to get to know all of you,” King tells him as he looks at Adam. “And I can’t believe it took me this long to realise how much I wanted that.”

“I didn’t do much to help that,” Adam says as he looks at King. “But…you’re not weirded out by me?” The question has King stepping back and he look at Adam with confusion written all over his face.

“What, at this school? How could I ever be?” Adam smiles and it makes King realise just how much he’s been looking forward to this, to seeing his soulmate smile because of him without the confusion and secrecy that went along with it, and he’s pretty sure that at this moment he’s never been happier.

-

californiaroyals:

Day 1 of finally getting what the name on my wrist means. :)

[writtenunderground]

you'll never be alone

mortel & gunner; rated g 1361 words

Where Jade came up with the name Mortel, Gunner still doesn’t know, but he’s been baffled by the cat that’s taken over their lives since day one. He remembers coming home from classes to find the then-kitten curled up in a ball on his pillow and Jade declaring that evil spirits had set foot in their apartment and taken her new pet. Despite having carefully trying to pick up the kitten, Gunner still hadn’t managed to keep from waking him up, but when he’d found the sleepy kitten curling into his chest as he carried him out to a worried Jade, Gunner found that a new addition to their family would be a good one.

Sometimes he disagrees with that thought when he’s woken by the sounds of meowing in his ear or by a bat of a paw in his face, but Gunner doesn’t mind all that much. Usually he just rolls over in the bed and falls back asleep until Mortel settles between his shoulderblades and goes back to sleep. It makes getting up in the mornings difficult, but Gunner’s always careful about not jostling the cat too much as he slips out of the bed and gets ready for school or work.

-

Gunner’s learned over the months that Tel really likes sunflowers. When Jade first started growing them in their house, the cat immediately found his home near the bright yellow blooms, and Gunner had to carefully convince Jade not to hex Mortel to stay away from the plants and that he wouldn’t harm them. In fact, he became more of a guardian to the beautiful flowers than anything else, and when they got him a collar with sunflowers carefully stitched into the fabric, he mewled in thanks and spent the entire night shifting back and forth between their respective laps.

-

Sometimes Gunner thinks that Mortel is more of a person than he is. He swears that the cat is always watching him, listening to his conversations and keeping an eye out on him when Gunner hits some of his more stressful times. He swears that he’s walked in on the cat reading sometimes, but Gunner never thinks much of it as he closes one of the many books of theirs that gets scattered around their flat. Whenever the cat isn’t paying attention to Gunner’s life, he’s sleeping on a precarious stack of books, and Gunner always ends up picking up the cat mid-nap and taking him back with him to his room at the end of the night.

He hates to admit that he’s gotten used to the idea of falling asleep with Mortel curled up near his head and waking with the cat settled on his chest, but it’s a feeling that Gunner can’t get rid of. It’s almost as if he wouldn’t be whole without the cat with him, and Tel knows that, so he stays by the werewolf’s side. Even Jade says she’s no longer Tel’s owner and that he’s Gunner’s now. The cat is still friendly with the witch, but he doesn’t dart to the door whenever she arrives home and never sleeps with her. His focus is on Gunner, and even though Gunner’s pretty sure that it’s not a human instinct within the feline, there’s something that has Tel keeping watch over him.

That’s why it makes the day Tel disappears on them so devastating.

Gunner doesn’t sleep for two days when the cat goes missing. He thinks about the last time he saw Mortel nestled top of the bookshelf, curled up next to his favourite sunflowers, and it makes the werewolf feel weird. There’s no companion to greet him when he comes home from work, no familiar weight settled on his chest in the mornings and no tail carefully flicking near his ear at night, keeping a rhythm for him to fall asleep to but not hitting his ear to keep from startling him. Everything feels a little less bright without his favourite friend, and Jade notices the change in Gunner’s mood before he does.

“He’ll come back,” she insists as she brews another concoction. “Cats always come home.”

Five days pass with no sign of Mortel, and Gunner feels like he’s going insane. No one’s called their home to return the cat, and that’s after Gunner put up missing pet signs around the town. He regrets not getting him chipped so that they could find the missing cat. It’s a fatal mistake that he’s currently revisiting on the couch, slightly deprived from sleep, when the sound of the doorbell ringing pulls him from his thoughts.

“Can I help you?” Gunner asks the second he opens the door, but instead of a response, he’s met with arms wrapped around his body as he’s pulled into a hug. Gunner hasn’t even had a chance to assess the stranger who’s hugging him before he pulls back, and the wolf realises that his hair’s the same colour as their missing cat, his eyes the same soft hazel.

“I came home,” the man breathes out as he looks at Gunner before he scratches at the back of his head. “I know I look a little different, but I’m back, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the door.” There’s a million things that Gunner wants to say, with about ten variations of, ‘you’re crazy’ at the top of his list, but something just feels right in this situation, and he knows that by looking at the man, he recognises the spirit of his missing cat.

“Mortel?” he questions slowly, and the man nods as he slightly steps forward, as if worried that he’ll encroach on Gunner’s personal space.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he says. “They didn’t let me come home sooner, and the first place I wanted to be was here with you.” Gunner doesn’t understand the situation at all, but he brings Mortel into the home and offers him a cup of tea. Tel graciously takes it, adds more milk than tea, and drinks it slowly as he explains the story behind his disappearance. Gunner would never have guessed that his cat that he hadn’t even initially brought home was a human trapped in the soul of cat, that he’d been living for hundreds of years guarding over his family’s bones before the city had decided a sunflower garden was no longer needed and he was captured and sent to the pound.

By the end of Tel’s explanation, Gunner is still confused. “So why were you a cat for all this time?” he asks. “And what changed?”

Tel sets down the empty cup of tea and he looks at Gunner. “The curse was bound with one demand, and it was that I keep watch over my family’s resting place until I found someone else to protect; someone who needed me just as much as I needed them.”

The words have Gunner nodding slowly, but he doesn’t really get it; not until Tel leans forward and takes his hand. “I found you,” he says as he grips onto Gunner’s hand, and Gunner finds himself instinctively lacing his fingers with Tel’s, gripping tightly in response.

“I—this was a lot easier when you had a tiny paw,” Gunner says, surprisingly speechless in response to this news. “So this means that you belong with me?” Tel nods quietly, and Gunner finds a slightly surprised laugh escaping his lips. “Well then… You’re going to have to figure out a new sleeping position because I don’t think you fit on my chest anymore.”

That makes Tel laugh, and Gunner’s pretty sure that he’s fallen in love with the man’s laugh already. It’s just one step on the way of falling completely for his new protector and old friend, and Gunner knows it won’t be long before he’s completely lost for him, and the thought comforts him. It’s almost as if he knows that his feelings will be reciprocated, that he’s found someone for life without even having to look.

And to think this all started with a cat he didn’t want. How funny life is, hiding one’s soulmate in the strangest of places.

[writtenunderground]

[writtenunderground]

i think we've run out of time

[writtenunderground]

this feels worse than death

dante & alistair (and maddox); rated pg 2344 words

It’s been two days since Dante’s left for school and Alistair’s already miserable without him. He knows that Dante needs to be at school early for training and that they’re still going to keep in constant contact even if they’re apart, but Ali already desperately needs him back in his life.

“You all packed and ready?” Alistair looks up from where he’s quietly playing with his engagement ring, shrugging weakly in response as he looks at his mother.

“Stuff’s in boxes,” he mumbles. “But I’m missing the most important part of me.” Tiana sighs as she sits down on the couch with him, gently wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“I know it’s hard, not going to school with Dante, but you’re going to have a lot of fun at college and you guys can still see each other on breaks and maybe weekends.” Ali shrugs quietly. He knows this, he and Dante have been talking about this since their decisions were finalised. “Would you be happier if I told you we’ll let you come home on weekends?”

Alistair pulls out of his mother’s grip. “I’ll be happier if you give me access to a car so I can visit Dante more often.” She starts shaking her head before Alistair even gets to finish his sentence. “Please, Tiana? I won’t go crazy on the driving and I promise I’ll focus on school and everything.”

“You know we can’t, little one,” she tells him softly as she reaches out to take Alistair’s hands. “Lucy and I can’t give you a car no matter how much we wish we could. Plus the therapist said that wasn’t a good idea and you know we’re supposed to be listening to her-”

“Even if she’s fucking crazy and thinks that we aren’t supposed to be together just because of the fact that we’re in love?” The second Alistair catches his mother’s eye, the anger in his tone dissipates and he sighs. “Sorry for swearing,” he mumbles, “But it’s true. She won’t let us be together because we’re happy and no one believes that’s possible without it being unhealthy.”

Tiana sighs and she takes Alistair’s hands again, holding them tightly in her own. “I know you love him, kiddo, trust me. It’s beautiful to see, but you have to get out on your own two feet and experience life without Dante because there’s always a possibility that that might happen someday.”

There’s not even a moment of hesitation before Alistair pulls out of his mother’s grip. “You think we’re going to break up?” he asks softly. “Do you think he’s going to leave me, because he promised and saved up to get this ring and Dante promised me that this isn’t going to affect anything and-” He cuts off, voice strained and tight, on the verge of a panic attack.

“No, sweetheart,” Tiana says as she jumps up, wrapping her arms around Alistair. “No, that’s not what I meant.” She rubs his back soothingly, trying to calm him down. “But what happens if someday you get on Broadway-” Alistair weakly scoffs. “-and Dante’s on a team on the other side of the country.”

“Then I’ll decline and find something close to him,” Alistair responds in an insistent tone. “I wouldn’t get on Broadway anyway, and I don’t care if I do. I won’t take the job.” He pulls himself out of Tiana’s grip, shaking his head. “No job is anywhere as good as being with Dante.”

“Sweetie…” Tiana tries to reach for him again, but Alistair pulls away. “Ali, baby, that’s not a healthy thought. Giving up your entire life, your career, for Dante…”

“You don’t get it, mom,” Alistair says bitterly, using the term in disdain rather than affection like he will when he uses the title. “Dante is my life. I don’t want a great job if he isn’t there every day.” Tiana moves to say something, but Alistair raises his hand to cut her off. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m going out.”

Before Tiana can try and stop him, Alistair grabs his keys and leaves the home, unsure as where to go now that he’s abandoned his home for the time being. He can’t go to Dante’s anymore, not when the boy isn’t home and every second there will only make Ali miss him more, and his little gang of theatre friends are either already at school or finishing up some summer programme they got into that Alistair declined to audition for in favour of spending his summer with Dante.

He wanders down the street, aimlessly making his way toward the direction of their old high school without any thought as to whether or not he should be going there. All the memories would return, and Alistair knew that, but that didn’t change the fact that he wanted to be there, that he wanted to go back and relive the happy moments instead of focusing on the now-sad ones. The fact that his mother had even thought that they wouldn’t be by each other’s sides forever leaves Ali bitterly scoffing to himself, and without thinking about it, his feet changed direction.

It’s not until he stops outside of the house that he realises where he is. Alistair sighs, wondering if this is a good idea. He hasn’t really done much communicating with anyone other than Dante this summer, trying to savour the time they had left, and now it’s coming back to haunt him as he steps up to the door and hesitantly knocks, half-hoping for no answer.

“Thought I got rid of you.” Alistair smiles weakly as Maddox answers the door, and the boy has to resist the urge to just kind of rush towards him and hope that if he clings to him, he’ll get a hug back. “I saw his status update.”

Alistair nods weakly. “Really loving the team already. He’s told me all about them.” Maddox steps aside to let Alistair into the home, and the boy thanks him softly as he steps over the threshold. “It really sucks.”

“That he’s happy or that he’s there without you?” Alistair doesn’t answer him, choosing instead to drop down onto the staircase and quietly sit there. Maddox shuts the door, leaning against it as he looks at Alistair. “When do you leave?”

“Thursday.” Alistair shrugs. “New brats move in on Friday, returners show up on Sunday, class starts Monday-”

“And yet you’re special and get to move in a night early.”

“It’s only because they want me there to rehearse some start of the year thing that’s going on during welcome week.” A frustrated sigh escapes Alistair’s lips before he drops his head into his hands. “Can I stay here until then?” he mumbles softly, not looking at Maddox as he waits for a response. The boy’s silent for a moment and Alistair wonders if he’s contemplating having to ask his mom before the feeling of a hand on his shoulder comforts him and he looks up.

Maddox offers him a tiny smile, one that Alistair can’t return, but the words, “Of course you can,” are the best comfort that the boy’s heard all day.

It’s only when Maddox finally pulls his hand away that Alistair notices the glint of silver on his finger, causing him to properly smile. “So you finally did it, huh?” Maddox looks down at the ring on his finger with a smile that Alistair recognises, it’s the same one he sees on Dante’s face whenever he knows the boy’s thinking about him. “Good. It’s about time you two finally stopped being idiots and accepted you’re madly in love with each other.” Alistair chews on his lip for a moment before he says, “How’s the baby?” and that lights Maddox up immediately.

“She’s beautiful,” he tells Alistair. “You should see her. She sleeps and cries all the time but when she’s looking at you, it’s the cutest thing in the world.” Maddox is silent for a moment before he adds. “She has his eyes.”

“And you’re making me sick,” Alistair responds, miming gagging noises.

“You know, it’s a wonder you got an acting scholarship with those terrible skills,” Maddox replies immediately and Alistair laughs. It’s freeing, being able to laugh for the first time since Dante left for school. It’s almost as if Alistair’s found that little bit of a safety net that will keep him from going crazy at the thought of his fiancé not being there with him for this terrifying experience.

When the laughter dies from his throat, Alistair pushes himself off the staircase and he looks at Maddox. “Can I take you with me?” he muses, honestly hoping that Maddox will say yes even if he knows that’s impossible.

“You wish. Who’s going to tell you to fuck off every two seconds when you’re trying to convince them to make terrible life decisions?”

“Excuse me,” Alistair responds, placing his hand on his hip. “I gave you fabulous life decisions and, if I’m correct and I am, you now have a boyfriend, so you’re welcome.”

Maddox laughs softly, nodding in defeat to Alistair’s words. “You’re right. Thank you fairy godmother.”

“You’re welcome child.” Maddox smiles softly before he gestures towards the couch.

“Movies and lots of popcorn?” Alistair stares at him. “And chocolate. Mom bought ice cream yesterday, you can eat all of it if you want.”

A hint of a smile crosses Alistair’s lips before he nods. “Sounds perfect.”

-

Alistair wakes to the sound of his phone buzzing its way off of the table and he sleepily reaches out for it, glancing at the bright screen before slides his finger across the screen to answer it. “Hello?”

“Thank fuck, you’re okay.” Dante’s worried, panicked tone sounds in his ear and Alistair immediately pushes himself into a sitting position. “Where are you? Your mom called me freaking out that you didn’t come home and she wanted to know if you hitched a ride here.”

Ali’s eyes turn to the clock and he blinks a little bit, trying to read the blurred time. “I guess I fell asleep watching movies with Maddie,” he mumbles, far more awake than he wants to be at this moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s not just me you worried, Ali,” Dante tells him gently, and the softer tone is a lot easier for Alistair to take as he snuggles back into the couch. “Your moms are freaking out. You need to call them and tell them you’re okay.”

“Already on it, quarterback,” Alistair replies as he puts the phone on speaker and shoots Lucinda a text to let her know where he is and that he’ll be home eventually. When he’s done, he presses the phone back to his ear. “Thanks for worrying about me.”

“I always worry about you,” Dante tells him. Alistair can hear the fondness in his tone but beneath that, he can still sense that Dante’s worried about him. “You know, they were really scared when they called me. What happened?”

Even though Dante’s not there, Alistair shrugs, and he’s almost certain the boy knows exactly how he’s reacting to Dante’s words. “Ti and I got in a little fight, no big. I just needed somewhere to destress and Maddie gave me movies and chocolate. You should have been here; we ate your favourite ice cream.” Ali tries to ignore that his words have a deeper meaning, that they’re trying to tell Dante that it’s been two days and he’s already incapable of surviving without his boyfriend, but the boy hopes that Dante doesn’t pick up on it.

“I wish I had been there.” Dante’s tone of voice is enough to make Alistair curl up beneath the blanket Maddox clearly covered him with and cry. He’s miserable without Dante and he hasn’t even made it to school yet. “Tell me all about it. What movies did you guys watch?”

And so Ali does. He tells Dante about the movies and about Maddie giving their promise rings to Teddy and the pain in his chest eases little by little until he’s laughing on the phone with Dante and it feels like the boy’s pressed up against him, lips inches from his ear as he giggles about something stupid he and one of his teammates were laughing about earlier that day. It feels better, but Alistair knows that the second they hang up it’s going to go back to complete misery and he’s not ready for that.

“Hey, it’s four in the morning,” Dante says softly. The silence that had spread between them was comforting, a gentle lull that made Alistair feel safe and warm, but the second those words escape Dante’s mouth, he’s tense again. “We should probably go to bed.”

“Yeah…” Alistair mumbles softly even if the only thing he wants to say is no, please don’t go. Please don’t leave me again. He curls up beneath the blanket, clinging to the edge of the fabric. “No goodbyes, remember.”

“No goodbyes,” Dante agrees. Alistair can hear the smile in his voice and even though he wants to smile back, he can’t. “Goodnight, love. I’ll talk to you first thing in the morning.”

“Night,” Alistair mumbles in response. He presses his face into the pillow, taking a moment before he breathes out a muffled, “I love you.” Even after the words are reciprocated and the call ends, Alistair doesn’t move the phone from where it’s pressed against his ear, almost in hopes that Dante will speak again even though that’s not possible.

He burrows beneath the blanket, wrapping the edges tightly around him so that he can pretend that something’s holding him, even if it isn’t the only person he wants to be holding him. It doesn’t compare, and Ali didn’t expect it to as he tries to sleep, the aching, hollow feeling in his chest getting worse with every passing second until exhaustion finally overtakes him and he falls asleep with the hopes of Dante being there with him in his dreams.

[writtenunderground]

words don't define us

matty & sawyer (and teddy); rated pg-13 1952 words

“Hey, I’m in town again.” Matty sighs a little bit as he flips through his paperwork.

“Good for you, dude,” he tells him off-handedly, too focused on trying to find the page he needs that will help protect his client against their impending lawsuit.

“I know. It’s great for me,” Sawyer replies, laughter in his tone. “I was thinking we could get together, grab a drink.”

Matty lets out a semi-frustrated sigh as he tries not to take his annoyance of this case out on Sawyer. The man’s still his client, even if Matty’s almost at the point that he’ll snap at anyone. “Out of town,” he tells him quickly, focusing on squeezing the life out of his stress ball.

“Out of town winning cases just two hours ago?” Matty bites back a swear, forgetting that the news has a tendency to follow his cases considering most of his clients are politically or monetarily affluent in society. “You don’t want to hang, that’s cool with me, but you don’t gotta lie to me.”

“I ain’t lying, I’m just — busy.” Matty sighs, pushing away his paperwork as he gives up on trying to escape his potential plans. It takes Matty a moment before he finally gathers up his thoughts and forces himself to tell the truth. “My kid’s coming up this weekend,” he tells Sawyer. “He’s kind of the priority and this fucking case shit isn’t helping.” He shoves the papers off the desk, half-wondering if that will make him find the paper he needs faster.

“You sound tense,” Sawyer responds, and the man doesn’t address anything about the news of a child, which Matty is kind of grateful for.

“Yeah, that’s a fucking understatement.” Matty sets down the ball, giving up on trying to calm himself down with the shitty toy.

There’s a moment of silence between them before Sawyer speaks again. “Kid’s not up there yet, is he?” Matty makes a noise to confirm Sawyer’s question before the man continues. “Well, I’m free tonight. Take a break, get a drink with me. If that doesn’t work, I’ll figure out something else to ease that stress of yours.”

Matty can more or less hear the smile in his voice and he refuses to give in and and let himself smile in response. It takes him a moment before that tiny hint of a smile creeps onto his lips and he silently curses at himself for it. “Yeah, fine, but I’m holding you to that. Usual place?”

“Sounds good,” Sawyer responds. “I’ll meet you there.” There’s no goodbye as Sawyer hangs up the phone, and Matty’s surprised at how less stressed he already is. Still, he’s going to milk Sawyer’s words as best as he can, and that thought makes him grin a little bit as he grabs his suit jacket and heads off.

-

“Always liked a man in a suit,” Sawyer mumbles as they stumble into Matty’s apartment.

“Yeah?” Matty pushes the door shut behind them and he’s more drunk than he wants to admit. “You’ve said that shit before.”

Sawyer presses up against Matty as he looks at him. “When’d I say that?” he mumbles, lips close enough to Matty’s that he could kiss him at any time. Matty half-wishes that he would, but he stays still, smirking a bit in response.

“The last time you were here.” Sawyer tilts forward in response, pressing his lips against Matty’s as he kisses him properly, almost as if he’s been dying to do it since the last time they met up. Matty won’t admit that he’s been missing the feeling of Sawyer’s lips pressed against his, nor will he express how grateful he is to be kissing him again. Even drunk, Matty knows better than to show his immediate need for Sawyer’s kiss.

None of this changes the fact that Matty’s needed this. He’s needed the press of Sawyer’s lips against his, craved it since the last time Sawyer’s been pressed up against him, so after a moment, he kisses back. It’s a smooth transition into needy kisses that make their way across Matty’s apartment. It’s almost like a dance that they do, Sawyer pushing, Matty pulling; both making their way towards a goal and crashing into each other like waves. They finally collide into each other, falling down onto Matty’s bed as they press their lips against one another’s, desperate for more in their hazy state of desire.

“Missed this,” Sawyer mumbles against Matty’s lips, and Matty breathes out a quick response of similarity before he’s tugging Sawyer back in for kisses again, tearing at Sawyer’s clothing in the process. Sawyer laughs against his lips and he lets Matty peel his shirt away, fingers running down Sawyer’s body in quick succession.

The words die down, replaced by soft moans and needy breaths that hold more meaning than the words do, and along the way, Matt wonders when he lost himself in this whole situation. It’s bizarre that in such an intimate moment, he’s thinking about things like this. Sawyer wasn’t supposed to be anything to him, that wasn’t supposed to happen, but Matty can’t seem to escape these feelings no matter how hard he tries.

Sawyer gasps Matty’s name into his ear and his focus is completely lost. All he knows is how good it feels to have Sawyer inside of him, how it feels to just have Sawyer here, even without the sex. Matty doesn’t mean for the whimpered response of Sawyer’s name to escape his lips, but the feeling of Sawyer’s mouth pressing kisses against his neck is enough to make him forget that he just did that.

His orgasm comes quick and fast, and Matty wasn’t prepared for that. He lets out a soft noise before he closes his eyes, waiting for Sawyer to move as they come down from that sexual high. “Less stressed?” Sawyer mumbles into his ear before he rolls off of Matty, shifting to drape an arm over Matty’s waist.

“You’re drunk,” Matty replies as he shifts beneath Sawyer’s touch, turning away from him. “Go to sleep.” Sawyer shifts to press up against Matty, spooning against him as he kisses the nape of Matty’s neck. Matty shivers at the touch and he closes his eyes, trying to ignore the feeling.

“Night, Matty,” Sawyer mumbles against his skin. The man doesn’t respond, pretending to be asleep already as to avoid any additional words he might regret saying.

Matty doesn’t sleep much that night. He tries to, honestly, since he has to be at the airport in just a few hours, but sleep doesn’t seem to come his way that night. He watches the sun rise, silently stares out the window and thinks about the day that Amber crawled into bed with him and talked him off of the ledge he’d found himself on when he first realised he had fallen in love with George. He feels that way now, curled up against Sawyer as he listens to the man softly snore in his ear.

It’s too soon for that again. Matty knows love, feels that way towards his son, but he’s not prepared for this. It’s been so long since he’s felt this way towards anyone that he’s not ready to feel anything even remotely close to love just yet. He thinks about these feelings, carefully assesses the situation until there’s just a few minutes before his alarm goes off. Matty silences it and carefully slips out of Sawyer’s grip, determined not to wake the man as he gets ready and heads off to the airport.

-

“How’s school going, kiddo?” Matty drapes an arm over Teddy’s shoulders just moments before they pull up to the apartment building.

Teddy shifts under Matty’s gaze, shrugging a little bit. “I don’t like social studies,” he mumbles. But gym is fun. We’re playing kickball right now and I’m really good at it. And track. My teacher says I should try out for cross-country next year.”

Matty smiles softly before he squeezes Teddy’s shoulder gently. “Good. I bet you’d do great at that.” Teddy nods eagerly and Matty still doesn’t completely know how to connect with his son. “You wanna do track, then? Be the fastest kid in the school?”

“Well…not the fastest, but…” Teddy trails off, looking down at his hands, lacking the confidence to actually think he would be fast enough to succeed.

Matty squeezes Teddy’s shoulder again, causing the boy to look up at him. “Hey,” he mumbles to Teddy. “Listen up. You’re going to be the fastest kid on that team, got it? You’re a star, kiddo, and you can blaze trails around those kids.” Teddy beams a little bit as he looks up at his father and Matty can’t help but smile as well, glad that he’s doing a slight bit better at connecting with his son.

When the car stops, Teddy immediately pushes his way out of the car, eagerly jumping onto the sidewalk as he waits for Matty. The man chuckles and he follows his son, letting Teddy lead the way to the elevator. “You excited to be here?” he asks once he notices Teddy bouncing a little bit on the way to the elevator.

"Yep! I promised Maddie I’d take lots of photos for him." Matty watches quietly as Teddy fumbles through his bag for his camera he brought along with him and the question that Matty wants to ask builds in his throat. It takes him a moment before he finally says something

"So…how is Maddie doing?" That starts Teddy off on a rambling tale of all the things he and Maddox have gotten up to since the last time he’s seen his son. The news makes Matty smile a little bit and there’s that tightness in his chest that Matty hates to experience when he listens to Teddy talk about his best friend.

Teddy doesn’t stop talking about Maddie the entire way down the hall to Matty’s apartment, which makes the man smile softly. He’s completely forgotten that he left Sawyer in his apartment this morning as he fumbles for his keys to open the door, but it opens without his assistance.

"Hey, I–" Sawyer stops mid-sentence as does Teddy. They stare at each other for a moment before Sawyer smiles at the boy, turning his gaze to Matty quickly afterwards. "I got called in for a meeting so I have to go, but I’ll call you tonight?" He leans in and pressed a quick kiss to Matty’s lips before pulling back and focusing on Teddy again. "Sorry I don’t have time to stop and say hi, but I’m sure I’ll see you soon…" He trails off, unsure what the boy’s name is.

"Teddy," the boy tells him, and he’s beaming a little bit, displaying a reaction completely opposite to Matty’s blank expression. He lifts his hand for a high-five and Sawyer chuckes before he high-fives the boy.

"See you around, Teddy," Sawyer says with a smile. The man turns his gaze back to Matty for a moment before he nods. "Bye, Matty." He slips out between them and disappears down the hallway.

Teddy stares at Matty for a moment, eyes slightly eidenigm before his gaze flickers back down the hallway. “Dad?” Teddy points to the now-empty hall. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Matty struggles for words. He doesn’t even know the answer to that question, but when he finally speaks, the words feel right in his mouth. “I think so.” He quickly changes the subject, grabbing Teddy’s bag. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He’s not been looking at Teddy, but he can tell that behind him, the boy’s beaming as he follows him into the apartment.

[writtenunderground]

don't pull away from me now

[writtenunderground]

this bitter earth

demetri, anabelle, isaac & lydia; rated pg-13 3571 words

warnings for death

“Lydia?” Demetri’s sick. It’s been that way for a while now, but his heart can’t seem to even try to keep up with him anymore, and giving up is a very real option. He’s been asking for Lydia since he was rushed to the hospital three days ago, and listening to him whimper and beg for someone who’s not here and can’t be found is draining Anabelle a lot faster than she can handle.

“No, babe,” she tells him gently as she takes Demi’s hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “It’s me, Belle.”

Demi blinks slowly before he turns his head to look at her. “Ana…” he mumbles before he squeezes her hand in a vice-like grip in response. “W-where’s Lydia?” It’s the question that Demi’s been asking for days now, but Anabelle feels like telling him she’s not here this time is going to be the reason he gives up and leaves them all for good.

“I don’t know, babe,” she tells him gently. “But I’m sure she’ll be here soon. Isaac said he was going to find her for you, okay?” She runs her thumb over the back of Demetri’s hand and tries not to think about the real reason Isaac’s not here. She gets constant texts from him checking to see how Demi is doing and to know if he’s getting any worse, but Isaac’s never around when Demi’s awake. He’s scared; they all are.

The doctor had first told them that Demetri was lucky to have survived the first night, that they would be truly blessed to have him for an entire week. Anabelle knows that only five percent of Demi’s heart is working, and that without the machinery and the nurses’ assistance, he wouldn’t be alive right now. She knows all of this, but the facts don’t help her understand the concept of her best friend in the entire world dying while there’s nothing she can do to stop it. They’ve tried to find a vampire willing to turn him, something that Anabelle had never thought Isaac would go along with, but the process wasn’t easy, especially with Isaac being a hunter and Demi fading faster every day.

“Do you think she’ll come soon?” Demi mumbles, and Anabelle swallows thickly in response to the question. “I want to see her before I die.”

“Hey, no,” Anabelle immediately responds. “You’re not dying on me, got it?” She leans in and presses her lips to his forehead, trying to will the thoughts from both of their minds. “You’re not dying on me, Demi. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. Isaac’s going to find someone and we’re going to get you all better, okay?” Demetri doesn’t respond and Anabelle hopes that Isaac bursts through that door any second with a vampire to save Demi’s life.

Demetri blinks at Anabelle and he shakes his head. “I just want to see her, Belle. One last time, I need to.” He weakly coughs, lungs heaving and wheezing as he chokes on air until Anabelle helps him sit up and eases the coughing out of him with little tap to his back.

“You okay?” she asks once the coughing subsides, and Demetri weakly nods, wincing a bit when he moves to lean back against the bed.

“It hurts, Ana,” he whimpers, and Anabelle nods in sympathy as she grips a bit tighter to his hand.

“I know, babe,” she whispers, trying to keep back the fear and worry in her voice. “I know.”

-

Isaac shows up when Demi’s asleep, as he has been since the man entered urgent care. “How is he?” he asks, and Anabelle doesn’t really know how to respond. She can pass along the generic words that the doctor had said, but they still sound hollow to her.

“Asleep,” Anabelle mumbles before she shakes her head, knowing it’s not funny even though the attempt to ease the worry was there. Things are too tense, too exhausting and emotional to even try to joke right now. Anabelle sighs and she looks at Demi for a moment before she turns her gaze to Isaac. “They don’t think he’s going to make it through tomorrow,” she confesses, tone defeated. Isaac looks at her, and Anabelle sees the fear flash in his eyes because this is more real than either of them can want or handle.

“He’s not allowed to,” Isaac says quickly, and Anabelle knows that feeling. She’s been trying to deal with the reality of the situation even though she’s still firmly in belief that someone’s going to come through and save him. “I’ll find someone to help him,” he insists, even though they both know the chance for that is slim at best. “He’s going to get better.”

“I know,” Anabelle tells him, but the words are empty. She’s started to lose hope that things are going to change for the better, even though there’s nothing she wants more. Isaac’s in denial, and that’s okay with her because she hasn’t completely come to terms with it either. She watches as Isaac takes Demi’s hand in his and holds it, fingers tracing over the skin for a minute before Isaac leans in and presses a kiss to Demi’s lips. “You should stay.” The words come out of Anabelle’s mouth before she means them to, but when Isaac looks at her, she can’t help but repeat the words, assuring him that he should.

The silence hovers through the air for a moment before Isaac shakes his head, pulling back from the sleeping man. “No,” he mumbles. “I have to find someone to help him.”

“But what if you don’t find someone?” Anabelle asks as she stands. “What if he only has tonight left? Do you really not want to be here for that last night if it is the one?” She stands and reaches out, grabbing Isaac’s hands and gripping them tightly in hers so that she can keep him from pulling away. “You love him,” she tells him quietly. “Don’t leave him alone, not now.”

“I can’t do this, alright?” he mumbles as he pulls out of her grip. “I love him, but I can’t watch him… I’ve lost too many people and I can’t lose another one. I can’t lose him, not after all this time.” Anabelle doesn’t know the full extent of what happened to Isaac, but she does know that he loves Demetri, that they wouldn’t have been together this long if it weren’t for the fact that they care about each other. It was hard to watch Demi withdraw from the need to be bitten, but the fact that he had done it for Isaac was enough to bring a smile to her face, not only because it helped with his health, but also because he finally had someone who to want to change for, who made him care enough about his life to live it properly.

It didn’t help that his struggles to change caused him more problems than the biting had. It had been a tough time for all of them, the constant doctor appointments that Demi tried to get out of and the process it took to getting away from a vampire-filled environment, but it gave him time; it just wasn’t enough time.

“Come back, okay?” Anabelle says as she looks at Isaac, hoping that this time he’ll listen to her. “Come back when he’s awake this time, because he wants to see you.” She doesn’t mention the Lydia thing, hasn’t since it started, because the last thing Annabelle needs is for Isaac to know that the person Demi’s been asking for isn’t him.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Isaac finally responds, and Anabelle watches as the man looks at Demi for a short while longer before he leaves, ducking his head to hide the pain she can see in his stance as he goes.

-

When the door to Demetri’s room opens again, Anabelle’s asleep, curled up in the chair beside the bed with her hand intertwined in Demetri’s. She doesn’t wake to the sound of the person moving through the room, and not even the soft whispers of Demi’s name stir her. It wakes the man from his slumber, and he slowly opens his eyes to look at the person trying to gain his attention.

“Lydia?” Demetri moves to try and sit up, but a hand on his shoulder immediately stills him. “You came.” His voice is raspy and weak, and he can barely keep his eyes open, but the smile on his face is brighter than anything he’s attempted in the past few days.

She smiles down at him, sad and sweet, and Demi can’t help but notice that she still looks that same as ever, despite the immense sadness that he’s never quite seen on her face before. “Of course I did, my love,” she tells him softly as she shifts her hand from his shoulder to curl around his cheek. Demetri instantly leans into the touch, the cool skin desperately missed against his warm flesh. “I would always come if you needed me.” Demi doesn’t say anything in response to those words, choosing to just relax into the much-needed comfort that her touch provides.

“Your number doesn’t work anymore,” he finally says, almost immediately reaching for her free hand to hold it. It takes him a moment to get his body to move, but when he gestures for her, she immediately slips hers into his.

“I know,” Lydia responds quietly, biting down on her lip. “I’m sorry. I disconnected it, but I wanted to stay in contact with you.” She pauses. “I still have your number.”

“Then you should’ve given me a call.” Demi coughs weakly before he closes his eyes. “I’m going to miss you most of all, Lyd.”

Lydia squeezes his hand tighter until Demetri opens his eyes again. “You don’t have to miss me,” she tells him quietly. “No one has to miss anyone, Demi. You don’t have to-… Let me turn you.” Demetri looks up at her and he can see the desperation in Lydia’s expression as she speaks. “I’ll turn you and you can be what you’ve always wanted and you can live and-”

“Will you stay?” Lydia stops immediately when Demi speaks and she knows what he’s asking of her, but not if she can honestly answer the question. The silence is enough for Demi and he closes his eyes again. “He won’t love me anymore if I’m not me,” Demi mumbles. “I’ve wanted to be special for so long now, but he makes me feel special, Lydia. I don’t want to be a vampire if it means losing him, especially if you’re just going to leave again.”

Lydia looks at Demetri quietly for a moment, trying to figure out what she can possibly say in response. “If he loves you, he’s not going to care about what you are, Demi. He’s been trying to find someone to help you. I overheard him talking to another vampire asking if he would change you.” She runs her thumb gently along the back of his hand, and Demi can’t help but think about how Anabelle was doing that earlier when he was asking for the vampire. “And…and I’ll stay, my love. I’ll stay for you.”

The silence permeates the room until Lydia thinks that Demetri’s fallen asleep. She gently squeezes his hand as a gesture of parting, but when she moves to pull her hand away, Demi’s grip tightens.

“I’ve had an amazing life,” he says quietly as she settles her hand back into his grip. “I mean, the first fifteen years were pretty shit, but most Amish stuff is. The rest of it’s been amazing, and if the next thousand years are going to be like these were, guaranteed, I’d go for it. The thing is, I don’t know how they’re going to be, and I can’t take that risk not knowing. If you turned me and I woke up and he didn’t love me anymore, or if you left because I know you would, I couldn’t do it.” He opens his eyes to look at her. “I can’t go through life losing everyone I ever love, Lyd. My old as fuck great-grandpa of doom has been around for thousands of years and he’s alone. I mean, he’s got his progeny, but he’s lost a hell of a lot of people in his life, and I don’t think I can handle that.” He looks over at Anabelle and watches the woman sleep for a moment before he speaks, not turning his gaze away. “I couldn’t lose her and just keep on living my life; not her, not any of them. I love them all too much.”

Lydia knows that feeling, she’s watching it play out right before her eyes. Demetri’s been the most important human in her life, and the idea of losing him actually terrifies her, especially since he was the only one she kept running into, the one she kept coming back to see and care for and about. “I don’t want to lose you,” she confesses, and her voice cracks as the emotions she’s been trying to keep in control break through. Demi almost immediately squeezes her hand in an attempt to calm her down.

“Don’t think about it that way,” he consoles. “You’re not losing me, we’re just not crossing paths anymore.” He looks at her, a sad smile hinting at the corners of his lips. “No goodbyes, remember? It’s never a goodbye.” Lydia sniffles and she closes her eyes, wiping at the tears falling down her face as she tries to stifle the sobs trapped in her throat. “I need a favour, Lyd,” Demetri mumbles, and Lydia’s attention is instantly on him.

“Anything, my love,” she tells him as she brushes her hand over her face, trying to clear up the emotions she’s dealing with so she can focus on Demetri.

“Stay with me.” The voice is soft, pleading, and Lydia knows that she can’t refuse him even if she tries, not that she would ever consider that at this moment.

She leans in and presses her lips to his forehead, kissing him gently before she whispers against his skin, “Of course I will.” It takes her a moment to pull back from the kiss, and when she does she curls up into the free chair beside his bed, hand still linked with Demi’s so she doesn’t dare let him go.

Lydia stays there for hours, quietly talking with him about memories, about the world and the things they’ve experienced together and apart. Lydia only pulls away long enough to admire the cards that have been set up against the windowsill, but whenever she’s not looking at them, her hand is tangled with Demetri’s. “Why does Justice call you Sparkles?” she asks when she picks up one of the cards, and Demi laughs weakly as he launches into a story about glitter and glow paint and blowjobs that Lydia can’t help but smile at.

The airy conversation fades to silence eventually, and Lydia focuses on running her thumb along Demi’s hand as she watches him. “You know, a lot of people love you,” she tells Demi as light starts to penetrate the room, the rosy hues of the rising sun seeping in.

“I know,” Demi whispers, eyes almost shut as exhaustion finally hits him. It’s been seeping into his body over the past few hours, and Demi can’t fight it anymore. “Lydia, I’m so tired,” he tells her, and Lydia doesn’t say that she knows even though she can hear his heartbeat slowing and fading as his body finally begins to give up on him.

She reaches out and wraps both of her hands around his, holding tightly to him as if she can transfer her strength to him and give him just a bit more time. “Go to sleep, love,” she whispers, her voice cracking on the words she doesn’t want to say. “I’ll stay right here until you fall asleep, okay?” Lydia sniffles as she speaks, the tears welling up in her eyes as she looks at him, trying to keep from pleading Demi to reconsider, to let her turn him so he can stay with her forever. She’d do anything for him at this point, even if it means staying, settling, but he’s made his point and she knows she can’t change his mind.

Demi’s eyelids flutter shut and she watches, waits for that indication that he’s gone to hit, but it doesn’t come just yet. His breathing’s shallow and his heart’s beating so slowly that Lydia’s not sure if he’s conscious anymore or not, not until she watches his lips move, words barely sounding when he speaks.

“Love you.” Lydia almost sobs at the words, because she loves him too. She’s never loved anyone as much as she loves him, and there’s nothing she can do this time to keep him, nothing she can change or take back to fix this when Demi’s almost gone. The tears stream down her cheeks and she stays silent even though the only thing she wants to do is tell him how much she loves him too, but Lydia knows if she opens her mouth all that will sound is cries.

Lydia counts three fluttery breaths before Demi’s breathing stops, and when it does, she’s barely in control of her emotions. Her composure lasts long enough for her to stand from the chair and punch the off button of the heart monitor to stop the flatline tone that’s taken over the silence of the room. She leans in and presses her lips to Demi’s forehead once more, trying to ignore the fact that he doesn’t move beneath her touch, that he’ll never move again, because if Lydia lets those thoughts get to her for just a second, she’s going to break and scream and sob right in the middle of this hospital room, and making a scene here is something she can’t do.

“G-goodbye my love,” she chokes out, voice trembling and breaking as the words escape her lips. It’s her first goodbye to him, and also the last, because she knows he’s gone, that she’ll never see him again. Lydia can’t hold it in anymore, and she pulls her hand from his grip, rushing out of the hospital room as Anabelle starts to stir and nurses rush to pour into the room. She can’t be there for this, for the announcement that the only human she’s ever loved is dead, that she couldn’t do anything to help him this time because he’d made his choice.

The idea of thinking about Demetri in past tense is what hits her hardest, and Lydia doesn’t even make it out of the hospital before she’s hit by an overwhelming pain that causes her to double over, sobbing into her hands in silent desperation. There should’ve been something that she could’ve done, should still be something that she can do to bring him back, but there’s nothing. She can’t turn a corpse and necromancy never has been or will be an option, not when she can risk bringing back someone who never was and never will be the Demi that she watched grow up and fell in love with.

She has no idea where she is, what’s going on around her, and Lydia could care less because her vision’s blurred with the tears and it feels like someone’s ripped her heart from her chest, like the most important part of her died in that hospital room, and he did. She’s never imagined her life without Demi, without the opportunity to be able to go back and see him, to watch him through his life and make sure he’s stayed safe and loved all these years and all those yet to come, and it’s too soon; she’s lost him too soon. The world isn’t fair to her and definitely wasn’t to him, not when Demi was the one person Lydia’s always wanted to give the world to so he could experience all its wonders and just live; especially not when it’s stolen the one person she’d give up everything for from her.

Were she even close to stable, she’d see Isaac running into the hospital, the look of absolute terror on his face at the call he’s received on his way in, she’d hear Anabelle’s sobs up in the room as the nurses wheel out the body that once held the strongest and most amazing spirit she’s ever known. None of that hits her, just the pain of a hole where her heart used to be, and Lydia knows that he’s taken that with him, that even if she does see him again someday, she won’t be able to move on from this moment, from that point in her life where she first met him, seventeen and clueless about the outside world, and knew that he was going to be someone that touched her life far more than any human had before.

Lydia’s never felt completely broken before, but without Demi in her life, she knows that she’ll never feel whole again. That spark in her life is gone for good, and no matter what Lydia does, she’ll never feel it again, never experience the pure joy of knowing that wherever she’d go, he’d always be waiting for her to come home.

[writtenunderground]

please don't go, i love you so

tamsin & crispin; rated pg-13 1345 words

warnings for abortion & incest

i.

she’s out on another date with that movie douche and crispin knows that it’s not serious, that it’s just for the job and all of that pointless bullshit, but it hurts. he can’t imagine her being with anyone but him, kissing anyone but him. she’s his, and that’s all he thinks about as he pops another pill, sweats out anger and rage to the fast-paced beat of the club mix playing in the party. when the blonde approaches him, he doesn’t even stop to think about what he’s doing, doesn’t consider the fact that he’s going to regret this later, not when he’s high off of chemicals and rage and meaningless lust. he follows her into a bedroom, ignoring the chant of tamsintamsintamsin his brain throws out to him and falls into the world of darkened corners and bare flesh, sinful heat between them until she’s crying out in ecstasy and his guilt’s settling into his gut, laying in wait for his sober self to reappear so it can attack.

he doesn’t tell tamsin about this; not the first time, nor the second. the countless lovers pass in and out of various rooms, and he doesn’t say a word as the hurricane of guilt grows alongside the anger, consuming him and devouring him whole until he’s a person he doesn’t recognise anymore.

(when she finds out, she’s in shambles and he’s ten times worse, the regret hitting him harder than any physical punch has before)

ii.

the sickness comes right before morning interviews. tamsin realised this a week ago, and she’s still in denial that it’s anything bad. it’s just sickness. it’s nothing, right? she swears she’s fine whenever she’s asked, swears that nothing could ever be wrong because she needs this movie to work and keep her dad happy with her. crispin wouldn’t care if she quit the press tour because she’s sick, but her father would throw a fit. as she curls herself around a toilet for the fifth time that week, she tells herself that it’s going to be fine, that she’s fine and just has to wait it out, even though the signs say otherwise.

her stylist buys her the test, sneaks it onto set, and tamsin’s hands are shaking as she takes the box from the man. it’s just for assurance, to prove that she’s fine, but when she sets the stick on the bathroom counter, the sinking feeling in her stomach churns and intensifies, grows raucous as she waits for the sign to turn negative, to let her know that she’s not the one thing she fears. the sign she wants doesn’t come. when the little plus appears on the stick, tamsin stifles a sob.

she can’t be. she can’t do this. no one will ever let her have what she wants, not with this, and as she tries to find a way to hide the stick, to hide the box, thoughts of crispin’s feelings stay out of mind as she struggles to find the words she can say to her father to tell him she’s genuinely messed up.

iii.

tamsin’s never seen someone more disappointed in her before. she knows she messed up, but the ranting, the shouting, every word is a knife cutting into her skin, causing her to flinch. you’re getting an abortion. the words stab at her chest, and tamsin can’t breathe. it scares her, the idea of being strapped to a table and losing her child, and her hand presses against her stomach instinctively, protectively. his hand wrenches it away immediately and tamsin feels like someone’s stolen the last of her warmth, her light. she wants crispin, wants him to hold her and tell her everything will be alright, but nothing ever will again, not with this.

it’s cold in the room; empty and unfeeling and full of lost souls searching for an out. they’ve been promised it’s discrete, but tamsin can’t help but feel like someone’s watching, like someone’s always watching. she can’t shake the feeling, and when her entire body aches and her life force has been drained, she feels nothing. the pain is numbed, replaced with shakes and aches and a churning in her stomach that tamsin can’t stand. she wants to escape, wants to run away and hide so that no one ever talks to her again. there’s not enough blankets in the world for her to disappear in, and she knows this as they drive her back to the penthouse and she sinks into her bed, wishing for nothing more than crispin to hold her.

the bed stays empty, just like it always is, and tamsin’s never felt more alone.

iv.

when he finds out, it’s like someone shattered her entire world. it’s worse than everything she dealt with with their dad, with the clinic; it’s worse than the vomiting and the shaking and the feelings of being at the edge of death. his words wound her worse than the slowest, most drawn out torture, because he’s striking at her heart, and there’s no chance for him to miss.

it was his baby too, tamsin knows that. she knows that she messed up, that she should’ve told him, but being scared isn’t an excuse anymore, not when she’s escaped the clutches of fate with a path that she didn’t choose with instructions that weren’t hers. she doesn’t bring up one of the many reasons she’s researched to try and justify this, not when she sees the pain in his expression and hears the anger in his words. instead, she says nothing, lets him strike her over and over until her heart’s barely beating and the tears have been evicted from their home. the silent crying’s done nothing to help her, and tamsin never expected it would, but she wanted it to. she wants to beg for his sympathy, for his forgiveness and for his love, but the words don’t come out, and when he storms out and leaves her alone, she finally whispers the words she’s been trying to say since he started.

i’m sorry, please don’t leave me doesn’t work this time, not when the decision’s broken their relationship far more than the impending movie deal does.

v.

she doesn’t get to tell him before the mass media does. a chance to make amends had finally arisen, and before she’s even gotten the chance to find her ground, things are striking again. she stays silent as he drops the magazine in front her, the words ‘tamsin alesso to play teen mother in controversial abortion-themed film’ staring up at her in big, bold letters. it’s the last broken thread, the last chance she’s ever had to fix things, and she can feel the loss before it actually hits her. his silence is enough to tell her that he can’t be here anymore, not after all of this.

what she doesn’t expect is to wake up and find he’s gone. it’s not just him, not just the other half of her soul, but it’s everything. his clothes are missing from the closet, guitar gone from beneath the bed. he’s left the room filled with subtle smells of weed and his aftershave, but without that, it would almost be as if he’d never lived there, as if he’d never existed. tamsin cries, breaks down and sobs her heart out until her voice is gone, throat raw from the choked sobs, and her eyes burning from too many tears.

he doesn’t come back. not the next day, nor the one after that. she waits weeks, months, years, but there’s no sign of him, no indication that he’s okay or that he’s ever going to come back. their father doesn’t even know where he is, not that he’s ever cared enough to find out, and tamsin knows what it’s like to finally be truly alone, to be lost and abandoned with no hope left in her veins. she’s trapped between a world she’s never wanted and a life that she no longer wants to live; at least not alone.

not without him.

[writtenunderground]

to want what you can never have

sabriel; rated pg 1148 words

“Boys don’t cry, Sabriel,” his dad tells him as he presses a cloth to the boy’s knee. He’s just six years old, but the sharp feeling of pain running through his body makes those tears settled in his eyes want to fall at the slightest touch. “You’re stronger than that. You don’t need to cry.”

“But it hurts,” he protests, the whine emphasised in his voice. His father tuts at him.

“It’s supposed to,” he tells him as he shifts the cloth to mop up the blood, the rough cotton scraping against the wound and causing Sabriel to bite down hard on his lip so the tears don’t fall. “It’s going to hurt, but you don’t cry, okay? It’s not okay for boys to cry.”

The statement sticks with him long after the wound’s cleaned up, long after it heals. Sabriel remembers it when he’s told he has to get rid of his first best friend because the boy’s family isn’t religious enough for the Owns. He holds back tears as he listens to his friend shout at him because he’s stupid thinking that he can get away with losing his best friend without any consequences. Still, when the tears threaten to spill over, he repeats the mantra in his head until they sting his eyes and evaporate into the air.

Boys don’t cry.

It’s a chant he uses to get through life. When his first girlfriend dumps him, he repeats it to himself, digging his nails into his skin to remind himself that the pain is better, that it’s supposed to hurt and that crying isn’t allowed. It happens again when the group initiates him into their hunting schemes, throwing him into situations far more deprecating and embarrassing than he’s ever imagined, but he still doesn’t let himself break.

He almost does when he leaves Elias in the woods, scrambling away from that vampire to try and save his life. Sabriel nearly breaks at that point, and when he goes back into the woods in the morning to find Elias’s body cold and lifeless on the forest floor, he has to claw at his skin to keep the tears at bay. Sabriel doesn’t cry, but he screams, lets himself free that way, because if he doesn’t, the emotions won’t ever let him be.

All he ever wants to do is cry, to let down those walls that he built up when he was six years old and properly just sob, but he can’t. The reinforcement in his mind won’t let him, and if it only takes twenty-eight days to make a habit, he’s screwed himself more than a hundred times over. It’s gotten to the point where the mere idea of letting himself hit that point where he breaks is too much to bear.

So he throws his focus somewhere else, anywhere else. He doesn’t think about his parents or his twin or little sister when he enlists in the military. Sabriel barely says goodbye before he disappears, forcing himself into six years of service and countless losses that he can’t let himself grieve over. Even with the bomb, with the knowledge that it’s his fault he’s lost another best friend and most of his left leg, he doesn’t break, because boys don’t cry.

The healing, the therapy, the thousands of nerve endings refusing to heal and causing him daily pain, the nightmares that never stop of the bombing, of the guns firing and the dead bodies strewn across places they had once made camp and talked about what they would do when they finally went home… Through it all, Sabriel doesn’t cry. He balls it up inside of himself and keeps it buried, because he’s come this far now, he can’t start breaking his own rules.

He’s twenty-five years old, not a boy anymore, but boys don’t cry and Sabriel’s gotten to the point that he can’t. He might be in a man’s body, might have gone through things that no one ever should have, but sometimes he wonders if he’s ever escaped that six-year-old sitting on the counter in the bathroom trying to hold back his tears. It’s just a tiny, unimportant memory, but for Sabriel, his entire life’s revolved around it and he doesn’t know anything else.

If there’s one thing Sabriel doesn’t know how to do, it’s cry.

He got his first tattoo in the army, just before they shipped off for his first tour and everything was still innocent and new. The cross doesn’t mean much to him, not anymore, but when he was eighteen and still riding the aftermath of a religious childhood, it was his prayer. He embedded it into his flesh, inked the skin with silent hopes of health and safety and whispered them into the air as he touched the freshly-etched skin with the pad of his thumb. The cross had been his hope, but he’s long since lost that, finding no need for hope in a Godless world.

Now, he lives by a different code; a means of survival that only he knows how to comprehend anymore, if he can even pretend to understand it at this rate.

The feeling of a needle in his skin is welcomed, but this time it’s not a prayer, not hope or faith or a calling to some higher power that may or may not be there to consider his tiny request. It’s something different. He watches in silence as the artist moves his hand, unable to see the words being etched into his skin, but he can feel the needle buzzing against his collarbone and knows it’s there, that this is happening.

Maybe if he soaks it into his skin, he’ll finally be set free.

The bold lines strike catch his eye once the artist hands him a mirror, and he looks at it quietly, resisting the urge to touch the new wounds as the artist sets up the ointment and bandaging to protect it while it heals.

“You a fan of The Cure?” the man asks, and Sabriel shakes his head. “The movie, then?”

“No.” Sabriel reaches up and he touches the skin around the tattoo, biting down hard on his lip as he stares intently in the mirror.

“Why those words then?” He expected the question, but now that it’s being asked, Sabriel doesn’t want to answer it. He shrugs quietly before he shifts his touch to one of the scars that marrs his chest, a reminder of a piece of shrapnel that they’d dug out of his skin after the bomb exploded.

“Because,” he tells him, intending to offer no explanation before his mouth betrays him and he speaks again. “Because — because boys don’t cry, Sabriel,” he says to himself, eyes falling shut as he feels the familiar stinging in his eyes that signifies that want that he can never let himself have.

“Boys don’t cry.”