#✎ . . . ❛ the versions of our lives we imagined ❜ . answered
✎ . . . ❛ “Okay, very funny, asshole. I’m spooked, okay? You win.” ❜ . @fearhermind
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏, the good kind and the bad kind. you never, ever wanted to hear the bad kind but naturally, it happened and naturally, finn would always come running. when he gets to the camp bathroom, he finds it wedged shut with a screwdriver, but no perpetrator in sight. yanking the tool out and dropping it onto the ground, finn pries the door open. “ holy sh…. ” his eyes widen, taking in the mess around elena. “ what happened to you? ”
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✎ . . . ❛ I am not worth dying for. ❜ . @naivetm
“ no one’s gonna die here, allie. not tonight. ” yet as he says the words, deep in his core there was uncertainty. many had already died and something told him this night was nowhere close to being over. 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐊. 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐊. 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐊. the sound of the axe against the wooden door was a death march, a countdown to their gruesome ends. “ here’s what we’re gonna do. i’m gonna open the door and you’re gonna 𝐑𝐔𝐍 as fast as you can. as FAR as you can. you’re gonna get on the bus and get out of here and i’ll be right behind you, okay? ”
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* @levered , " why are you helping me? "
𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩? Why did the sun shine? Why did birds chirp? Why did the globe spin? Easy. Because it was the right thing to do. The only thing that made sense. When the other option was to let others suffer, why would he choose anything else?
He says none of this, however. Instead, he opts to arrange the scattered stars of his thoughts into one constellation comprised of less than ten words: “Do you not want me to help you?”
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𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. 𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬. Never having a mother of his own, Mrs. Lahey was the closest he had come to knowing what it was like to be loved by one. Even in her last days, she was beautiful, kind and caring: everything he had ever hoped for in a mother. Often times, he felt an�� overwhelming sense of jealousy when he looked at Isaac and his family. Then, guilt. Though Mrs. Lahey had always been kind to him, Isaac had probably told her how he had no family, Finn always felt guilt when receiving her kindness. Isaac and Camden were her sons, not him. Some people just got lucky.
“ I used to be so jealous of you, you know, ” Finn admits quietly, picking up a pebble and tossing it across the surface of the water. It skips once, twice, three, four times until it stops, plummeting to the bottom of the pond. “ And your family. I wanted that so bad. I felt like an outsider sometimes. ”
/ 🖊 , @egocrsh ( for isaac )
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𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝, 𝐡𝐞'𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬. as soon as his fingers would even graze against porcelain flesh, they would be slapped away. sharp, angry words, as if he had done something wrong were flung in his face. accusations that made his eyes sting with tears he was not allowed to have. ( if they were unnatural, why were they bred into him? ) for a boy who had so much to give the world, he spent a lot of time and energy pushing so much of himself down.
now that he was older, he knew there was nothing wrong with him. an ample curiosity in dolls meant neither one thing nor another. he was secure enough in himself, and his friendship with allie, to live without fear. “ this one kind of looks like you, ” grinning crookedly, he picks up a blonde doll with a round face, doe-like baby blue eyes, and rosy cheeks.
his fingers do not sting when he touches it. the hair on the back of his neck does not prickle with the fear of being struck. “ maybe the shop keeper saw you and spent all night making it just for you. maybe you’re his muse. ” fingers brush against the tulle of the doll’s blue underskirt. “ you should get it, ” finn decides, holding it out to her, “ unless you’re afraid of dolls or something.”
/ 🖊 , @loetise
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𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 except Miss Hannigan, the woman who ran the boys home. It was ironic, really, and even more than that it was a red flag. Surely, no one would place children in a home with a woman who shared the name of notorious child hater. Those are just stories, Finnegan, he would be scolded. But no one knew that the pages of books, the words etched on pages, the characters dancing from line to line were more real to him than anything out there.
Whenever they misbehaved, or when she grew tired of looking at them, it was into The Closet they went. Finn, being the smallest of the bunch, the kindest, the easiest to pick on, spent the most time there. Often, he welcomed it more than having to spend time and effort to avoid the other kids. In the dim light, sometimes he could read one his favorite books. Once she found out what he was doing, she took the lightbulb out. There were hours, days even he spent in the closet with no concept of time, no one who cared he was there, just the stale air pressing on his chest. No sound but his shallow breathing and laughing of the other children.
Here, in this closet now, with the others laughing on the other side of it, he’s a kid again. It doesn’t matter that he could come out if he wanted to. It doesn’t matter that this is not Miss Hannigan’s home, it’s a party at a friend’s house. He’s not being punished, he’s being hazed, just another part of the joining the lacrosse team rituals. He may be older now, but he’s just as scared, just as cold, wondering what he did wrong. A familiar voice snaps him out of his spiral, eyes flicking up to the door, “ Scott? Scott, you gotta let me out of here, please. Please, I can’t take it anymore. ”
/ 🖊 , @turneds
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✎ . . . ❝ I know that you’re tryna be friends. ❞ . @edithmaslow , accepting
“ well i think everyone could use a friend or two, ” hands shoved in his pockets, finn hops over fallen tree branches and thick tree trunks as if he was born to do it. balance came as easily as breathing for him. he tilts his head in edith’s direction, a lop-sided grin on his face. “ but if you want me to go so you can be all alone in the big, scary woods, just let me know. i’ll get outta your hair. i can take a hint. ”
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