#* drabble.

each footfall - light && unfitting one fueled by such vicious FURY - brought leader closer to pyre’s peak. expression, stone, did not betray him. even as he swept by admins. even as he stepped forth into unusually biting cold && blinding fog. even as THUNDERCRACK of ancient heartbeat bellowed louder && louder. if it meant to distract maxie from goal merely single carved staircase ahead, it had failed. he would not be slowed. he could not be stopped.

&& yet . . . sight of shining artifacts threatened to give him pause. not because of their power, no no. he feared not pristine orbs comfortably resting before him. he feared not whispers of curses they brought. he feared not total destruction of hoenn. he feared not.

feeling of doom that boiled deep screamed. heavy thump thump THUMP of super-ancient heart shattered every last hint of reservation lingering at edges of mind. he gritted teeth, instant suppression of H U N G E R for apocalypse about to be unleashed. hand lifted, extending for glassy crimson. a flinching, second-guessing fool no longer. idiot. idiot. IDIOT!

very instant fingertips met red orb, maxie froze. a jolt ripped through veins, reigniting COLD ash of recognition. of connection bound in blood, once lost to time. inferno widened eyes, catching breath in throat. for swift moment, he expected death. he expected whatever coursed through him to burn him alive from the inside out, reducing him to charred husk of monstrosity he’d become. but, just as he thought to jerk hand away, it ceased. EVERYTHING ceased. no more ruthless spark. no more sickening sense of fast approaching doom. no more hammering of continental heart. silence. finally . . . silence. one soon interrupted by tears. && shaky, choked laughter. 

leader took orb from its place as gently as one might an infant, cradling it to chest. before he knew it, knees hit grass && he knelt alone atop hallowed ground, body a shield for spherical salvation he would KILL to protect. there he remained for good, long while, visions of scorching sun && lethal drought seeping into head. he saw ruin. he saw death. he saw future of world not worth rescue.

THUMP. he flinched. previously incessant sound was different then. welcome, almost. once alarm unknown had shifted, twisted with red orb’s influence to become a siren song beckoning legendary’s warden forth to serve. maxie pried hand from new treasure, sliding palm up altar’s side until he could hook fingers over top edge. he stood. slowly. tired gaze fell upon orb’s sibling.

faintest ghost of a smile flickered as he reached for second orb. he caught hoenn’s one chance at survival where it met altar && he shoved, watching gleaming cobalt tumble from its home, airborne for but a moment before it collided with rocks far, far below in violent explosion of blue that littered pyre’s base with tiny, razor shards. he thought, briefly, of the terror that would grip his younger sibling upon realization opposite orb was no more. good. eruption incarnate turned back for steps. THUMP. he did not flinch. 

   it’s a parabolic story, and it ends like you’d expect.

              this isn’t different, not really.               it’s just deeper. tomas is sat on the edge of the bath with his shirt off, his feet bare against the bottom of the tub. there’s a long, gaping, diagonal slash from the crux of tomas’ left shoulder to the top of his right hip, and whilst it’s not especially deep, it bled. a lot. every move tomas made, made it bleed. it’s still bleeding, trickling red between the water and wash marcus has already been using to clean it.

               it was an unexpected injury. it was neither of their faults. it’s not fatal, but it hurts, it will hurt, it could scar. marcus, a litany of scars himself, worries that it will, not that it could. he presses too hard with the cloth and tomas flinches. marcus hesitates before he presses his other hand to the smooth, bare flat of tomas’ uninjured shoulder. steady now.

               ‘ sorry, ’ he says. he washes and wipes until the blood is all on him, his shirt, his hands, and tomas is clean, clean again, and marcus’ breath rattles uncomfortably in his mouth on the inhale. ‘ this one’ll hurt, ’ he says, a forewarning and an apology in one, and pinches the edges of the wound. they come together easily but don’t hold well by themselves, and marcus bites his thumb. the other hand is still on tomas’ shoulder, ‘ you need stitches. ’

               by the time the work is done — arduous work only made easier by their shared doctor’s bag, half there for them and half for the people they try to save — tomas is pale and marcus’ hands are sore, but the wound is closed. marcus is struck by how closely he now knows the muscles and curves, the broad span of tomas’ back. he stands up and kicks aside the bedside table he’s been perched on this entire time and squeezes the curve where tomas’ neck meets his shoulder. (the uninjured side, always.)

                            ‘ — i’d take a shot of vodka and go to bed. that’s what i’m planning to do. ’

no one’s surprised because it’s isabela, but quietly, everyone’s surprised because it’s varric. no one’s ever seen him with --- anyone before, despite the women that come and go from his room. but that, that’s normal for varric. people going to him and not doing anything but talk to him. and it was stranger to think varric was having sex all the time than to think he was simply chatting with everyone who came to visit him. 

‘ it’s what happens when you’re in the business of knowing people, ‘ he always says, jumping when a woman none of them recognize walks by and slaps his ass, before he sees her and simply bursts out laughing, yelling after her. ‘ your wife’s going to hear about that, helga! ‘ 

‘ tell him! and give her a smack too! ‘ 

isabela doesn’t kiss him with any intent, only because she’s never seen anyone kiss him before, and she thinks, of all people, varric deserves one most. 

‘ aren’t you sweet, ‘ varric says in the space between them afterwards, his grin matching hers. ‘ your stud’s surprisingly warm. ‘ 

‘ it’s in my face, varric, ‘ she laughs, settling in his lap and crossing her wrists behind his neck. 

hawke says something that varric misses, but from the pout on their face, it’s likely about how isabela is straddling varric instead of them. 

‘ we’re having some quality time! ‘ isabela drawls over her shoulder, grinning. 

in the end, isabela tenderly kisses varric’s cheek before wrapping her arms fully around him, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. they spend the rest of the night like that, varric’s arms loosely around her waist, talking back and forth to each other while everyone gets more plastered around them. 

the last thing he remembered was talking to Mabel. what changed? he had been talking about the newest cartoon he liked to watch—she had teased him a little. that’s okay, though. she doesn’t mean anything bad by it, he knows that now. (  most of the time, at least.  )

now he’s suddenly really, really cold. where is he? he feels scared, too scared to open his eyes, but he does it anyway, sitting up slowly afterwards. there is only darkness around him, just sort of holding him for the moment, but when he tries to stand up, his world seems to shake so much that he stumbles and then falls. the feeling of falling in general is one he is all too familiar with to an uncomfortable extent, and the feeling of, for example, taking a step and thinking the ground was closer, was already something Mason hated. this was like that, but ten times worse.

he hits something hard and cold, and when he gets back to his feet again, the darkness around him is replaced by eyes. so many eyes. so many, too many, god, they’re EVERYWHERE! they’re STARING at him! he cries out and looks down, only to find MORE EYES. the child stumbles backwards, whispering to himself as every eye begins to blink at different speeds and the only thing that stays the same is that THEY’RE ALL LOOKING AT HIM.

“stop!” he shouts, and then bumps into a wall. it feels sharp, and once he turns around, it makes sense WHY then: he backed into two rows of sharp teeth. “please, n-no, NO!”

a tongue snakes out from between those teeth, and suddenly, blood pours from the top row, onto the bottom, spilling out, flooding the ground. it soaks into his socks, and then sneaks UP HIS LEGS.

“g-get o—g-get OFF!” Mason screams, but something goes wrong. nothing leaves his mouth, he feels like he chokes on the words. before he can sort that problem out, the blood continues to creep up his body in thick claws until it reaches his neck, wrapping around it tightly and then proceeding to yank him down. he feels as if he’s being pulled into water,

down,    down,      down he goes, deeper and deeper.      he can’t breathe.       his chest hurts.       he is so scared.

Mason shuts his eyes tight and tries to cry for help again, but nothing comes out again, and he feels closer and closer to passing out. 

please help me! the claws grip him tighter. HELP ME! further down, further down. PLEASE!

Mason jolts, waking up in the middle of the upstairs hall, drenched in sweat, gasping for air, tears pouring down his reddened face. he looks down. where is the blood? where are the eyes, the teeth, the claws? as he searches, the child stumbles back and reaches both hands up, pushing them over his mouth as a powerful wave of terror and distress smacks right into him, sobs spilling from him while everything really sets in. his knees wobble and he falls back onto his butt, bringing his legs up to his heaving chest.

            SILENCE  ..  there house lies dormant.   car doors slam before engine roars to life signaling parental departure.   standing,  bill examines simple aspects relenting reality.   stepping forward,  sorrow divot memory hone in and he begins remembering details.   simple details   ..   to some.   but to him   :   everything he’s become. 

                LIVING ROOM. 

          WELCOMING  ..   isn’t is supposed to be   ?     ..     saturday morning cartoons often offered tradition.   MIGHTY MOUSE PLAYHOUSE   !    reruns capturing little one’s attention.   canopy fort still lies untouched from friday evening disney movies   ..   their latest was peter pan   !     eagerly awaiting,  nine fifty five does the clock count down.          ❛           —— hurry up,  billy   !     you’re gonna miss it   !          ❜          calls from beneath blanketed canvas.   unbeknownst to georgie,  the elder denbrough is already creeping around the side of their fort.   steady breaths and he pops out  tackling  his little brother.   descending, screams and squeals omit from lips.   delicate fingertips casually ruffle   (   tickling   )   each side.   few moments pass before   ..   mister trouble never hangs around when he hears this mighty sound.  ‘here i come to save the day.’   that means that mighty mouse is on his way  !     there’s a gasp and their quickly seated and singing along.          ❛           —— y  ..  yes sir,  when there is a w  ..  wrong to right mighty mouse will join the fight   !          ❜        /      ..   decorative pillows lie untouched.   unforgiving.   unrelenting.   blankets folded up and discarded.   he sighs   ..   before footsteps carry. 

                             KITCHEN. 

            WARMTH   ..   teetering upon wooden stools and countertops  :  eagerness  . carefully,  georgie holds ceramic bowl steady as bill steers.   sunlight emanates beyond curtain wake.   summertime songbirds chorus beyond window’s crack.   speckles of flour dot freckle dusted facades.   giggling and hushed simpers welcoming anyone passing the threshold.            ❛           —— there  ..  i th  ..  th  ..  think it’s all ready   ?             ❜            comforting smell of freshly baked cookies accompany.   glancing around,  lips curve into a mischievous smile.          ❛           —— hey   ..  i know m  ..  mom says not to have cookie dough raw b  ..  b  ..  but   ?            ❜           petite fingertips casually canvas and dish out the tiniest lump of cookie dough before popping it.   sweet taste.   soft texture.   bill laughs.   watching,  georgie tenderly fishes out his own piece before   ..   GEORGE ELMER   !     ..   ceramic bowl almost clatters downward as mother makes her appearance.   swiftly,  he’s popped his own ball of dough and their laughing combines.   /     ..   now,  moonlight scampers across counter surfaces.   kissing cleanly surfaces where flour and debris sheltered.   swallowing thickly   ..    bill turns and walks upstairs. 

                                  BILL’S ROOM. 

             FAMILIARITY  ..   covers pulled across himself,  lightning flickers.   flashlight illuminates pages as he reads.   cat in the ha t  ..   the sun did not shine.   it was too wet to play.   for a moment,  door’s subtle creaking capture attention.   if his parents found out he was up   ?     ..     casually,  flashlight diminishes and he’s pulling sheet free.   georgie’s face appears beside him   ..   anxiety riddled his poor self.            ❛           ——  d  ..   did the storm wake you   ?           ❜          softly mumbles and he’s greeted with a nod.   scooting himself back,  headboard offers himself steady prop up and he beckons.           ❛           ——  c’mere   ..          ❜            just in time,  simple frame hops upon bedding and nestles against bill’s chest.   leaning back,  bill lowers the book between the two.   once again,  lightning illuminates shadowing darkness and thunder rumbles.   smaller frame begins quaking beneath and bill is quick for distraction.          ❛           —— so all we could do was to sit  !   ..   sit  !    ..   sit  !   ..   sit  ! and we did not like it.   not one little bit.    and then s  ..  something went bump  !   ..          ❜            looping arms protectively around his brother,  stuffed turtle is pulled closer.          ❛           —— how that b  ..  b  ..  bump made us jump  !  we looked  !    then we saw him step in on the mat  !     w  ..  we looked  !      and we saw him  !      the cat in the hat  !                  ❜      /     ..   empty.   hollow.   foreign.   lost puzzle piece jagged against the grooves   ..   attention shifts over his shoulder.   pivoting,  hallway’s floorboards whine underneath his weight.   reaching the closed door,  knob turns and slowly  ..  achingly gradual  ..  heartbreak creeps. 

             GEORGIE’S ROOM. 

             SORROW   ..   every memory shrouding georgie’s room seemed muddled away by melancholia and depression.   nights,  their mother’s wailing echoes beyond hallway’s reach.   subtle sobs of their father’s grieving and even his own.   creeping beyond threshold,  slender frame lowers against bed frame.   he recollects darker memories now shrouding.   /    ..   fingertips rise and hacking cough shivers frame.   having offered his sibling somber goodbye.   he’d watched georgie’s shadow disappear  :  chasing.   one hour  ..  two.   fingertips wrap against walkie talkie’s button.             ❛           ——  h  ..  how’s she floatin’,  cap   ?  ..   over.             ❜            waiting with baited breath   ..   nothing comes through.   perhaps,  he’s still chasing down his toy.            ❛           ——  come in,  captain.              ❜              ..    nothing.             ❛           ——  georgie.   come in,  over.              ❜                static.   radio silence.   deafening quiet.   knotting stomach cramp sinks lower and lower.   something’s wrong   ?       ..       he’s always responded immediately.   tossing off covers,  nauseous hits but focus recovers as bill bolts passed doorway.   something’s wrong.   something’s happened.   where was georgie   ..   /   it’s your fault. 

               SICKNESS  slowly qualms as bile creeps.   perhaps,   if you’d gone out with him  ..  you could have saved him  ..  suddenly,  headlights dance across bedroom walls and he’s heart drops.   if your parents found you here  ..  you’d scold you.   they’d scream at you.   swiftly moving,  palms smooth out wrinkles and folds within bed’s quilt.   dashing toward the door,  there’s one brief check before closing the door  ..  everything remains intact. 

who is she?

branded with a reputation of the town slut, the reproachful eyes of fellow female classmates constantly on her back. the boys hold the belief that she is easy when the sheer truth is that her virginity remains intact. she is an enigma. a girl marked with lies and rumors and petty gossip.

said enigma status remains even when she joins the losers club and meets boys who don’t think she’s an object to be desired. of course they initially stare with dropped jaws and red cheeks but over time, they look at her as if she is a human being. the answer to the question of what a teenage girl is remains simple. she is a human being.

she has spent her entire life scared of her femininity as if it were a curse that had been placed upon her. her fears are not monsters or anything fictional. they’re terribly real. she bleeds. she burns.