#fatedruin

@fatedruin​ sent ' sometimes, you just get lucky. ' from this meme.

       “ is  that  what  you  are?   𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘? ”

              she  doubts  it.   it’s  not  as  though  she  has  a  stellar  track  record  when  it  comes  to  judging  character ;  even  before  meeting  claudia  and  vincent,  heather  leaned  toward  the  defensive.   harry  gave  her  space,  but  he  had  always  been  protective.   turns  out  he  had  a  good  reason.

              ( she  carries  the  stun  gun  as  a  habit  now,  although  the  pocket  knife  still  makes  her  feel  more  secure.   too  little  too  late,  perhaps,  but  she  wishes  she  had  taken  his  caution  more  seriously  before . . . )  

@fatedruin​ ------ ANNE CUNNINGHAM / MEME. ' maybe i didn’t treat you quite as good as i should have. '

      “what gave you that idea?” before she has time to dwell on their past--- there’s plenty to dwell on, plenty of reasons why she might have treated him with a little less than a common level of respect--- he takes her chin in his hand, gingerly tipping it upward. there’d been no way for her to understand, and she’d been blinded by the same things he’d been blinded by. ANGER. GRIEF. REVENGE. he can’t blame her for that, not when just about every major decision in his life since the loss of his son had been made with that same blind, indifferent rage. maybe she’s finding it harder to be more gentle with him than he’s finding it to be with her; that’s fine.

             the  question  brings  her  to  an  abrupt  stop.    cheryl  turns  on  her  heel,  boots  crunching  on  broken  cement,  and  her  brows  furrow,  uncomprehending.

                                              “ what?  when did i say THAT? ”

            from  her  pocket,  she  produces  a  crude  map  scrawled  onto  the  back  of  a  faded  flier.    rough  lines  mark  amendments  made  to  her  often  inaccurate  renderings,  and  a  series  of  scribbles  and  heavy  x’s  designate  areas  she  has  deemed  inaccessible  or  pointless.    it’s  a  grim  illustration  of  their  current  situation.    she’s  just  as  lost  as  he  is.

            ‘ follow  me ’ hadn’t  been  some  promise  to  guide  him  to  safety ; she  has  simply  covered  more  ground,  and  brad’s  presence  is  a  welcome  advantage  over  going  it  alone.

             “ i’m  actually  PRETTY GOOD  at  not  dying, ”  cheryl  promises.    despite  her  insistence,  her  wary  eyes  refuse  to  stray  from  the  lanky  being  at  her  feet.    at  first  glance,  she  might  have  lumped  it  in  with  the  creatures  she  had  faced  just  over  a  year  ago  --  but  no.  this  is . . .  something  else. 

             the  temptation  to  take  another  shot,  or  at least  give  the  apparent  corpse  one  good  kick,  bears  all  the  strength  of  a  habit,  but  she  chooses  to  trust  chris’  suggestion.

𝐘𝐎𝐔    𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄    to    fight    back    ,        don’t    you    ?        with    all    your    spiked    shoulders    and    leather    ,        and    your    shit    -    kicking    boots    ;        a    bonafide    bootlegged    badass    ,        with    no    bite    (    even    with    your    fangs    )    .        but    you’re    much    too    meek    for    that    shit    ,        and    you    depend    on    that    appearance    to    keep    anyone    who    would    try    anything    to    stay    a    wide    distance    from    you    .        it    works    ,        most    of    the    time    -        on    the    negative    people    ,        and    the    positive    ;        because    the    thing    with    driving    people    away    is    that    it    doesn’t    discriminate    who    it    repels    .       

but    it    seems    that    your    nightly    excursion    out    to    some    late    night    local    hot    spot    (    to    feel    less    lonely    )    has    attracted    some    sort    of    attention    -        and    that    makes    you    anxious    .        sure    ,        you’re    used    to    weird    looks    (    and    the    occasional    holler    of    is    it    halloween    already    ?    )    but    it    doesn’t    make    being    the    focus    of    someone’s    attention    any    less    uncomfortable    .        you    look    at    them    ,        then    quickly    back    to    your    boots    -        then    back    ,        and    down    again    .        should    you    say    something    ?        probably    not    -        ❛❛    hey    ,    ❜❜        you    say    anyways    ,        and    kick    yourself    for    it    .        ❛❛    you    ,        uh    ,        from    here    ?    ❜❜

he’s blinking the sleep back, looking over chad’s face in a dim living room. aftermath of party surrounds them—empty bottles and remnants of the only ways they could stand to cope with this town. elbows and palms bring him upright on the couch, legs coming to cross under him so he can face the other boy. a pause, and he frowns a little. “don’t be,” he answers, low and drowsy. and eyebrows furrow down in quiet concern. “...bad dream?” 

sleepless nights are not new; nights when there was something in his head that wanted to take him to the bottom of a lake, through shattered glass and rainwater grave. years pass and don’t make the twisting bones of psychosis easier to swallow. since he was twelve, these were things he had made boxes for. but to chad, wound is new, a broken window and a glass house—he wishes he knew what to say. he’s not sure he ever will. you're sorry this happened. you're just sorry.

          “ what can i say?  i’m a MYSTERIOUS WOMAN. ”

          the dismissal is playful, but it’s a dismissal all the same.  bee seems to make a point not to be forthcoming, at least when it comes to the important things, like what had happened to her after she’d gone missing from the passenger seat of his car two days ago.

          he’d been a stranger to her when she asked him for a ride -- for all intents and purposes, that was still true, although conversation between them had come quite easily.  even so, today she’d slipped into that same seat as though they were long time friends.

         “ -- i won’t.  i’m stronger than that now. ”

           at least, THAT’S WHAT SHE TELLS HERSELF.  her change of heart reintroduced her to a world beyond her computer, and the part of that world she is most thankful for is certainly the phantom thieves.  yusuke, in particular, has made it easier to open up.  what she knows to be her own bizarre quirks, he seems to see as expressive.

                                MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE HE’S JUST AS WEIRD AS SHE IS.

           in truth, she’s still weaker than she’d like -- weak enough some days to want to lock herself back in her room, cut off from the rest of the world all over again.  but she has something important now, something she can’t stand to lose.  she wonders if he even knows how much it matters to her.