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the-hopeless-haze · 4 years ago

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A Dwindling, Mercurial High

Pairing: Elliot Stabler/reader

A/N: Okay so I had a dream about Stabler the other night and he’s my original SVU crush (sorry Barba) and I had “Illicit Affairs” stuck in my head the whole day after so I had to write this. Thank you to @caked-crusader and @detective-giggles for encouraging my insanity lol!

Content Warning: NSFW due to sex. Brief mentions of cases that Elliot is working on. Infidelity.

The first time you met Elliot, it was because Dickie had a bad asthma attack and had to be hospitalized overnight. You were fresh out of nursing school, more anxious than confident, and it was a night from hell in that pediatric ward, maybe the worst you’d seen in the couple months since you’d started working. The charge nurse could only start one thing before she was asked to help with something else, two nurses called out and only one could cover, and everyone had at least a three-patient assignment. Suffice it to say tensions were high on that floor, and because Dickie wasn’t the sickest of your patients, you didn’t get to see him as often as you should have. Doing your best felt akin to doing nothing, and every time you came in the room, you apologized you hadn’t been able to come in fifteen minutes ago.

Elliot and Kathy told you it was okay and that they’d been through this before and knew what to expect. But it wasn’t really okay, you knew that. No one wanted to think that their nurse was too busy taking care of other sick children to pay attention to theirs.

Needless to say, you were far too busy that night to pay much attention to Elliot that night, but it wouldn’t be the last time you saw him, so maybe it didn’t matter. Still, sometimes you want to remember that glance that started everything because you have so little to hold onto.

You nearly have a heart attack the next week when your nurse manager says an NYPD detective needs to speak with you, and you nearly have another when you see Elliot’s face. You’ll remember the glance vividly this time; you look down at the linoleum hospital floor before finally sweeping your eyes across his face. He’s not mad; you can tell he’s the kind of man who’d let you know if he was angry, so you try to still your shaking hands.

“I just wanted to let you know Dickie’s doing a lot better,” he says, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

“Um, you’re welcome. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help—"

“Don’t beat yourself up, kid. It was a madhouse in here that night. Besides, I know it was you who got the doctor to switch his meds. They’re working a lot better now. He can actually sleep through the night.”

“Well, that’s great!” you say brightly, genuinely feeling a lot better about that night now. “Did you really come out all this way just to tell me?”

He chuckles, shakes his head. “No. I’m working. Victim’s getting a rape kit done here, so I thought I’d see if I could find you while I wait.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes widening. “What unit do you work on?”

“Special Victims. I’d say I hope I see you around, but I really don’t want my work to bring me to this floor.”

“Me neither. I sincerely hope I never see you again,” you say, smiling, and he smiles back, claps you on the shoulder and thanks you again before leaving.

“He was hot,” Tammy, your best friend on the ward, says as she comes over. “And he came back to see you. Maybe you should ask him out?”

“Well, he’s married,” you laugh. “All the DILFs are. Wives don’t wanna let that go.”

And you really thought that was that. You did have your fair share of DILFs come through that floor, and on slower shifts you’d fantasize about what it would be like to be the other woman, especially when couples would argue to the point of tears. Sure, tensions were always high when children were ill, but those screaming matches were always the result of a more systemic issue within their relationship. Some marriages were destined to fall apart, and sometimes it was exhilarating to dream about being the catalyst, even if you’d never actually act on it. No harm done in imagining yourself with a man you’d only see once in your life.

But you’d see Elliot again in a few months when his job did in fact bring him to your floor. He’s accompanied by a brunette woman, who you later learn is his partner, Olivia. You have no idea how they do their jobs. Sick kids you could handle, but children that had been abused, that were put into that hospital bed, not by the hands of a virus or disease process but by the hands of an adult... it was enough to turn your stomach. But now, at least, you had a direct line to call whenever you thought something iffy was going on between a family, as Elliot gave you his card. He said he trusts your judgment. You tried to suppress your heart fluttering. You’re too young to be having palpitations, but you can’t help staring at him longingly the whole time he’s there talking to the doctor, and you hope neither he nor Olivia notices. He just cared so much, and there’s nothing that gets the ovaries into action like seeing a man that protective over children.

You have to realize, though, that he was just being nice, and he just wanted another set of eyes out there to make sure no one got away with hurting children. You were all too happy to fill that role, anyway. It was a noble one. It had nothing to do with you specifically, and you had to be okay with that.

But fate is a funny thing, because even though you dated around throughout the next couple years, even though you had plenty of other things to occupy your time... Elliot always came back into your life somehow. Just when you thought you forgot about him, it seemed like he was waltzing onto your floor, or, god forbid, there was a child’s family you wanted him to speak to and make sure was alright.

Most times he came empty-handed and almost every time he came with Olivia, but on occasion, he’d show up by himself and with two coffees. And you grew up a little in those couple of years, even if you never grew past harboring your little crush on Elliot. You lost your anxiety that came with being a fledgling nurse and enrolled in a nurse practitioner program. You had your heart broken a few times and you broke a few hearts of your own. You moved out of your parent’s apartment and got your own place.

As for Elliot? Those years didn’t treat him as kindly. He wasn’t growing up as much as he was going down. Kathy wanted to leave him, he felt like he was losing touch with his kids, and his career path only fueled the anger that gnawed at him day after day and night after night. How the hell did his life get this fucked?

Of course, you weren’t privy to this information until he punched a hospital wall. It was a long night, and one of the children he rode on the ambulance with didn’t make it. You were upset, too, of course, even though he wasn’t your patient, and you couldn’t wait to get out of here and cry over a bottle of wine. But when Elliot’s fist connected with the wall, you knew your night was going to end much differently.

“(Y/n)! Are you busy? I need you to take your cop friend out of here. We don’t want the parents seeing that. Go! Clean up his hand and make sure he’s billed for that wall,” the doctor barks at you. “You gonna move?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it, Doc,” you murmur, but you’re frozen in place at the nurse’s station. You can’t help staring at Elliot as he steps out of the room, with his chest heaving, his hand bloodied, his blue eyes ablaze. Eventually, your legs cooperate with you again, and you nod at him, motioning for him to follow you down the hallway. You grab some gauze and alcohol from the supply closet on the way and lead him into an empty room, taking his hand in yours. “Can you make a fist for me? I need to see if it’s broken.”

Elliot doesn’t say anything; he barely even looks at you, but he does as you ask.

“Okay. Good. You're just gonna be a little sore. You can relax it now. The alcohol is going to sting—“

“I know,” he says hollowly.

“I’m sorry. You’re the oldest patient I’ve had since I was in school,” you say, feeling your face flush as you grab the alcohol and wipe his knuckles. "This isn't the first time you've attacked a wall, then, hm?"

Elliot shoots you a withering look and you swallow thickly. Was he going to yell at you now? Thankfully, he sighs and the anger in his eyes fades. "Listen. I'm sorry you had to be here for that.”

"It's alright. I've seen worse. And I know it's tough, Elliot," you say. "Everyone handles grief differently."

"It ever get any easier for you?"

"No," you whisper, letting your hair fall in front of your eyes so he can't see them well up with tears as you lean over to bandage his hand. "Guess it never does. I don't get angry; I just get depressed. You don't want to get desensitized to it, though. I'd rather see people punch walls than not care."

Your breath catches in your throat as he pushes your hair back with his good hand, and he keeps it there on the side of your cheek. All this time, in the four years of knowing this man, and he'd never touched you like this. Come to think of it, you never exactly stood this close to him, either. Your relationship was always professional, despite all the times you wished it wasn't. Wasn't there a reason you two kept ending up in the same rooms? Wasn't there a reason you ended up in this one, alone? And you could get drunk off his scent, couldn’t you? The slight musk of sweat from his earlier exertion, the woodsy headiness of his cologne, the hint of spearmint on his breath from his mouthwash... it was all too much, and it’s all you have in you to not lean into his touch, to not lean over and press your mouth to his...

“Elliot—“

"Don't talk," he murmurs. "Unless you want to stop me. Do you?”

You wouldn’t dare.

When your lips finally do connect, it's electric, even though the only thing running through the back of your mind is how you'd probably be fired if anyone stepped into the room at this moment. You can't very well deny yourself what you've been wanting on and off for years, though, even if it’s wrong. His hands grab your waist and yours find purchase on his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex underneath you as he moves you to straddle his thigh. You have to try very hard not to search for that friction your whole body aches for, not yet, not when you don’t know how far he wants to take this and when you’re still on the clock.

“When do you get off?” he asks, and you both chuckle at the unintended double-entendre.

“At eleven.”

“Come have a drink with me.”

“I don’t want a drink. I want to continue this,” you purr, getting off his lap to fix the bandage and tape it down.

“You sure?”

“Elliot, I thought you’d never ask me. I would’ve been sure four years ago,” you say, feeling slightly guilty at that, but it was true. The more you saw of him without his wife and children the easier it was to forget that they were the reason you met him in the first place. And if at any time he kissed you like that? You know you’d be putty in his hands just like you were now. “You don’t need to go back to the precinct?” You don’t dare ask about home. Selfishly, you don’t want that to cross his mind.

“I’ll be back here by eleven.”

It’s another breathless kiss before you’re out the door, heading back to finish your shift.

“The hell are you all red for, (y/n)?” Tammy asks as you round the corner.

“Nothing,” you say. “Just ran up here. You need anything?”

“Ran up here? Weren’t you taking care of... oh. You’re playing with fire, girl,” she says, smirking.

“Shut up,” you say, but you can’t force your cheeks to cool down. “Nothing happened.”

“Mm. Be careful. He’s still married, isn’t he?”

You wouldn’t listen. You were only after chasing that high, even if it was only born to die in front of your eyes. —- You’re straining against your handcuffs, and you can’t see Elliot at all through the blindfold, but you can feel his hands and his mouth, hot and heavy, touching you everywhere. You have no clue where to focus, and you still can’t quite believe he’s here in your apartment. Part of you expected him to stand you up and realize that he should be going home instead of taking you to bed. But he either didn’t have that epiphany or he didn’t care - and you were desperate enough for him that you’d take either - and so began your first illicit meeting.

“I told you to stop pulling at those, baby,” Elliot says, his tone stern. “You’re going to make yourself bleed.”

“Maybe if you gave me what I wanted, I wouldn’t have to—“

He cuts you off with a firm kiss, and you can feel his cock hard against your thigh, and not being able to see only heightens the sensation. “You gonna give me attitude, baby? I don’t think so. Why don’t you relax? I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna take my time though. Been four years of seeing your ass in those tight scrubs and not being able to do fucking anything about it.”

“You noticed me…. Like that?”

“You think I’d be here if I didn’t? Don’t act innocent now. You know what you do to me.”

Of course, you had noticed him looking at you sometimes, but you never let yourself read into it, but now, everything was coming back to you and… oh, fuck, finally he slips two fingers into your entrance and you’re drawn out of your thoughts, arching your back as he drags his fingers across your walls, painstakingly slow.

“You’re fucking soaking, baby girl,” he grunts. “You think you can take three? Mm. Gonna stretch you out a little.”

His bandaged hand comes to still your hips and you can’t believe he’s fucking you this good with his non-dominant hand, his thumb flicking against your clit every so often, those little shocks of pleasure bringing you closer to the million little deaths you deserved. Sometimes you’d feel his mouth where you’d least expect it, too, his tongue licking a trail up your stomach to take your nipple in his mouth or his teeth and tongue working on leaving a mark on your collarbone.

“Please. So close, El,” you pant, rolling your hips in vain.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it, come on, let go, baby,” Elliot growls in your ear. “Just let go.”

And you do, falling apart with his name on your lips before he kisses you again, swallowing down all your moans and whimpers, his hands leaving your lower body to find purchase in your hair.

“You good?” he asks, barely pulling away from your mouth.

“So good,” you gasp, straining upward to press your lips to his again.

“Gonna fuck you now, baby, that okay?”

“More than okay.”

You’re so wet he doesn’t meet much resistance, but you’re still sensitive from your orgasm so soon before, and combined with the fact that you can’t see or touch him - it was almost too much at once.

“Oh fucking hell,” Elliot grunts. “You good?”

“Yes. Please start fucking moving,” you whine. “Fuck me hard.”

You can tell he needs that; he needs to let go of all his pent-up anger and frustration, and you didn’t really care if at the expense of that you couldn’t walk tomorrow. You’d do anything, anything for just the chance to occupy a sliver of his life.

And God, once given permission, he doesn’t hold back at all. He sets a brutal pace, the bed shaking and moving in tandem with the force of his thrusts. You can’t see him, obviously, but you can feel the weight on the bed shift and his angle change as he grips the headboard, driving into you so roughly you think you might black out. He starts grunting softly with every thrust, and then, oh - you feel him move back down, his lips catching yours and his hands cupping your breasts and it’s all you can do to fight with your body not to come yet; you want to come with him, experience this high together.

“Fuck, (y/n), so good,” he groans, his tongue running over the bruise he’d sucked onto your skin earlier, and you whimper in response. “So fucking good for me, taking my cock so good. Knew you’d be fucking amazing.”

If his dirty talk wasn’t enough to send you over the edge, well, he adjusts his angle with a particularly strong thrust of his hips and you’re pulling on the handcuffs again, the sting as they slice into your wrists a sharp contrast to the impending pleasure - if you could just hold on - and thankfully, Elliot’s panting brusquely in your ear that he’s close, that you should let go again. Coming together is a beautiful euphoria - one that was desperately needed after the night you had, after the four years of longing stares that neither of you, apparently, knew was reciprocated until now. But like the end of all highs, you have to come down at some point. Elliot lifts the blindfold and looking into his eyes for the first time since he stripped you naked, you can’t help but feel like a fucking mess. But you know you’d do it again, and again, and again...

“I told you not to pull at those,” he tsks, leaning over to unlock the handcuffs and free your wrists. “You’re bleeding, (y/n).”

And, like some bad deja vu, Elliot’s cleaning your wounds with alcohol like you did for him only hours prior.

And after, he stays and talks with you a little, mentions vaguely his marriage is going downhill, which you could have easily figured out yourself, and when you wake up in the morning, he’s gone without a trace. You had to expect that he couldn’t stay, and you wonder what lie he fed his wife. You wonder if she believed it. Was this just a one time thing? Maybe you just both needed to get this out of your system, as almost half a decade of sexual tension needed to be dealt with somehow.

But no. Like always, you see him again, and on most occasions, now, he ends up tangled in your bedsheets. It feels like you’re always competing with other women for Elliot’s attention, whether it be Kathy or Olivia. But you take solace in the fact that you’re the only one he’s going to fuck like this. Olivia’s his partner, and that relationship is already too close for comfort to bring sex into. And if he came home with handcuffs and a blindfold to his wife, she’d drag his ass to therapy. You’re the only woman in his life that he can use for this, and that thought alone could get you high, could get you off. And sometimes, that feels like all he’s using you for, a sense of release for the moments when he doesn’t want to be at home and he can’t be at work. But other times - he lets you in, tells you jokes, tells you stories - and in some ways you’ve never felt this close to another person. He played such a different role in all the other areas of his life - but with you - he didn't have to play one, and sometimes you caught a glimpse of the man he was before all his burdens were placed onto his shoulders. You know you’ll never have a relationship like this with anyone else.

And for that reason, you’ll always answer the phone when he calls, even if you ruin yourself every time. You would for him. You always would for him.

#elliot stabler x reader #elliot stabler #svu fanfiction #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order: special victims unit #law & order svu #idk man don't ask me #the cogs just started turning and idk #i don't think he'd ever cheat on kathy lol but fuck it

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frederickthegreat · 4 years ago

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my thoughts on TUA season 2

(spoilers, obviously)

- opened with Klaus and Ben, my kings. Klaus’s hair looks so weird straightened while short

- AWESOME opening soundtrack

- seeing all their powers so controlled makes me wonder how they leveled up to that skill in the alternate timeline. like the only time we saw Klaus use the powers of other ghosts in the correct timeline was when two of them caught him falling out of the sky. however Diego did end up controlling bullets and Allison used her voice to technically kill one of the Swedes

- the homeless man screaming Allison’s name alongside Luther... funny shit

- big teddy bear Hazel

- Elliot was fucking awesome i think he was a great addition as a side character. rip tho :(

- honestly i don’t understand why Diego would WANT to save JFK. like it’s not that big of a deal. does he not understand what messing with the timeline can do??

- Lila... impeccable

- Sissy and Vanya... impeccable <3

- yeah and fuck u Carl

- ugh, Klaus’s beard. disgusting <3

- Ben and Klaus definitely act like they should be, given that they’ve been stuck with each other for over a decade. i’ve seen some people calling Klaus an asshole for not telling his siblings about Ben, which is completely understandable (cause he was an asshole), but I’m guessing it was because he was afraid? that sharing Ben with his siblings would mean that he would lose him to them, or his siblings would find him selfish, or they would ask something of him that he couldn’t give. if that makes sense

- that ghost bitch comment was funny tho

- to the guy who called Klaus pretty boy at the bar: sir you don’t know what you’re getting into

- Raymond!! he’s such a sweetheart, i really liked him in the show. i’m really happy that Allison has found a bit of normalcy (as normal as the 1960s Civil Rights movement could be). it shows how passionate she is about what she believes in: even though she knows the movement is far from over, even back in 2019, she’s not gonna abandon it

- Allison staring at the moon every night: either thinking about Luther or how the moon blows them all up. maybe both

- of course Luther would be working for Jack Ruby

- awesome cinematography during the mental asylum escape

- yeah it makes sense that the Handler would still be alive. she was a cool villain. although it would’ve been awesome to see how evil a fish could be

- Diego’s plan was pretty stupid. that’s my boy

- honestly they revealed how Klaus started a cult really well by having one of his followers find him at jail. Klaus, ever the musical aficionado, of course writes his scripture based off of pop songs

- Raymond and Klaus meeting!! that was cool to see how their paths connected

- Lila painting Elliot’s toenails green. ugh i love that crazy bitch

- i LOVE how they incorporated the umbrella man!! tbh i’ve always believed he was the one behind the assassination. Lee Harvey Oswald was framed

- honestly a bit understandable that Luther was planning on killing Vanya? cause he had no idea who she is now, but them reuniting was actually really sweet. he’s grown up so much

- the Swedes and their cats.

- the Umbrella company building with the nuclear family mannequins... creepy, awesome shit

- baby pogo baby pogo baby pogo baby pogo

- shanked diego shanked diego shanked diego shanked diego

- did anyone else get vibes from Klaus’s episode opening that he was an escort to the old woman? like how he was being shown off at her arm or something and getting out of jail from a call from the governor. idk maybe the lady was just very taken with him, as anyone would be

- Elliot, our helpful king

- Allison and Klaus’s reunion was so sweet!! i’m so glad they got to interact so much more in this season

- Ben getting Raymond out through a haunting... hilarious

- sweet intimate moment between Lila and Diego

- Ray meeting Luther was hilarious, but i do feel for the poor guy. i mean i’m not in love with my adoptive sister but still

- the sit-in was really well done and beautiful while terrible. the ‘riot’ that ensued was very appropriate for today’s setting

- D-Dave

- honestly i was scared that Klaus was gonna be overly attracted to him or whatever, which would be weird cause he’s years younger than Klaus, but honestly, at the core he just wanted to save Dave’s life. even if it means never meeting him in a different timeline. he truly loved Dave. and that ptsd flashback was done so well

- i knew Lila wasn’t trustworthy but i didn’t REALLY expect that!

- Vanya and Luther talking with each other, Luther admitting the apocalypse wasn’t all her fault. beautiful

- the Majestic 12 reminds me of the conspiracy theory that only a few families control basically everything in the world. the Majestic 12 may be based off of that, idk

- idk about everyone else but Klaus’s scorpion and the frog story made total sense to me! frogs ARE bitches

- the diner scene.... ugh. it really shows that the two of them did fall in love and they did stupid in love things, like talking about their family, about why Dave wanted to join, favorite colors, favorite foods, etc. however that’s seen later on when Dave visits the compound

- yes it’s very disheartening when Klaus is attacked, but honestly i think it had to happen, just like the riot had to happen. the 60s weren’t a fun time for lgbt people and poc. it was only going to be a matter of time before the show HAD to acknowledge the consequences of Klaus’s ‘flamboyancy’ in 1963 Texas. it doesn’t make it right or easy to see, but it’s realistic.

- it also makes sense that Klaus fell off the wagon after experiencing something like that. yes we all would’ve liked him to stay sober, but sobriety and recovery aren’t linear.

- Allison is so happy with Ray can we please drop this pseudo-incest plotline let’s MOVE ON

- Texas Grace ! who is not actually Grace rip (i think? i was a bit confused lol)

- the scene with Harlan running off was really upsetting but we got to see those weird light particles that we saw in the first season

- Pogo Pogo Pogo Pogo

- Klaus being a dick to Ben again, as brothers do. i do feel bad for Ben though it must be sooo frustrating. that scene with him and Allison was really sweet and funny tho

- i just have to say that Luther and Diego are so fucking funny this season it’s awesome. like there are a LOT of good lines overall by everyone but they’re hilarious. “At least he didn’t shank my ass” “no bro, he shanked your heart”“Dads part of a sinister CABAL that’s plotting on killing the president.” “a caBAL?”“You two still a thing? *leans in* do we need to talk?” “No, she’s married.” “Woah dude... that’s rough.” and countless others

- the sibling reunion!!

- Klaus really does get left out of everything tbh

- Ben :(

- sisters and Klaus!! that was so awesome to see. and Klaus’s hairpins, Vanya saying she’s gonna tell Sissy she loves her, their dance sequence, Klaus calling Allison out on that incest. beautiful

- the fucking Swedish cover of Hello was PERFECT i mean i was sad for the Swedes but it was hilarious. there were a couple beautiful shots of the boat on fire though

- god it must’ve been so traumatizing for Allison to be thrust into such a hostile place with no voice and no way to contact her family

- idk about you guys but long live Team Zero

- calling Ben that he was becoming their father was a bit uncalled for

- the fact that Klaus didn’t help Dave’s chances, and in fact escalated Dave’s own timeline.. his trembling hands... robert sheehan is an amazing actor

- the Black president bit lmaoo loved it

- the way Reginald spoke to Diego.. i’m gonna throw hands with an old man

- Klaus LITERALLY looked like he was having a seizure and they all just... played it off??

- poor, poor Carl. nah fuck him lol

- that bloody opening scene was awesome! and thank god Five got to say fuck. the fact that it was about a candy bar makes too much sense

- Robert Sheehan acting as Ben: amazing showstopping spectacular he’s so talented

- the whole multiple Fives and Luther bit was honestly really funny, and i immensely respect smaller Five over bigger Five.

- yes Klaus, you survived a family of seven. you got this

- not sad about Carl dying one bit!

- Ben... that was such a beautiful scene. not just the content of the scene, but the cinematography. Ben fading away... Vanya hugging him... ugh. the main takeaway i had from that scene is that at the core of it all, Ben and Klaus love each other immensely. they have a weird, dysfunctional, fucked up relationship, where Klaus is an asshole and Ben definitely shouldn’t of possessed him without his consent, but they’re still brothers, and Ben forgives him.

- oof Ben’s funeral was hard. also was it just me or did Klaus’s kid actor sound weird? like it sounded like Robert was dubbing his lines

- all the siblings back together again!!!! Klaus going with Vanya to save Harlan!! Vanya telling him Ben forgives him and that it wasn’t Klaus’s fault Ben got stuck with him!! everyone in the car!!! be still my beating heart

- yeah didn’t see Lila having powers coming tbh. i really feel bad for her she’s had such a rough and traumatic life, especially with the Handler as her only parental figure

- the Swede brother and Five putting down their weapons: “enough.” the Swede wanted revenge for his brothers - an eye for an eye, but there was a mutual understanding between the two of them: they would do anything for their family. if the Swede hurts one of the Hargreeves, Five would never stop coming after him. i thought it was very beautiful

- mmm Reggie’s foreshadowing coming into play. proud of u Five

- the ending was so beautiful. everyone got closure in some type of way. except now Klaus is alone with nothing but his dog tags :(

- EMO BEN HAHAHA WTFFF?? is Lila in the sparrow academy? why was Ben’s portrait over the mantle piece? did Five disappear?? is the sparrow academy just older versions of the siblings who stuck around?? so many questions

FINAL THOUGHTS

- Ellen Page’s acting consistently blows me away. she is amazing

- beautiful cinematography, funny writing, pretty good acting. i didn’t like the soundtrack as much as i did the first season’s, but some of it wasn’t bad.

- i’m glad ben got peace, but i’m also glad justin min isn’t gone for good. his social media presence is too vital for us

- i swear to god if they keep treating klaus as a joke and don’t let him get any actual development like everyone else had (he barely got closure with Dave, he reconciled with Ben through a second party) next season, i’m gonna riot. PLEASE i want to learn more about his powers now that Ben is gone. what happened to seeing tons of ghosts when he’s sober??

- Luther and Diego were probably my favorite duo of the season, I’m so happy that they’ve reconciled and are bonding more.

- just seeing Vanya grow and be happy was amazing

all in all, really wonderful season. i probably liked it better than the first one. now it’s time to consume fanfiction and maybe finish my own (check out “god doesn’t want him and neither does the devil” on ao3!)

#the umbrella academy #tua spoilers #tua season 2 spoilers #the umbrella academy season 2 spoilers #the umbrella academy season 2 #tua season 2 #klaus hargreeves #luther hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #allison hargreeves #raymond chestnut #dave katz #diego hargreeves #reginald hargreeves

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angstyaches · 3 years ago

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This is trope anon from before :) It might be interesting to see Elliot put off feeling sick, because he is so caught up taking care of everyone else? He kind of strikes me as a worry about everyone else first kind of guy lol. Then absolutely regretting it later haha

If not Elliot, Ryan also kind of gives me similar vibes

CW: mention of disordered eating/malnourishment, trauma mention, overwork, nausea, emeto, dizziness, blood mention (he’s a vamp, so yeah), pining (for absent partner), platonic/brotherly caretaking

Author’s note: Elliott and Felix are going to be just FINE! They’re not even broken up; Felix is just a little AWOL after a fight they had. I just loooove me some angst.

Elliott’s vision went pitch black for a moment as he stood and waited for the kettle to finish boiling. His stomach lurched so harshly that he almost turned towards the sink, expecting the return of the blood he’d drank for breakfast. Instead, he swallowed, closed his eyes, and breathed in slowly through his nose. He was overexerted, probably. He’d been pushing himself during his and Shayne’s ritualistic “sparring” (or, as Shayne called it, “trying to kick the shit out of each other” or “therapy”) session. Elliott had hoped his supernatural abilities would have begun to manifest by now, seeing as his transition to full vampire was complete. But still, nothing yet. Maybe the stress of Felix being gone was stunting his development. Maybe the stress was adding to how bad he felt.

The kettle clicked, reminding him of why he was standing in the kitchen in the first place. Elliott’s heart sank as he recalled Shayne’s eyes rolling back in his head, his body almost hitting the ground before Elliott could catch him. Turned out the kid had been starving himself again. Elliott would have punched his lights out if they hadn’t already basically been out.

A minute later, Elliott picked up a hot mug and crossed the open-plan kitchen and living area to where he’d left Shayne on the white sofa. He was conscious now, at least, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused.

The mug contained hot, weak tea and a few spoons of the glucose solution Ryan had concocted for Felix’s blood-and-sugar lollipops. Back in the day, when Felix refused blood and couldn’t hold food down, Ryan had fed him the solution like this, and it had kept him from passing out. The smell was so strong that Elliott almost gagged, his body so delicate as to protest merely being in the presence of human sustenance.

Elliott tried to hand Shayne the mug, but his cousin’s hands were so shaky he almost dropped it immediately. Elliott took it back, trying to ignore the fact that his own hands weren’t exactly the steadiest. He brought the rim of the mug to Shayne’s lips.

Shayne made a face and pulled away as soon as he took the first sip. His hand went to his mouth, like he was considering spitting it back out.

“Swallow it.”

A shiver seemed to roll through Shayne’s body as he did. His eyes watered like he was about to cry. “That tastes like shit, El.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for forgetting that you need to eat.”

“I didn’t forget I needed to…” Shayne mumbled. “I’m not stupid.”

“That’s extremely debatable. Drink.”

“I’m gonna be sick.”

“Drink,” Elliott said again, as calmly as he could, “or I’m going to get Ryan.”

The last of the fight went out of Shayne’s eyes. Elliott knew he didn’t want Ryan or Nancy to know things had gotten this bad again.

Victorious but not feeling it, Elliott brought the mug to Shayne’s lips again and again, letting him take small sips. At one point, he covered his mouth again, shoulders jerking forward as he gagged slightly. Elliott’s stomach flipped at the sound and he had to turn his face away until Shayne stopped. He didn’t usually puke from seeing somebody else do it, but he had a bad feeling that if Shayne threw up, he would lose it too.

Shayne shook his head when presented with the mug again. A tentative hand rested on his stomach. “I can’t, El. It’s so heavy.”

Part of Elliott didn’t want to yield so easily, wanted to make him finish the mug. He wondered what Felix would do, or how Charlie would have reacted to that pleading look. Elliott knew he wasn’t soft in the same way they were. He just hoped he wasn’t harsh.

He hoped he wasn’t frightening.

He swallowed against a swell of nausea in his belly. Whatever was gnawing at the pit of his stomach weakened his resolve.

“Okay,” he said, “lie down.”

Shayne gave a small sigh of relief.

Elliott took the mug back to the sink. White floor and wall tiles swayed all around him like he was inside the world’s most colourless kaleidoscope. He slowly breathed in through his nose, leaning on the edge of the countertop to try and introduce some form of balance to his body.

He’d extended the offer to Shayne, but honestly, lying down sounded like an absolute dream to Elliott, too. Maybe his body would stop freaking out if he got a little more rest. His sleeping pattern was completely thrown off, his mind raced in the middle of the night. Felix had star-fished across about forty different mattresses before choosing theirs, and while Elliott had acted like he didn’t care which one they bought, he had ended up agreeing that it was the best mattress he’d ever used. But sleeping there without Felix felt wrong, so his body had been rejecting it as much as physically possible.

Nowadays, he might as well have been sleeping in a wooden coffin like the stereotype dictated.

He turned around to check on Shayne, frowning when he saw that he was still sitting upright on the sofa.

“I thought you were going to try and sleep?”

“I can’t – I can’t,” Shayne whispered, lowering his head into his hands. “El, I – every time I try, I feel like she’s here. Breathing on the back of my neck…”

Guilt churned Elliott’s stomach this time. Elliott felt regrets like cobwebs sticking to his soul, and although he didn’t allow himself many, one of those cobwebs was the feeling that maybe he could have gotten Shayne out of Madelyn’s sooner.

“She’s not getting in here,” Elliott promised. “Ryan will have her head on a stick before letting that happen. Nancy will turn her blood into tar.”

“She doesn’t have to be here, El. She’s already here.” Shayne pressed a finger to either side of his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Jesus, I’m – I’m sorry, man.” Elliott laid a hand on his stomach, stifling a belch since he really didn’t need gas leaving his body to make this moment even more stressful. “What usually helps when this happens?”

As Elliot should have expected, Shayne gave a lifeless shrug. Alright, think, Elliott told himself, swallowing thickly. He’d never seen Shayne warm up to anyone until that day in the park when he’d been clinging to Charlie like his life depended on it. He liked to act tough (and who did he pick that up from, I wonder?), but really, Shayne just didn’t want to be alone.

He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t understand that feeling.

Elliott swallowed again, fighting the lump in his throat and the swirling in the pit of his stomach.

“Want me to sit with you?”

Shayne opened his eyes, looking genuinely surprised.

Elliott sank down on the sofa without waiting for a verbal answer. He hit the cushions a little too quickly for his stomach’s liking. It shifted noisily, semi-digested contents swimming around inside. “Now, if you think you can feel someone breathing on you, you can tell yourself it’s just me.”

“Ugh,” Shayne groaned, curling up on his side so that the top of his head was just next to – scarcely touching – Elliott’s thigh. “Do not breathe on me, man.”

Elliott smiled through his vaguely-concealed discomfort, glad that Shayne wasn’t facing him. “Afraid you’ll catch vampire cooties?”

Shayne didn’t respond beyond a soft groan that Elliott interpreted as “shut the fuck up, old man”. So even though he’d have loved to keep taunting his cousin and keep himself distracted, Elliott shut up, letting his neck rest against the back of the sofa and draping one arm up over his eyes. Lack of vision made the world feel a little less like the spinning drum of a washing machine. Elliott regretted dreaming up that metaphor, gritting his teeth as he realised his stomach felt like such a drum, too.

He was swallowing constantly, every few seconds now, chest tight with the effort of drawing slow, shallow breaths. It felt like the fibres holding his being together were frayed and left just shaky enough to throw everything off without causing him any actual, physical pain. Beneath it all was a tiny flame of anger; what the hell was the point in becoming a vampire if feeling unexplainably shitty at inconvenient intervals was still on the table?

An icy shiver ran down Elliott’s back, and he flinched where he sat. He slid his hand around the back of his neck and gulped another wave of saliva. Nothing was there, yet when he exhaled, he shuddered again. Shayne’s talk about Madelyn must have wormed its way into Elliott’s mind. Lord, he really was a mess.

He glanced down to make sure his sudden jump hadn’t disturbed Shayne. It was hard to tell if the boy was sleeping or just trying very hard to stay still. At least he didn’t seem to be panicked or shaking anymore. Elliott desperately wanted to stand up and walk around; moving and distracting himself would surely ease the building pain in his stomach, but he didn’t think he could get up without jostling Shayne.

Sucking in a breath and trying to brace his stomach for the move, Elliott shifted his weight on the sofa, cringing at how much the cushions flexed with him. He watched Shayne’s head, his breath still caught somewhere between his belly and his lungs. Another trickle of unpleasantly cool sweat ran down the back of his neck and his hands shook until he dropped the weight of his head into them. His elbows felt unbalanced on his knees. His stomach flipped, and he swallowed measuredly against its protests.

“El?”

“Yeah,” Elliott choked out, though he’d meant to give a friendly, open yeah? As in Felix’s chirpy Yeah, buddy? Are you okay? What can I do for you?

“Y’alright?” was all Shayne replied with.

“I’m good, yeah.” Upon tasting blood and bile, Elliott gulped again. “Just relax, okay? No one’s going to –”

Elliott jammed a fist against his lips in time to stifle a wet, shallow belch. The sound was so sudden and violent that his head shot forward, almost ducking between his own knees.

“Fuck,” Shayne gasped, scrambling upright despite the fact his eyes were barely open. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Elliott half-snapped, annoyance at himself manifesting as annoyance at Shayne. “I may have pushed myself a bit this morning, but I’m –”

He was once again cut off by a belch, this one rumbling up from much deeper inside him. His belly continued bubbling even after the air stopped being pushed up.

“El, I think you need to –”

“Don’t.” Elliott shook his head.

“Why did –” Shayne winced slightly and rubbed at his head. “Why didn’t you say you were feeling sick?”

“Because I was trying to look after you!” Elliott sighed into his hands. The tiny burst of frustration was dizzying on top of everything else. “Lord fucking knows you can’t take care of yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Shayne said back, though his voice was empty of any of its usual fight. “I’m – I’m trying, I’ve been trying… Elliott, just go to the sink!”

Elliott’s shoulders rolled as he covered his mouth with his palm, feeling a thick film grow over his tongue. He was tempted to swallow it down again but a cramp ripped through his gut, making all of his organs squeeze in defiance of him swallowing anything.

“Shit,” he somehow mumbled, sitting forward and pushing himself to his feet as Shayne pushed – weakly but with good intentions – at his back to help him up. Elliott sprinted across the kitchen tiles and flung himself at the sink, stars in his vision and blood in his mouth. He was unbearably dizzy as he heaved up what he’d drank that morning. At least it had been an animal-blood day, and he wasn’t watching mouthfuls of human blood pooling in the sink and trickling into the drain.

It was a waste, but it could have been worse. He choked on a sob, realising he’d never thought like this until Felix.

“Fuck,” Elliott gasped when something moved next to him. He hadn’t even noticed Shayne following him to the sink. “Christ. I feel awful… Why – why do I feel this bad?”

“You’re trying to force something you’re not capable of.” Shayne folded his arms and rested them on the countertop, eyes falling shut again.

Elliott spat bitterly towards the drain. “How the fuck do you figure that?”

“Because that’s my whole life summed up, El.”

Elliott gripped the neck of the tap and turned it on, directing the water around the sink to get rid of the mess he’d made. His head was spinning and his nerves still felt alive with electricity and just wrong in general, but his belly felt a lot better. He felt like he could breathe normally again.

“You okay?”

“I think so.” Elliott rinsed his mouth, running tap water into his palm and lifting it to his lips. It was cool, and soothing on his throat after the retching.

Shayne looked positively miserable as their eyes met. “What now?”

As he shut off the tap, Elliott brushed a wet hand across the back of his own neck, relishing the cold drip that started trailing down his back. He shut his eyes, feeling like he was ready to drift off to sleep on his feet, like a horse.

“Well,” he said, “how would you like to take a nap on a really nice mattress?”

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ellstersmash · 3 years ago

Text

anybody's hands

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Mason x Theo West Rating: M (sexual content, language, smoking) Words: 2,740 [read on Ao3]

theo drops by the bar for a drink and gets an offer she can't refuse; mason just gets an eyeful. set in book 1 after the whole supernatural reveal

< Answer your phone >

< Where the hell are you >

< guess. >

< No >

< aw. thought you liked to play? >

< Don't make me track you down >

< or what? gonna punish me? 😏 >

…

< The thought has crossed my mind >

< i did cut out early today. thats pretty naughty.. >

< i guess >

< considering the circumstances >

...

< Can't spank you if I don't know where you are >

< 🍒 >

...

< DONT FUCKING LEAVE >

“Buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” Theo doesn't even look up from her phone until after she's agreed.

Her benefactor is perched on the next bar stool over, one boot propped up on the footrest, stuck by the rubber sole, the other planted on the floor. Large hands folded in his lap, and he is undeniably attractive. Tall and clean-shaven and fit in a half-assed way that leaves him soft around the edges. His deep brown eyes scan her features with an approving simmer, and his curly black hair is a little longer than last time. She mentions it, says she likes it and he smiles.

“I'm surprised you remember me,” he says, and it probably wasn't meant to be offensive, but it smarts regardless—as much as the opinion of a stranger ever can.

“Why's that?” Theo tilts her head and peers up at him through her lashes. “You don't think you made an impression?”

“I hope this means I did.”

Emmett! That was his name. A napkin appears on the counter in front of her, then a beer, and Theo snatches it up for a sip.

He props one elbow on the counter to get a couple inches closer, and the faint aroma of his cologne reaches her. It's good shit. Heady and cool, musky and a little sweet. She wants to bury her nose in his chest and fill up her senses, and that's probably the idea.

“You look great, Theo. I mean, really great.”

“It’s the badge. Makes me irresistible.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

She purses her lips in a demure sort of thank you. “So how are things?”

Things are great, because of course they are. Not many men will say otherwise, afraid that emotional vulnerability will hurt their chances. It won't—at least, not with her. She doesn't give a shit about the things or how they are.

There are exactly two variables that matter to her in moments like this, when she wants like this. Likely and hopefully, the same two on his mind: do you want to fuck and are you close enough to sober? A no to either of the above renders this conversation pointless. She will finish her free drink and he'll take the next opportunity to rejoin his friends by the pool table. They won't exchange numbers or emails or whatever people do these days. He will go home to the city and she will stay here and their existences in each other’s lives will be reduced to an "oh, nothing really, what did you do this weekend?" in the break room at work on Monday, and the next time their paths happen to cross, if they ever do again, they won't remember how things were this time. They'll ask the same two questions, and hope the ayes have it.

But if she recalls correctly—now that she's doubting she is—he'd been a little uncomfortable with her direct approach the last time. So as Emmett—

No, wait. Elliot? Everett? Whatever, it’s too late to ask for a reminder now.

—tells her about the camping trip he and “the guys” are about to go on, she runs her finger around the rim of her glass. Nods at the usual moments and asks a few questions to keep him talking.

Theo has more than half a mind to steer the conversation elsewhere. Keep it light, wait until Mason shows up, find out if he's finally ready to make good on all those threats of his. The thought ignites a thrill of heat in her core that skitters out to the tips of her fingers and toes, and sends her imagination spiraling.

Much to her dismay, she doesn’t get to stay distracted for long. Emmett or Elliot or Everett asks about her things right back, and though she's tempted to wave him off and get to the good part, she indulges his probing. Work is good, just got a promotion! Yeah, to detective. Yeah, I'm on the murder case. Yeah, it's totally wild. No, no family worth mentioning but our station cats are thriving.

Some people prefer to ease in, and that's ok.

“So,” he finally says. Clears his throat and stalls a while, and Theo knows what comes next. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nope.” She sips. “You?”

“Not really.”

She instinctively squints at the wording, but doesn't ask for specifics. That's not her boundary to keep. “Lucky me.”

He blinks, flattered and flustered. “I forgot you were such a charmer.”

“What? How could you forget my, like”—Theo holds her fingers up in sequence—“fourth best quality?”

“I must have been distracted by your first three.”

“Oh, and I'm the charmer?”

A tentative brush of his fingers on her chin, bolder along her jaw, then he tucks her hair behind her ear. “I was inspired.” His focus drops to her lips, and the warmth returns, building and solid and he's right here in front of her.

“Just so we understand one another,” she says, though considering the way he’s already undressing her with his eyes, the warning she's about to give feels superfluous. “I'm not up for a date or anything.”

His relief is palpable. “Likewise. Just looking to blow off some steam, if you’re up for it. Are you busy tonight?”

“Hoping to be.”

His place? Hers?

No, she shouldn't leave. Mason will be here eventually and he's only trying to do his job. She made it difficult enough by leaving work early. Besides, she can't go with this guy and she can't take him home, not with all that's going on. Can't put him in that kind of danger for a one night stand. Not to mention the fact that her vampire coworkers-slash-babysitters are waiting at her apartment, which would require a tricky explanation.

The sobering thought almost kills her arousal. Almost. She scoots off her stool and slams the rest of her beer, then leans back against the bar.

“I, uh, have plans later,” she says. “But I happen to be free right this second. How do you feel about public restrooms?”

His brown eyes go black as they flick between her and the red-lit sign.

Theo places one hand on his knee to lean in toward his ear. “Ladies’, two minutes.” She bites her lip and smiles to close the deal, then saunters away.

It's the furthest thing from romantic: held up against a bathroom wall she hopes to god is sort of clean, her shirt rucked up to her tits, his jeans hanging off his ass, her own crumpled on the floor and her panties shoved to one side so he can fuck her. But goddamn, she needed this.

To his credit, he started slow. Kissed her good and proper and slid his hand down her pants before they got this far, but she didn't need all that. Didn’t want it. Didn’t have time to wait for it.

Theo bites not-too-gently into the tense muscle of his shoulder, eliciting a soft grunt and a curse, then yanks at the sleeve of his T-shirt to bare his skin. She scrapes her teeth up to his neck and kisses him hard and he groans and thrusts harder, faster, inching her ever closer to the high she's been craving all day.

“Oh. Oh god," she gasps out. "I'm so close, don't stop.”

But he does, and so does she, as a harsh knock sounds at the door—a split second before it swings wide open.

“Detective, you in h—”

Mason slows to a stop and freezes as he takes in the scene, then his features settle into a sly smirk. The soft ka-chunk of the door closing behind him is the only sound in the room.

“Yo, buddy. You mind?” Evan or Ellis or whatever his name is glances over his shoulder, shifting his grip on Theo’s thigh.

She flinches at the movement. He is still buried inside her and she is far too preoccupied with dangling on the precipice of her climax to laugh or be embarrassed or say anything at all.

Mason doesn’t answer him yet, only holds her gaze. From anyone else, she’d expect admonishment. Disappointment. A healthy dose of shame. From him, maybe a derisive scoff. But his expression is darkened with something different, and as he wets his lips a fresh wave of heat coils in her belly. Her heart pounds in her chest.

She has forgotten how to breathe.

“Nah,” he finally says. “Not at all.”

His voice is low and rough, hot coals that turn to silk on her skin and velvet in her ears and send a shiver straight down her spine. It is all Theo can do to keep from tumbling over the edge.

Then, with a wicked grin, he leaves.

“Wow, shit.” Another adjustment makes Theo hiss, but at least Edward—

Sure, let's go with that.

—doesn't pull out. “I am so sorry, I thought you locked it.”

She ignores both the apology and the accusation and rolls her pelvis, trying to hit that sweet spot. Doesn't need much more, just—

His hips obediently stutter back to life, then back into rhythm, and Theo squeezes her eyes shut. Sees freckle-painted skin and long dark hair and eyes like summer thunder; she shatters. Wrangles the sound of it into harsh broken breaths that feel less like release and more like suffocation, then shudders and winces as he fucks her straight through it until he comes with a muffled groan.

They part from one another like they were never anything else, clean up and dress, and he examines the hickey forming on his neck with a measure of discomfort. He leaves a kiss on her cheek but doesn't linger, and she doesn't encourage the idea. She doesn't give him her number. He doesn't ask what she's up to next weekend.

She doesn't even remember his name.

After he's gone, she stares at herself in the mirror for a minute. Runs her fingers through her hair to untangle it, parts it on one side, then the other, then gives up and pulls it back into a ponytail. Washes her hands and rinses her mouth and wipes away the smudges of mascara that have settled where they shouldn’t.

Knock, knock.

“You coming?”

Theo gives herself one last look-over before she yanks the door open. Mason is leaning up against the wall outside the bathroom, thumbs hooked in his pockets and long limbs surprisingly relaxed. Gray gleams almost silver as he appraises her altered appearance.

“Again?” he adds, with a smile so smug she wants to smack him.

Stupid vampires and their stupid goddamn supersenses.

It irks her not to have any ammo. He may not be in any position to judge her, but being the brunt of his joke doesn’t suit her much better. She should laugh and let it go—he’ll move on in ten minutes and it doesn’t matter what he thinks, if he thinks of her at all, but somehow that doesn’t help. The best she can do is a halfhearted roll of her eyes before she walks away.

A quick pit-stop at the bar to grab her jacket and pay her tab for the one beer that wasn't free, then she shoves out the door, Mason on her heels.

He rubs his hands together like some mountain climber stranded above the snowline and shivers so violently she can hear it in his voice. “Tell me you weren’t stupid enough to walk here.”

Theo flicks up her middle finger before veering around the corner toward her car.

“You're in a surprisingly bad mood, considering you just got off,” he says as they get in.

“And you're in a surprisingly good one, considering you didn't.”

All his attention falls heavy on her.

“Oh, sweetheart. That’s only part of the fun.” As he leans over the center console, the alluring scent of smoke and sandalwood has her breathing in too deep. It leaves her lightheaded. Dizzy. “And I can’t say I don't enjoy helping you get where you need to go.”

Fire rises to Theo’s cheeks and for the second time in the past five minutes, her mouth flounders around impossible words. Mason shifts even closer with an expression she might call dreamy if it were plastered on literally anyone else’s face.

“So she does blush. This night gets better and better.”

The taunting does it. She snaps back into focus. “Who says you had anything to do with it?”

It’s not a response, not really. That curve of his lips, that look that’s way too goddamn sure. It hangs in the air between them, turns it liquid; she can’t fill her lungs, can’t quit staring at his mouth and shit he's so close. Three inches, give or take. A stretch of her neck, a tilt of her head, a tip of her chin and she could taste what she’s been missing and shut him up at the same time. A real win-win-win.

But one reckless semi-public fuck is probably enough for tonight.

So she shrinks away. Lets out a long breath and starts her car. “Fuck you,” she whispers, but can’t muster up enough bite to give it teeth.

“That a threat or a promise?” Mason backs off at her glare, fades, palms-out, to his own side of the car and rubs his wrinkled jeans back into place. He taps a cigarette free, then scowls and puts it back when she makes a fuss.

Her apartment building isn’t far. Nothing is far from anything around here. But instead of stalking up to the entryway door like she expects, Mason leans against the car and pulls his cigarettes out again, arching an eyebrow at her as if daring her to object.

Theo shrugs and stands upwind.

One between his lips and she finds it doesn't make them any less alluring. Then a smooth click, a spark, a steady flame, and a stream of smoke that puffs out harsh, curls at the edges, wisps out into nonexistence.

“I think you can make it the rest of the way without me,” he grumbles and gestures to the building’s well-lit entrance.

“Can I ask you something?”

The weary stare he gives her could mean anything, but it’s not a hard no.

“You’ve been at this casual sex thing for…?” Theo squints at him, giving him a chance to fill in the blank.

“A while.”

“Longer than me, I assume.”

He snorts at that. “Is there a point on its way, or are we just measuring dicks here?”

“As fun as that sounds, I think I’m at a bit of a disadvantage.”

Mason smirks, but doesn’t speak.

“I’m just wondering… does it get old? Like, sure, it's exciting, and relationships are—” She searches for a word to describe the specific mixture of irritation, disgust, and disappointment the concept holds for her, but she settles for making a nebulously unpleasant face. It seems to get the point across. “All that prowling and signaling and flirting, though? And the small talk! God, the small talk.”

“I tend to avoid that last part, yeah. But the rest of it?” Mason pauses, inhales sharp and lets it out slow. He turns to her at the end of it, smoke still drifting from his lips. He ashes his cigarette and studies her face like she already has the answer.

“Nope.”

“Hm. Guess yours is bigger after all.”

One last drag, then he drops the butt onto the asphalt and grinds it out. “You don’t have to guess, sweetheart. I’ll show you anytime you want.”

Theo pushes off the car with a huff of laughter and heads toward the door.

“Just saying,” he calls out, lifting his arms up with a grin to match hers. “If you're unsatisfied, maybe you need a better partner.”

She turns around, but keeps walking backward, catching his eye through a hazy white cloud. “I'll keep that in mind. Want me to prop the door open for you?”

Mason shakes his head, already digging in his jacket pocket, and Theo shuts the question out with him.

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fic #twc mason #mason x detective #theo west #otp: mayo #nsft text #ellster writes

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sdv-mostly-shane · 4 years ago

Text

Waves of Silk and Honey

Summary: Shane is interrupted from his normal bout self wallowing by a certain long-haired writer. He finds himself relaxing at every word that comes out of his mouth, and finds himself a little something more. Some slight suggestive content.

♡ this one goes out to a very special request- I hope you enjoy! Thank you for your ask. This was such a fun writing stretch for me, as I never thought to put these two together ♡

***very very *slight* spoiler for 1.5*** please keep scrolling if you want to go in completely blind.

Shane didn’t even know why he let himself get dragged to this new beach everyone was talking about. When the town was blabbing about a ‘resort’ that the farmer had built on an island they found, this was not what he expected.

It was cute, alright, but he hated the sun beating on his neck, he hated the way his shirt clung to his belly, and he hated that everyone was having fun, except for him. Shane watched Abby, Sebastian, and Sam at the waters edge, as he made his way to the closest shade, and sat down. As he drew his legs up to his chest and pushed his back harder against the cliff wall, he let himself sink into the dull greyness of his feelings, and he closed his eyes.

...

“Do you mind if I sit here? Its the best shaded area, and the close sea breeze helps clear my mind as I write. Would you be so kind?”

Shane’s eyes shot open at the sudden waking, but the soft, melodious voice soothed over his surprise. He looked up to see Elliot, pen and notebook in hand, and a gentle smile on his face.

“Mmph. Go ahead.” Shane really didn’t care either way, as long as he didn’t have to talk to him, but he did briefly think that he at least wouldn’t look so pathetically sad with someone sitting next to him.

“Oh, thank you,” Elliot sighed as he sat down, “what sweet relief to be in the shade. The sun is angry today... My skin is a bit too delicate, I'm afraid.” He turned to Shane with an embarrassed half smile.

Shane didn’t have to force out a reply, as Elliot immediately crossed his legs, opened his notebook, and started to write something down. If this is all he wanted to do, then maybe he could just close his eyes again ...

...

He drowsily peeked his eyes open sometime later to see Elliot looking at him, head resting in his palm. He normally would get embarrassed at this direct attention (as it was usually scorn or pity from the other villagers), but Elliots eyes were neither. Just clear, emotionless study.

“You must like being alone. The silence of solitude is something I searched for for many years before I moved here to The Valley-I need it for my writing, you see..... the sweet friction of pen and paper is the music of my soul. That's why I chose the beach as my home, so that I could have peace and quiet to do my work.... it doesn’t always work, however, so I thought maybe the change of scenery would help release this little block of mine that has plagued me all week.”

“So you went from one beach to another beach just to see the same thing?”

“It’s a little silly, isn’t it. You’re right, of course. No matter where we are, when we look outwards into the water, we are seeing the same rolling tides of the same sea. No matter which shore you are on, you are watching one ocean. It’s magic, in that way.” Elliot earnestly turned toward Shane, who’s eyes were already on him- “Breathe deeply,” Shane couldn’t stop himself-he filled his lungs with the salted air before he had even finished his sentence, “Do you notice it? That's the smell of the sea. Whenever I smell the sea, it reminds me of my youth. The ocean really impressed me as a child.”

Shane didn’t know how to answer him-which was probably better than his normal ‘f-off’ reply, to be honest-and instead just looked at the man. He had seen him occasionally at the saloon through the haze of amber on his tongue, remembering him sitting with one of the red headed girls, dressed in a coattail and tie, of all things. The very nature of posh, education, and sophistication poured out of him as languidly as the honey hued locks of hair flowed over his shoulders. Here, he could clearly see him, and met his eyes-he felt soothed, and remained quiet for a moment longer.

“Hmm... thank you, Shane.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know.”

Shane, puzzled, furrowed his brows in response to the mans gentle smile. He turned his gaze to the ocean and ventured another deep breath of the crisp air. He watched the waves pull in and out, in and out, in.. and out...

...

“Shane, I truly appreciate your kindness to me. You’re one of the few people who have sincerely listened to my musings without brushing me off. I know that I am kind of an 'oddball'. I hope you don't mind.”

Shane couldn’t help but let out a small laugh-“hah, that’s usually what people say about me.”

Shane glanced over quick enough to catch the mans gentle face transform into defined angles and squinted eyes as his grin grew into a beaming smile. “We’re not all that different, are we. Just as the ocean-different sanded beaches, but the same sea... that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile, Shane. I do hope you’ll bless me with its presence again soon.”

Shane didn’t feel embarrassed by his forwardness, a welcome change from the shallow small talk of the rest of the townsfolk. He enjoyed letting the mans richly colored words replace his own grey thoughts. There was no judgement in his tone, only warmth-Shane felt more at ease from his voice alone than he ever did from the ‘relaxing’ ocean in front of him.

Shane finally responded, “You like talking to me? I guess I believe you... maybe you’re just as weird as I am.” Shane turned his head fully to smile at him, and was caught off guard by the sudden blush on the mans cheeks; he raised an eyebrow and a smirk as the man quickly turned his head toward his page, suddenly interested in his writing again.

Shane was amused watching the pink flush travel up the mans cheekbones, up to the tip of his ears. He found his eyes trailing over his jaw, down his neck, and onto his bare shoulders. Gone was the stuffy jacket, and Shane could see his actual body shape for the first time. His shoulders were quite broad and surprisingly bulky, for someone who Shane thought was a bit frilly. He caught Elliot’s eyes peeking past his veil of hair, and Shane laughed to himself as he watched the mans eyes dart back to the page in front of him, his blush blooming further into a deep red. Was he... flustered?

Shane grinned to himself, bemused. Why would a man so effortless and, you know, actually beautiful, be so nervous of *him*? He half turned his attention back to the waves, not wanting to full on ogle the guy. The waves were dropping further into the shore, and Shane watched as the bubbles of the wet sand fizzled and popped.

“I came to the valley to find the ivory tower from which my talents could reign supreme. But what I really found was a dungeon of loneliness. I hope we can grow closer, Shane. I enjoy your company.” He gestured to his notebook with his feathered pen, “plus, your nearness has seemed to open up my mind to some new inspiration. In fact-before I lose this-“ he brought his book close to his chest, and resumed fervently writing.

Shane remained silent, watching the dancing of the wisps of duck feather dance in the sea breeze as the man wrote. He wondered what it must be like to know that you were smart and to know your purpose in the world. He turned his attention back to the sand, where little creatures were popping in and out, his eyes only returning to the man when he noticed two sturdy arms lift above his head, gathering the honey silks of hair into a messy knot atop his head. Shane could hardly stop himself from peeking over his shoulder to the flexing of the mans back-that too, much more bulky and defined than expected. He did sometimes see him fishing, while on his daily walk from Joja, which would explain the tight muscles stretching and contracting across his skin. Shane forced himself to turn his attention back to the little crabs that were scurrying and dodging the tide.

Elliot looked up with a small gasp, and pushed himself off the ground. He made his way a bit up to the shoreline, crouched down, and gingerly reached into his shorts pocket, pulling out a tiny speck of red. He turned toward Shane with a little wave, gesturing to him with the baby crab- “I thought he would like to see the new beach as well.”

Shane, witnessing the most precious display of his life in front of him, had his own turn to blush, now, thinking about how much more he wanted to get to know this burly, poetry-writing, beautiful man with a tiny crab in his pocket. For now, he just returned the mans wave with a smile, and let himself sink into the vibrant reds, pinks, and honey-hued golds that were floating around in his thoughts, as he closed his eyes.

#my headcannon is that elliot is actually SUP THICC #I mean have you seen THE NECC on that sprite???#hello????#thick Elliot forever #sdv shane #stardew shane #stardew valley #stardew elliott #sdv elliott #sdv shane x Elliot #Shane x Elliot #sdv fanfic #sdv requests

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vanne-whump · 3 years ago

Text

ORNATE. Part One.

BTHB: Non-Consensual Body Modification. @badthingshappenbingo

OCs: Alistair Malcolm, Elliot Pierce, Zahlia Fox

Content: Manipulative whumper, creepy whumper, MINOR WHUMP, tattoos used as whump, noncon body modification, cursing, loss of consciousness.

“This is the design,” Alistair pushed a sheet of paper across the dining table to Zahlia. “We discussed it on the phone.”

“We did,” she agreed, looking over the design a final time. “For Elliot, correct? He’s how old?”

“Seventeen. I pay you for your discretion, in case you’d forgotten that.”

Elliot sat beside Alistair in silence, attention only on the design on the table, depicting a Chinese dragon, wrapped around some kind of longsword.

“I’m aware,” Zahlia responded to Alistair’s blunt reminder as though it didn’t faze her. “My kit is in my car. Get him ready, you know the drill.”

Once Zahlia had slipped out of the front door of their penthouse, Elliot began to slip into panic. Into uncertainty.

“Look — Alistair — I — I’m not sure that this is what I want,” He finally spoke. “This isn’t me.”

“Shut up and take off your shirt,” Alistair got to his feet. “We already decided on a spine placement.”

“No — I need a minute to think about it.”

“You’ve had over a year. Don’t make this difficult.”

“I’m not fucking trying to!”

Alistair turned to face Elliot, expression stormy.

“You do not use language like that, do you understand? If you speak to Zahlia like that, I’ll make you wish that you never lived this long,” Alistair hissed, approaching Elliot’s chair and taking his hair in his grip. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Elliot nodded against Alistair’s grip. “I do, I understand perfectly.”

“Good. Now, get up, take off your shirt and wait for Zahlia. You show any hesitance, you’ll regret it.”

Elliot didn’t need to be told twice. Not this time. The moment Alistair released his grip, Elliot stood. He unbuttoned the embroidered shirt and folded it tightly, clinging to it as though it could somehow protect him.

His breath caught in his throat when, minutes later, the penthouse door opened.

“So, El? Are you ready now?” Zahlia spoke to Elliot this time around, “It’s probably best if we do this on the couch, right sweetheart?”

“Sure,” Elliot responded, already making his way over to the leather couch. He followed her instructions to lie down, flinching only when she pulled an antiseptic wipe across his back. He shuddered, stilling himself quickly.

Elliot agreed with everything that was said.

Yes, the placement was fine.

Yes, the design was perfect.

Yes, he knew how to take care of the tattoo.

At any moment, he could have been honest. Admitted that he hated the design. Told her that it was far too big, that Alistair had chosen it, that he’d had no say in this at all. But the words were just too hard to say.

The tattoo gun hummed to life as Zahlia began work, following the design laid out beside her freehand. Elliot did all he could to relax. To tell himself that it would be over soon. Because it would.

Zahlia’s gloved hands skimmed his back as she worked. Even the tissue she used to blot away ink sent sharp pains down his spine. He closed his eyes, pressing his face into the arm of the couch as he tried to suppress tears. Breathing evenly was difficult — the next jolt of pain was the end of the road.

“Stop — stop,” Elliot coughed as he spoke, “I need a break.”

“A break? Sure, sweetheart. You need a drink? Painkillers?”

“He doesn’t take painkillers,” Alistair interjected. “He’s better than that, aren’t you, Elliot?”

“Mhm — yeah — no painkillers, ‘m fine,” Elliot agreed. But, god, did they sound good right about now. “I just need a minute.”

Elliot wiped sweat away from his forehead in frustration, gritting his teeth and pressing his face into the arm of the couch. He was better than this. Far better than letting this get the better of him.

Alistair clicked his tongue and came to crouch in front of Elliot, filling his line of sight with his firm expression.

“Do you need some help staying still? Zahlia doesn’t have all day, and you’re going to tell her that you’re ready now. Got it?”

“Mhmm — I’m ready,” Elliot spoke as soon as he was told to.

Help to stay still. No. Whatever that meant — he wanted none of it.

“Good,” Alistair stood once more, hand brushing over Elliot’s cheek as another jolt of pain rushed up his back.

Once more, Elliot could only exhale shakily.

His vision blurred over. Head filled with static.

“Alistair — Alis...”

Elliot hardly managed to start his sentence before the overwhelm pushed him over the edge. He let out only a quiet gasp before he passed out.

———

Zahlia had already begun to put the gun aside, shifting backwards once she became aware of Elliot’s collapse. Once she realised just how lacking her judgement had been.

“You told me that he would be fine,” she hissed, using the back of her hand to feel Elliot’s forehead. “What now? Huh?”

Standing across from her, Alistair was completely unaffected by the unfolding of events. It had been as much as expected.

“What now? You keep going,” he shrugged off her concern. “He will be fine. Eventually. I want this done, and I want it done today. At least he won’t move and ruin the design.”

“Alistair, I’m not sure —”

“Not sure of what? Just do what I pay you for.”

Gaze flickering between Elliot and Alistair, Zahlia finally nodded. Alistair was the last person she wanted to argue with, no matter the circumstances. After checking on Elliot once more, Zahlia fired up the tattoo gun and began to go over the thin lines of the tattoo.

She honed her focus in on the tattoo and the tattoo alone. Elliot wasn’t out long — a couple of minutes, at most. Maybe not even a minute. But it felt like long enough. He made no sound or visible movement, but Zahlia felt how he tensed under her touch.

“Not long now, just some finishing touches,” she did her best to reassure him. “Ten minutes, El, that’s it.”

Goosebumps had risen on Elliot’s arms and the lightheaded sensation began to turn into nausea. Ten minutes. How long had it been? He twisted his head to the side, in search of Alistair. Nowhere to be seen. Elliot hadn’t heard him leave.

“Do you have painkillers?” Elliot whispered, as soon as he was sure they were alone. “Please? Do you?”

Zahlia was caught off guard by his request but couldn’t bring herself to abide by Alistair’s previous instructions. She pulled out a blister pack, taking two and pressing them into Elliot’s open palm.

“Are you almost done?”

“Almost, do you want anything to drink?”

Elliot shook his head as he swallowed the pills, letting his head fall forward one more time. Each movement from the needle sent shockwaves through him, but he stayed awake. Stayed aware of his surroundings.

And then the room was filled with silence — or as close to silence as they could get with Elliot’s uneven breathing and Zahlia beginning to tidy away her equipment.

“Keep an eye on him for a few hours,” Zahlia spoke, not to Elliot. He could only assume that Alistair had returned. “I don’t like how he passed out like that. He eaten today?”

“I’ll be the judge of that. And, no, he hasn’t. But he’s just a stubborn teenager, I told him that he should eat something.”

The way Alistair lied so effortlessly, and the way Zahlia didn’t question it — that stung. A stubborn teenager. Elliot so desperately wanted to argue. Set the record straight. But it would do no good. He felt his stomach growl as Alistair and Zahlia made small talk.

He let out a choked breath — forced back tears — and rolled onto his side, facing towards the back of the couch. Clouds surrounded his mind and, despite his best efforts, he had no luck in staying awake this time around either.

Right now, Elliot had no choice but to drift into vulnerability.

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

Text

WITCHING HOUR, a sequel.

chapter four: advent

word count: 8.7k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, brief mentions of what could-be prenatal depression. elliot considers the logistics of murder. nothing new.

notes: i am so sorry that this chapter took so long to come around, but i hope it's worth the wait! we're finally getting somewhere with these two dummies, as well as a few little things starting to develop along the way. i'm really pleased with how this chapter finally came out, because it was giving me some trouble to start with, but thankfully i have some wonderful people around to help keep me motivated and not letting me get discouraged!

special thank you to my beta reader, @starcrier, for helping me with the barebones skeleton of this chapter and not letting me get too in my head about it. and a thank you to my loves, @shallow-gravy and @baeogorath, for lending me their eyes as well as i tried to muddle through the parts of this that felt so, so difficult. i adore you all so much!!

Isolde fucking hated Montana.

Maybe “hated” was a bit strong of a term, but all she could feel as she cinched her coat tighter around her and waded through crowds of milling, purposeless passersby in the airport was that she could not wait to leave—and she had only touched down minutes ago.

That she was even here at all was a miracle in and of itself: she didn’t owe John Seed anything. Not a favor, not the time of day, not the firing of her neurons to process her furious disdain for him. If anything, John owed her for up and fucking off for no good reason. If anything, he should be the one doing her a favor. Strapping him to a bed of nails on the hood of a car and watching him suffer while she drove over speed bumps in a mall parking lot during an earthquake would have been a good start.

I need your help, Sol, he’d said, like he didn’t have two fucking hands and eyes and a mediocre brain of his own to get things done.

“Fucker,” Isolde gritted out between her teeth. “Fucking—stupid—fuckface. Fuck I hate him. I hate him.”

But that wasn’t really true, was it? She didn’t hate John, not in the same capacity that she actually hated people, like the ex-husband that so rarely registered in her brain nowadays. For all of his posturing and Napoleon syndrome, John had been her only friend, the only person that she trusted, for a very long time.

Fuck me, she thought, I’m in a bad spot if that’s the case.

It was.

Isolde stepped out of the airport and into the frigid air of the outside pick-up area. Her eyes scanned the area, and while she thought for certain she saw a familiar redhead right away, he was leaned up against a beat-up, mud-splattered truck and surely Jacob Seed did not think he was going to put her in a metal death trap that looked like it wasn’t going to make it five minutes on the highway.

He waved to catch her attention. Isolde stayed firmly put, and she saw—with a little lick of amusement whispering inside of her—Jacob’s teeth flash in a grin.

“Sol,” he called, beginning to saunter over, “I know you can see me.”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asked tartly. “I was supposed to be getting picked up by an actual vehicle, not...” She leaned around Jacob’s broad-shouldered figure to peer pointedly at the beater truck, which had not miraculously become better in the last thirty seconds. “...three pieces of metal loosely held together by a shit welding job.”

Jacob’s wolfish smile did not dim. “Good to see you, too.”

“Hello, my darling.” She beckoned him with one hand, giving him a one-armed hug once he was within range. “I suppose you are the transportation John promised, then.”

“None other,” Jacob replied.

“Surely, no expense was spared.”

“Surely.”

Jacob relinquished her of the weight of her suitcase, lifting it with ease and beckoning with a tilt of his head for her to follow. She did, even though her reservations about getting into a fucked up Toyota had not abated; as the eldest Seed brother loaded the suitcase into the back “seat” (being used loosely in this context), Isolde hoisted herself up into the passenger seat.

“Hm,” was what came out of her once she was buckled in, a singular expression of her displeasure, and the redhead settled into the driver’s seat next to her.

He glanced over, his smile having relaxed into something more ambivalent. He said, “I love that you haven’t changed a bit,” and began to pull out of the pick-up lane.

“It is one of my most charming qualities, I think.”

“How did Johnny convince you to come all this way?” he asked, and Isolde stifled a long-suffering sigh that tried to worm its way out of her.

“He told me what helpless idiots you are without him,” she replied. Shrugging out of her jacket, she pushed it into the back seat and turned the heat in the truck down. “Did a whole bit. You would have found it entertaining, I think. It was all Sol, you’re so tall and threatening, please help me. I hate that he knows exactly how I like to be complimented.”

“Well, he’d have to really pull out the stops to get you to come back and help Joseph,” Jacob acquiesced, with the same kind of visceral, gut-punch perception he had always operated and which Soli had expected and still hoped he wouldn’t apply.

Isolde’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Fuck you, she thought, but there was no venom, because he wasn’t wrong. She wouldn’t have come back if John hadn’t really tried, if he hadn’t made it obvious that he was desperate. It did bother her, a little, to see John like that—haphazard and urgent, scrabbling for a foothold wherever he could get one. She just hoped he wasn’t overshooting his shot with the mother of his unborn child.

“Yeah,” Sol said after a moment, “I guess he did.”

Jacob gave her a look. It was a look that said, come on now, Sol, because if there was one unfortunate thing about having dated Joseph Seed and worked with the baby brother for years on end, it was that Jacob—arguably the most perceptive and intelligent of the whole brood—had come to understand her quite well. So annoying.

“I’m glad you’re here,” is what he said after a minute. “Be nice to have a fresh face around, all things considered.”

“You mean all the killing.” Her words came out clipped, but if Jacob felt any particular way about it, it didn’t show on his face.

“Well,” he acquiesced, and that was all that came out of his mouth for at least two heartbeats.

Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching the redhead move methodically as he hit cruise control and settled back against his seat a bit.

She prompted, tightly, “Well?”

“Don’t give me that, Sol,” he cautioned her. “You can use that tone on Johnny and Joseph, but you can’t use it on me. We neither fuck nor run a business together.”

“I remember now why you’re unbearable. How silly of me, to have forgotten.”

“I was going to say,” Jacob continued, as though she had not spoken at all, “that the killing really shouldn’t be a point of contention for you.”

And then, with the kind of spiteful accuracy that she truly detested: “Of all people.”

Shut up. The words sat there, on the tip of her tongue, threatening. Only Jacob would get away speaking to her like this. She supposed that made them hearty exceptions for each other, didn’t it? All the same, the things that she had done—or rather, the things that Joseph had done, for her —were in the past, and long-since buried. Literally and figuratively.

“Here I was, thinking you were my favorite,” she replied primly, and this elicited a laugh out of Jacob, short and barked out but nonetheless genuine. “Tell me you didn’t volunteer to pick me up just so you could start a fight with me. Is it that boring, out there in God’s Country?”

“I never said I volunteered.”

“But you did,” she countered, “didn’t you?”

Jacob glanced at her, then focused his gaze back on the road. “God’s Country is pretty boring, right about now. But there’s been a bit of excitement.”

“Ah, yes,” she replied, foregoing her irritation with his little jab. “Why don’t we compare what John told me with the truth, then?”

“Sounds like a fun game to pass the time.”

Isolde had the feeling they’d at least have a lot to fill the time, at any rate.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Eden’s Gate was not what she had anticipated.

The cult aspect—that was one thing. She could deal with a cult. She could deal with two cults, even, which if what Jacob told her was accurate—and she assumed that it was, because he had no motive to lie to her—sounded like it was actively happening, or had just finished happening.

The compound’s yard looked like a graveyard. As the truck, guided by Jacob’s hands on the steering wheel, rolled in, Isolde took a moment to sweep her eyes over everything as meticulously as possible. Small, meek buildings, the white wiring of a long trellis stretching over the yard, and—blood. Splattered across some of the buildings. Sins in their most classical names, graffitied here and there.

It was dirty. Nothing looked well-insulated. The media would absolutely have had a fucking field day with this. What few people she saw out and about, milling around and regarding the truck’s arrival with quiet, venomous curiosity, might as well have been plucked straight out of the homeless shelter.

When Joseph had told her what his plans were, when he had started dropping tiny scraps of information—because he wanted her to ask for more, wanted to pique her interest—he had never told her it would be...Well.

This.

“This is a fucking joke,” Isolde said, without thinking, turning to look at Jacob. The redhead regarded her with an even-keel gaze, putting the truck in park and tilting his chin, almost defiantly.

“What is?” he asked, and it was sort of there—a tiny, tiny little threat. A demand. What’s funny, Isolde? What do you think is a joke? Surely, the eldest Seed had regarded many defectors and insurgents with the same kind of look. Surely, she knew, he was waiting for her to say something that would make her regret having voiced her opinion.

Purposefully, Isolde replied, “This place.” When Jacob exhaled out of his nose, sharp and impatient, she watched the muscle of his jaw flex, his teeth clenching; before he could open his mouth, she plunged on, “Jacob, you’re not a fucking idiot.”

“Thank you,” Jacob snipped, not sounding very grateful at all.

“The media would lose their fucking shit over this place. It would be a madhouse .”

The redhead sucked his teeth. “You really aren’t getting it, aren’t you?” he asked after a moment of silence had lapsed between them. “There won’t be any fuckin’ media, Isolde. Not if Joseph’s right. And he’s been right about everything else. There won’t be fuck all left to care about beyond your own life.”

“Yeah, except I have to care about them like they’re going to be here!” Isolde snapped. “That’s the whole reason I’m here, you know. In case. John sent me to do damage control because he knows you and Joseph are so tunnel-vision you don’t have any kind of back-up plan.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s funny. A back-up plan, for the collapse of the world as we know it.”

“Finally,” she bit out, “you get my sense of humor.” She grabbed the handle of the door, but before she opened it, she said, “ If Joseph’s right.”

Jacob stilled beside her, head cocked as though he were really listening to her, taking in her words. “What?”

“You said,” Isolde replied tartly, “ if Joseph’s right.”

She turned her head to look at him, trying to discern anything in his expression that might have let her glean some insight on where it was that Jacob really stood. Of all of the Seed children, he had always struck her as the least fanatical—devoted, surely. Structured and disciplined and rigorous and devoted, yes. But not in the way that John had been about Joseph, and maybe was still.

Of course, she saw nothing that indicated Jacob was going to bite the bait.

“Just remember,” Isolde told him, pushing the passenger door open and feeling the bite of winter dig straight into her bones, “ you said that, not me.”

She slid out of the passenger seat, grabbing her suitcase from the back seat and hauling it out. Jacob sighed from the front seat, passing a hand over his face before he climbed out of the driver’s seat and came around the front, stilling her hands over the handle of her suitcase.

“Joseph doesn’t know you’re here,” he told her, glossing over her little barb as though it had never happened. He disengaged her suitcase from the back of the truck with ease, lifting it over her head and keeping it out of the snow. “Just as a heads up.”

“He doesn’t—?” She felt the incredulous spike in her voice. “Bloody fucking hell, did you not tell him?”

“Why would I?” the redhead replied idly, beginning to walk toward the chapel without waiting for her. The implication lay there— why would I, when it’s so much more interesting to have not? —reminding Isolde that in many ways, Jacob Seed was still a Big Brother that did not so often enjoy bending to the will and request of his younger sibling.

She picked her way across the yard, stomping the snow off of her shoes before she stepped into the chapel that Jacob had disappeared into. It was empty, and dark; a heater ran, fruitless and futile, in the far corner. That’s going to change, she thought tiredly. I won’t be losing my fingers for this shithole.

“Look who I found at the airport,” Jacob announced to the figure standing at the front of the church. Isolde felt her insides twist with a strange kind of dreadful anticipation, because the second the figure turned around, she recognized him immediately. Even dimly backlit by the cold winter light filtering through the symbol carved out of the front of the chapel, even after so much time apart. Of course, she thought, she would have recognized him anywhere.

Joseph said, “Isolde,” like he wasn’t at all surprised to find her there.

“Hello, Joseph,” she greeted, managing to keep the anxiety out of her voice. “I’ve only just learned John did not choose to inform you of my impending arrival.” And apparently, neither did God.

“No,” the man agreed. He was bundled up in a dark-colored sweater, high-necked, the hair pulled back from his face. “But I haven’t spoken to John recently. And what did he send you for?”

Isolde blinked at him, brows lifting on her face. “Pardon?”

“What purpose?” he reiterated. “To what end?”

It was so completely and utterly dismissive that Isolde thought she had hallucinated Joseph’s blatant disrespect. The Joseph she had known had, at least, more grace and tact when it came to being a thoughtless bastard.

“To what—?” Fuck you fuck you fuck you, that vicious, still-wounded thing inside of her whispered, furious. Fuck you, you stupid smug fucker, fuck you so fucking hard. To what end? He couldn’t have possibly descended into sheer stupidity as well as delusional grandeur, could he have?

Jacob said, almost in an effort to mediate, “Johnny thought we could use the support.”

“To what end?” Soli demanded, incredulous. “You’ve got half of Montana’s homeless population dragging their emaciated corpses through the snow outside, Joseph. What ‘purpose’ do you think I’m here for?”

Joseph’s eyes narrowed. His expression remained serene otherwise, no flex of irritated muscle that she could see. He’d always been nearly impossible for her to read—plenty of times she’d said things just to push his buttons, just to see him flinch, just to see what he’d do. It had both pleased and infuriated him, then.

Now, she hoped only for the latter.

“You’re here for PR, then,” is what he said, at last. “A fall-back. Because John has doubts.”

“Taking one quick look at your congregation, I can see why.”

“Faith and devotion are not always the easiest routes,” Joseph replied, lifting his chin in a tiny spark of defiance. “And they are. Devoted.”

“They are,” Isolde said tightly, “ filthy, Joseph.”

There was a tiny, almost imperceptible click, and she realized with a sense of satisfaction that it was Joseph’s molars, setting and grinding together. The moment stretched between the two of them like that, drawn tight and tense by her blatant disdain and Joseph’s refusal to acknowledge that they probably needed her, and finally Jacob cleared his throat.

“So glad,” he said lightly, rubbing his hands together. “So glad to have you back around, Sol. Why don’t I show you where you’ll be staying?”

Isolde sucked her teeth. “Fine,” she replied tartly. “And it ought to have a better fucking heater than this.”

“Whatever you want, princess.”

As Jacob swung her suitcase over his shoulder, heading for the door that led out through the back of the chapel, Isolde cinched her coat tight around her waist and followed.

“Soli,” Joseph said, the utterance of a nickname so few had ever been allowed to use for her grinding her movements to a halt. She took in a short, sharp breath through her nose, turning to look at the man over her shoulder.

He was regarding her curiously, his eyes taking a relaxed, leisurely sweep over her despite the unpleasant interaction they had just endured.

“What, Joseph?” she asked, her words coming out short and biting.

“You haven’t changed a bit.” The corner of his mouth ticked upward. “I’m glad you’re here.”

It wasn’t what she had expected or anticipated. Even in a perfect world where they were absolutely cordial with each other, she would haven’t expected this. The whole thing had to be some kind of game: already, the mental chess game had begun, and she had been caught lagging unpleasantly behind on the first move.

So she said, “Good,” and turned back around, marching devoutly after Jacob.

“You should be.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He had been this close.

John hadn’t intended on being as loud as he was, when he got out of his car. But the sight of Elliot wandering out of her front door, barefoot and in nothing but shorts and t-shirt, had inspired quite a bit of concern; he’d still waited, watching her. Watching her walk out to the fence that he knew led out to the pastures and eventually the woods, and then stood there.

Much like the other night, she only stood. He couldn’t see her do anything except be there—standing, watching the woods, her face relaxed and serene.

It filled him with the same kind of dread it had when he’d seen her do it through the windows, standing at the top of the stairs with her face lax and her eyes open. Seeing it again, he was now more certain than ever it was a recent development, and that she had not been sleep-walking back in Hope County; at the very least, not when he had been around her.

And red. Her hair was so red—the same kind of coppery-ginger that he’d seen the man in their family photos sporting, the man who had been entirely absent from any other photos past what seemed to be the age of eight. Her hair was so red, and so long, sprawling down to her shoulder blades and sweeping across the thin white cotton of her sleep shirt.

When ten minutes passed and he saw no change, he thought, that just won’t fucking do, and opened the car door, shutting it behind him with a new sense of urgency. He hadn’t wanted to get her like this when something was so clearly unsettling her, but if that’s what it had to be, then—

But the front door of her house opened, and he heard the woman that he thought had to be Elliot’s mother calling for her, and he’d stopped himself. It would have been worse if he’d been halfway down the drive to her, but this far away he could duck behind the Honda he’d been calling his home and act like he hadn’t gotten out at all.

Somewhere down the street—down in the far end of the widely-spaced row of old money houses—the sound of a car starting and pulling away echoed.

It could have been nothing, he thought. It could have been, but what if it wasn’t?

What if it wasn’t nothing?

John listened to the sound of Elliot muddle through a response to her mother, words slurring tiredly as she stepped through the snow. It wasn’t until he heard the front door of the house close and the voices fade out of existence that he finally allowed himself to climb back into his car, turning the key in the ignition and cranking the heat up.

He had been this close to her. As he sat in his car, listening to the heat tick against the cold metal of the engine, John thought that maybe he would not be able to be as careful as he would have liked with this whole thing. Time was rapidly running out, and things were only going to get worse the longer he spent dallying.

Besides—if memory served him correctly, Elliot had always slept better with him there. Even if it wasn’t the most ideal reunion he could have pictured, he thought it was as close as he was going to get.

It certainly wasn’t how he anticipated meeting his mother-in-law, at any rate.

In the console, the rattling vibration of plastic on plastic broke him out of his thoughts. John fished around absently, eyes burning with exhaustion, until he could pull the cell phone out and regard the unregistered number for a moment. It had to be either Jacob or Joseph, given they were the only ones who had access to this phone number, but that thought was oddly uncomfortable.

He hit the green accept button, clearing his throat. “Hello?”

“John. How are you doing?”

It was Joseph’s voice, familiar but altogether strange, too. They hadn’t spoken before he’d left the compound, and Hope County—in part because Joseph had been deep in his singular loneliness, convening with God, and in part because John had not wanted to think about the conversation they would have had regarding bringing Elliot back. There was too much there to unpack, really; Joseph’s dislike (hatred?) of what she had done was abundantly clear, but his elder brother couldn’t find it in himself to deny, either, the importance of returning her back to the fold.

“I’m alright,” John replied, cautiously. He thought about whether or not to mention Elliot’s sleepwalking, and then decided against it. “How are things at the compound?”

“They’re good.” There was a pause. “You sent Isolde here.”

It was a statement, not a question. John pressed his mouth into a thin line. He wondered if Isolde had been polite—and then reminded himself that it was Isolde, and no amount of bad blood or past history would ever get her to shut up.

So he said, “She’s the next best thing, after me.”

“I see.” Joseph seemed to want to say something else, his voice lingering absently on the other end of their phone call: but if he was going to say what it was, he didn’t make any move to, and John felt that nervous, anxious energy pushing up high in his throat.

“It’s important to me,” John managed out after a minute, “that you and the others are well taken care of while I’m here dealing with…”

“Our wayward lamb.”

The tightness in Joseph’s voice was not lost on John, and he cleared his throat.

“Right. But I’m going to be—touching base with her soon, and we’ll be back on the road in no time.”

Touching base didn’t sound quite right. It didn’t feel quite as momentous as it was going to feel, he thought—but making contact also didn’t hit the same. It was going to be near-disastrous, he was sure, no matter how he went about it.

At first, anyway. And then she would understand, of course, that everything he had done had been for them; everything had been done for her sake, for her future with him, and she would finally, finally be fucking grateful.

“See that you do, and are,” Joseph said after a minute. “We need our brother here, John. You, and our sister and nephew.”

Our sister, Joseph said. Something about that didn’t feel good at all, John thought, but he swallowed back the uneasy bile in his throat.

“Of course,” he replied after a moment. “I understand completely.”

“Goodnight, John.”

The call clicked off before John could even open his mouth to reply, leaving him with only the dead air and the stifling silence of steady snowfall around him.

Good night indeed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When Elliot awoke that morning, it was to the sound of conversation downstairs and Boomer’s frantic barking.

She struggled out of bed, eyes blurry from exhaustion. Her body ached, dull and faintly reminiscent of her late-night jaunt out into the snow; she pushed the door open, only for Boomer to instantly race down the stairs.

“Elliot,” her mother called, her voice pitching high with frustration, “ please come control your beast.”

Boomer was barking mad. He was barking angry, the kind of vicious alert noise he made when he saw someone he did not like. Elliot barely managed to collect herself to get down the stairs to apologize profusely to whoever it was her hound was currently yelling at when she stopped short at the end of the stairs.

It was John. John, sitting on her couch. John, coming to a stand when she came down the stairs. John, hair tousled out from its normally perfectly-gelled slick-back style, John in street clothes, John John John existing in her space and breathing her air and flashing her a stupid smile that she wanted to immediately punch in.

Her brain fizzed and sputtered to a stop. She had thought, should this moment ever come, that she would feel scared. Panicked. But she didn’t feel any of those things. She only felt—

Furious.

The kind of strange, quiet fury that arrived like death, sudden and violent and crashing over her in waves until all she could think about was getting her hands around John’s throat.

She was vividly, ferociously reminded of the drag of John’s finger along her sternum. Yours must surely be the sin of Wrath.

It felt something close to nirvana, though, in a strange, intoxicating way. All this time she had spent being worried that someone was hunting her, someone like Burke—desperate to Do Right by the law—or maybe even the Seeds themselves, because some kind of cosmic force had been on their side for reasons even she couldn’t formulate. But now?

Now, the man who had been the apex predator, the man who had dragged her through a drug-riddled nightmare, the man who had lied and lied and lied endlessly, ceaselessly, who had

(I love you, Elliot)

pretended to give a shit about the things that she wanted, was here.

Within reach.

It was a different kind of adrenaline rush, one that she hadn’t realized she had missed until her attention had zeroed in directly on John and the imminent threat that he posed. The things he could tell her mother, the things she had worked so hard to keep at bay and far behind her—John was the manifestation of all of those things, and she was fucking mad.

“Elliot,” her mother said, breaking her from the strange, dreamlike haze her fury had plunged her into, “John tells me that he’s your...”

And then Scarlet’s voice trailed off.

“What?” Elliot bit out, crushing the bones of the words between her teeth. “ John says he’s my what, mother?”

John exhaled through his mouth. There was an infuriatingly charming smile planted on his face, but if she looked close enough, she could see lines of tension there, too; she wondered if he’d really thought her mother would be a safer bet than her. “Ell,” he began, the nickname grinding Elliot’s good nature to a halt, “I think it’s important that we—”

But before he could finish his thought, Elliot interjected, “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. ”

Boomer’s barking had dwindled into low, threatening growls, his hackles fully raised like little pin needles along his spine. He was laser-focused on John, with one ear cocked in her direction, waiting. On the couch, John shifted uncomfortably.

“Bunny,” her mother said, her voice tight and her mouth set in a prim line at the expletive she’d just barked out, “tell the hound to be quiet.”

“Sit,” Elliot ordered, which did not equate to quiet, but which Boomer obeyed anyway. She thought maybe she would have been more stressed about it if she were not fully confident in her ability to heel him, should the need arise.

“I only wanted,” John tried again, raising his hands like he was trying not to spook a wild bronco, “for us to have a moment—”

“It’s nice to want things,” she bit out viciously. “There are a lot of things I want, too.”

Her mother came to a stand, clearing her throat and instantly drawing their eyes.

“Mr. Seed,” Scarlet said, her voice mild, “please take a seat. You’re raising my blood pressure, looming in my vision like that.”

John took in a breath and then re-seated himself, planting a smile on his face. “John is fine, Mrs. Honeysett.”

Her mother gave him a scathing once-over before she said, very pointedly, “Mr. Seed tells me he is your husband.”

It might as well have been a slap to the face. Elliot was viciously reminded of their last interaction—the threat of murder, the oh-so-satisfying sting of her palm connecting with his face. The last well-and-true violation John had committed against their wobbly, new-born trust.

Her stomach lurched. The kind of nausea that came with rage welled up inside of her, and she blinked furiously, wishing for once that the adrenaline did not make her so very focused and hyper-aware and instead that she could actively choose to check-out of reality.

“He’s a fucking liar,” was what ended up coming out of her mouth, because it wasn’t incriminating either way. John Seed was a liar. A deceiver. And while they might —maybe, tenuously, questionably—be married in the eyes of the law (something which Elliot could, unfortunately, not prove one way or the other), that didn’t mean fuck all.

“At the very least, you won’t be having a baby out of wedlock,” her mother continued, her voice tight with some unreadable emotion that implied she was not pleased by this development at all. She was eyeing Elliot, studying her, and for once a scolding for her poor language did not ensue. “I imagine you’ll want a moment to discuss in private what our next steps are.”

There are no next steps, Elliot thought viciously, loosening the vice-clench of her hands and feeling the blood come rushing, stinging back into her palms. She watched the corner of John’s mouth tick upward, amused; infuriatingly handsome, per usual, so much so that she wanted to just punch his fucking teeth in. There are no next steps for John Seed, not with me.

“Yeah,” she said finally, eyes narrowing, gritting the words out between her teeth. “I would love to have a moment alone with John.”

The casual smile on John’s face downturned, just a little. It was the kind of uneasy expression that came with getting what he wanted so easily, too easily, that he didn’t know if it was really what he wanted anymore. Good. She wanted him to squirm.

“I’ll be upstairs,” Scarlet replied, sweeping past her. “And you just call if you need me, bunny.”

Elliot made a small noise of agreement. The tense, drawn line of her mother’s shoulders implied a distinct dislike, and she could already feel the judgments welling up—things that John would certainly deserve. Things that her mother would wait to slip into idle, polite conversation, if it ever got to that point. Which she would do her fucking damnedest to make sure that it didn’t.

As soon as her mother had drifted wraithlike up the stairs, a moment of silence stretched between them. John came to a stand, keeping his hands up and in plain view as he took a few steps forward, inspiring in Boomer a few short, vicious barks that reminded him their friendship had been temporary and fleeting.

“Ell,” John began, “I know that you’re—”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

He exhaled, once, out of his nose. “ Elliot,” he tried again, “a lot of things were said—”

Elliot felt the anger spike in her violently. “Oh, were there?”

“My God, are you going to let me finish a sentence?”

“I should rip your fucking tongue out of your mouth, you lying rat,” Elliot snapped viciously. “What are you doing here? Why are you here? How did you fucking—how are the police not—the government —”

John flashed her a half-cocked smile that she was sure had inspired homicidal tendencies before, and would do so again. “Are you really that surprised they weren’t able to keep us?”

“This is not the fucking time,” she hissed, pitching her voice low, “to be playing games with me, John Seed.”

“No game,” he promised as he mimicked her volume. “We found a way out. I’m presuming, not unlike the same strategy with which you found a way out, isn’t that right?”

She felt her teeth clench. Of course he fucking knows, something inside of her whispered viciously. Of course he knows, he’s not stupid about things like that. Just everything else.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said finally. “You have no way of knowing that Burke didn’t send me off to a therapist and let me go.”

“Sure, Elliot,” John murmured, his voice slick, “Cameron Burke, U.S. Federal Marshal, shipped you off to a therapist who found out you were perfectly well-adjusted after caving a man’s face in with a blunt object and now you’re here, living in bumfuck nowhere Georgia. How’s mama Honeysett feel about that, anyway?” He tilted his chin, eyes sly. “About all the killing—”

She swung without thinking. It was a knee-jerk reaction, no thought and no pre-meditation, only pure and unadulterated gut-instinct to impact her fist with his face. Unfortunately, John seemed to have been prepared for it, and stepped back just in time, catching her wrist.

“I’m a quick study,” John murmured, his voice pitching low into a threat, “and I’m not interested in losing any teeth.”

“Brave of you to put your hand so close to my face,” Elliot snapped in a hiss. She jerked her wrist out of his grip like it had burned her, and it might as well have—the contact of skin, not unlike the ways John had touched and grabbed her before, when he’d had a right to.

Regarding her warily, he dropped his hand to his side. “You ran away with our baby.”

“I would hardly call leaving you to your own devices as I made a leisurely departure with government officials ‘running away’.”

“You ran away with our baby,” he repeated, cocking his head to the side. “I think the exact words were ‘you should have considered that before you fucking came inside me, you cunt’.”

Elliot’s mouth twisted. She was trying not to smile, because despite the absolute absurdity of the situation—the punch of those words still felt satisfying, in a strange, twisted way. Even though it was for that exact reason that she found herself in this situation now: pregnant, and struggling to feel like she was really that, like she was anything more than a temporary vessel for the baby who didn’t quite feel real to her yet.

John’s eyes flickered. “Find that amusing?”

“Yeah,” she replied sharply, “I think it’s some of my best work. Short of slapping you in the face. I do wish I’d made it a closed-fist punch, if I’m being honest.”

He seemed pleased at that, as though the reminder of her Wrath was a comforting familiarity, and she wished she hadn’t fallen so easily back into their old cadence. Steeling herself, she said, “You need to leave.”

“I think I’m exactly where I need to be,” John assured her. “With my unborn child, and my wife —”

“Don’t you fucking—”

“—and my mother-in-law,” he finished demurely, “who surely knows everything about what we’ve been up to these last few weeks. Doesn’t she?”

Elliot stared at him. No was the correct and truthful answer. No, her mother did not know what had been happening these last few weeks, was blissfully unaware of the extent of Eden’s Gate and their evil as well as the things that Elliot herself had done. If her mother had known what she’d done—if her mother had known the things John had done—she would have been horrified. Disgusted. Repulsed.

I’m it for you, John had said, and

(maybe that was true, maybe he was the only person who would ever be able to get her, accept her, love her)

fuck him for saying so.

“The irony of you threatening me with pure honesty isn’t lost on me. And I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish,” Elliot said sourly, after a moment. “Blackmail isn’t exactly the way to a girl’s heart, and certainly doesn’t convince me of your qualifications as a father.”

“Desperate times,” John allowed, tilting his chin up playfully, “desperate measures. And it isn’t blackmailing, per se. You could have just as easily told your mother everything that had happened and I’d have nothing working in my favor.”

But of course, he had known her better than that. John had seen the way killing Kian had affected her, the way it affected her when she was faced with the mountain of bodies she had left behind her, the shame and disconcertion at finding something wretched and wrathful inside of herself and liking it.

So he hadn’t gambled at all, really, and she supposed that she wasn’t that surprised.

He paused, studying her for a moment, before he added, “Not to mention, you are carrying my baby.”

My baby, something hissed inside of Elliot, wretched and protective, something that had otherwise been dormant inside of her up until now; not your baby, my baby.

“All I want,” he continued as he kept his voice low, sauntering closer, trying to do that thing that he did where he crowded up against her and made her brain go fuzzy, “is a chance.”

“Fuck you,” Elliot snapped. “I should have throttled you the second you walked through my fucking door.”

“But you didn’t,” he pointed out. The arrogance bled through and into his voice, bright and sharp. “And you haven’t. And that’s because you lo—”

This time, Elliot’s swing wasn’t anticipated at all, and she landed a sharp, open-palm slap to the side of John’s face. He reached up, working his jaw, his eyes narrowed as that tell-tale anger colored his expression. Good, she thought venomously, watching the red bloom just under his skin, good, I hope it fucking hurts, you stupid fucker.

“Next time you presume to tell me how I feel about you,” she warned, “it will be closed-fist. And I won’t fucking miss.”

John’s eyes flashed with something dangerous and angry. But he said, “I’m glad I didn’t break that wrathful streak out of you,” with no absence of affection-tipped venom.

“Elliot?”

It was Scarlet’s voice, drifting down from the stairs. Elliot gave John one hard, vicious look before she turned to see her mother standing at the landing where the two stairways converged at the top of the main staircase, regarding them with a critical eye.

“Have you sorted it all out?” she asked after a moment. “All of this…business?”

“I’m going to be in town for a while longer,” John said, before Elliot could formulate a response, inspiring in her yet another bout of homicidal rage that she had to quickly reel in. “I’m determined to make this work, no matter how long it takes.” And then, in what he surely thought was a very charming gesture: “I’m very pleased to get to know my mother-in-law a little better, as well.”

“Ah,” Scarlet replied. She then refused to elaborate.

“I hope,” John continued after a moment, “that’s alright with you, Mrs. Honeysett.”

Her brow arched upward, looking between Elliot and John expectantly, making it clear that was all she had to say on that. It was satisfying, to watch her mother operate as she always did without even knowing the true nature of John Seed. It was the least he deserved

“I really think you should just go,” Elliot said tightly as she turned her attention to him. “Back to Hope County, I mean. Your brothers probably need your help.”

“They’re fine,” John said, feigning sweetness despite the red sting of her slap still fresh on his skin and her mother's very apparent disdain, “and nothing is more important to me than you and the baby, Elliot.”

Saccharine and venomous. Fuck, I hate him.

“I’ll get a room in the motel here,” he continued, brightly. “That way we’ll have plenty of time to spend together. Catch up. Has Elliot told you much about Hope County these last few weeks, Mrs. Honeysett?”

"Fine," Elliot bit out, just as her mother cut in, "That won't do at all," and they looked at each other with the same amount of wounded incredulity.

"He'll stay with us." Her mother's voice was decisive. "Not in that run-down motel."

"Mother," Elliot bit out.

"I won't have a man traipsing in and out of my house at all hours of the night, living like some vagabond," Scarlet asserted. "Especially not the father of my grandchild. And you certainly don’t expect me to explain that to people."

Elliot could feel the headache blistering behind her eyes. She didn't even need to look at John to know he was grinning, ear to ear, like a fucking Cheshire Cat. It was the blatant and unimpressive downside to her mother remaining completely in the dark about what had happened in Hope County—and if John had thought he had leverage over her before, he certainly thought so now. There was no way Scarlet would have insisted he stay if she really knew.

This was bad. Devastatingly, infuriatingly, chop-her-hair-off-and-run-away bad. The kind of bad that only happened in horror comedies. Suddenly, she thought that dyeing her hair had been the most reasonable thing to do, and that her margin for acting out had increased exponentially.

"That's so kind of you," John said pleasantly from behind her. "Thank you."

"It is kind of me," was her mother's clipped agreement. "Make sure you move your…" Scarlet gestured vaguely with one elegant hand. "Vehicle behind the garage, Mr. Seed. I do not need my driveway looking like a scrapyard." Her head tilted, eyes narrowed. "Bunny, help me prepare the guest room."

She resisted the urge to sigh, knowing that if there was one thing her mother would not tolerate, it was an insolent child. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Her mother gave the two of them one more leisurely, scathing sweep-over with her eyes, making a noise that bordered skillfully between discontent and acquiescence before she departed up the stairs to leave them alone once again.

“Do we really need separate rooms?” John mused, as though he had not hunted her down five states away and showed up unannounced at her home after systematically lying to her. “I mean—you are carrying my child.”

There it was, that little spark again, pure defiance: my baby, I’m carrying them, you’ve done nothing, like all of a sudden this baby had become more hers than it had ever felt before the second John tried to stake his claim on it. “I’m going to punch your fucking teeth in,” she hissed, “if you don’t get the fuck out of swinging range.”

“I did so miss our rapport.”

“Final warning.”

He flashed her a grin that was all teeth, and she regretted, in fact, having given him a warning at all; it seemed that even though their time together had been short, old habits did die hard.

The brunette swung around on his heel, pulling the keys out of his pocket and sauntering toward the door. He truly did embody the cat that had caught the canary, more so than Elliot would have liked to admit, turning to look at her through playfully narrowed eyes. “In case you were wondering—”

“I’m not.”

“I like the red,” he finished, voice bleeding with self-satisfaction, “bunny.”

It was good, for his sake, that he had waited until he was out of reach to say so.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“ That one, Elliot?”

“Mama,” she gritted out, her fingers digging viciously into the fabric of the sheets, “please, I do not want to have this conversation.”

“I just think,” her mother amended curtly as she passed a scathing look over the brunette Elliot was currently considering shoving through the stained glass of the front door, “you could have at least picked the tall one.”

Elliot stared at her mother from across the king-sized guest bed, blinking rapidly. “You mean...Jacob?” Ugh, she thought, remembering the way John’s eldest brother had grinned at her when she’d threatened to kill him and said, yeah, you think you can, little girl? Fucker.

“Is that the redhead?”

“Yes.”

Scarlet nodded sagely. “You have to be mindful of who you pick to build a life with,” her mother intoned dutifully. “Genes, and the like. Both your daddy and I are tall, and you’re so short, honey. You want to set the baby up for success, don’t you?”

“I’m not—” Absurd. Absolutely absurd, this conversation she was having, not only that her mother thought she would just have her fucking pick of Seed brothers to be impregnated by, let alone that she would ever fucking want Jacob Seed that close to her. “I’m not discussing whether or not I’d let Jacob Seed into my bed, mother.”

“Well,” Scarlet replied primly, smoothing out the comforter meticulously with her hand, “John’s quite...alternative, anyway. I just never knew you liked...” Her voice trailed off again, and she gestured vaguely.

Elliot arched a brow at her. “Liked?”

“That,” her mother finished after a moment, and then sighed, like it had been excruciating for her to say so. It wasn’t as though they’d had many heart-to-hearts about what kind of boy Elliot liked, anyway. “You know, the—tattoos. And whatnot.”

“They don’t bother me one way or another, mama.”

“I find your taste in men quite eclectic. What happened to that nice young man you went to high school with? And all of those school dances? He was nice. Didn’t you two work together at the sheriff’s office?”

The last person that Elliot wanted to discuss in terms of a romantic relationship was the one man she’d dated in high school. Staci Pratt had been evacuated with the others, and was hopefully living his life with a steadfast therapist somewhere far from Hope County, just like the rest of the Resistance. She cleared her throat.

“I’m not having a baby with Staci Pratt.”

“I know that.”

“Can we please,” she started, “can we please stop talking about this? I really don’t even want John staying here, but you insisted, and—”

Scarlet crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. “Well, why not? Don’t you like him? Enough to marry him and have a baby with him, anyway.”

I don’t, that vicious little voice inside of Elliot hissed, I didn’t say yes, I didn’t want to marry him, I don’t think I even want to marry anyone, stop talking about it, please.

It made her sick to her stomach, to think about John being her husband, to think about the fact that she was having his baby, and maybe that was why she hadn’t been able to feel quite so much like herself as of late; maybe that was why she had been feeling so disconnected from the baby, because she hadn’t quite reconciled how they had come to be in the first place.

She hadn’t reconciled that she had been so, so, incredibly, wretchedly stupid.

“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” Scarlet asked after a moment, watching her from across the bed, her mouth turning into a firmer, more deep-set frown. “You seemed awfully unhappy to have him here.”

“We didn’t leave on good terms,” Elliot muttered, clearing her throat and busying herself with pulling pillowcases onto the pillows. Fuck, she couldn’t believe she was doing this. Making up a bed in her guest room for John fucking Seed.

Her mother moved around to the foot of the bed, stepping carefully over Boomer so as not to disturb him where he lay. She paused at the door, just long enough without saying anything to draw Elliot’s attention back to her, before she exhaled softly.

“It’s Christmas next week,” her mother said after moment, completely ruining the illusion she’d had of her mother actually asking her something meaningful. “The perfect time to practice patience.”

Elliot felt her mouth twist viciously, turning away and dropping the pillows on the bed so that her mother wouldn’t see. The last thing she needed to give John Seed was patience. Least of all Christmas-spirit-induced patience. He deserved far, far less, and much worse, than that.

“Don’t forget about your doctor’s appointment,” her mother called as she departed the room, “and hurry down to eat something before you run your beast.”

It was better this way, anyway. To have John here. If he wasn’t in the custody of Federal agents, the next best place he could be was where she could see him—keep tabs on him, keep aware of what kinds of shit he was up to. And maybe he’d get so tired with her mother’s particular brand of vitriol that he’d fucking leave.

I should be so lucky.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“What is this?”

Kajsa’s voice broke her out of her reverie. She had been watching the snowfall, flecking against the window in crystalline geometrics, methodical and variable all at the same time—but the surprise peaking in her harbinger’s voice was enough to draw her eyes away.

The heater in the car rattled, straining against the cold temperatures. Kajsa’s dark eyes had narrowed, and when Helmi followed her gaze, it was to the front of the mother’s house. Their little interloper was heading up the front steps, having apparently come from behind the two-story shop and garage to head back inside.

And then he let himself in.

“He is moving quickly, this little snake of ours,” Kajsa murmured, her voice flecked with amusement. “I thought he’d be exercising more caution.”

Helmi made a low noise. This was...displeasing, to say the least. They had been counting on John’s interference being minimal, given that he was away from home and all of his little pets. Apparently, it had only made him more bold.

And that just wouldn’t do at all.

“You will go back,” the black-haired woman beside her announced, decisively.

“What?” Helmi asked, brows furrowing together at the center of her forehead. “Back to Hope County? But—I should be here, with you. My place is—I belong with you. What about...”

Kajsa leaned back against her seat, her eyes never once having left the house. As Helmi’s voice trailed off, unused to presenting distress or dislike of a decision made by her superior, the woman’s jaw worked absently, the brush of her dark, sooty lashes caressing the top of her cheekbones. Singularly devastating and beautiful, as always, though in moments like this Helmi wished it weren’t so distracting.

“I can open our mother to the influence on my own,” she said at last, and finally turned her slate-gray gaze to Helmi. “I want you to return to our family back in Montana. Do whatever you would like, but make sure you are making them sweat. ”

She turned in her seat now, so that they were facing each other, taking Hel’s face in her hands. The pads of Kajsa’s thumbs swept across her cheeks, affectionate.

“Strangle them,” Kajsa murmured. “I want you to be my tourniquet. Stop the bleeding where you can. Tighten so ferociously around those apostates that John Seed will have no choice but to abandon our mother and leave her to me.”

I don’t want to leave, Helmi thought, watching the woman’s dark eyes—so dark, so dark, faded and distant while her pupils ate away at her irises. I don’t want to leave you.

“It is best.” Her voice pitched, soft and low, almost lulling. “For the end. For our winter, Helmi. I do not want you to go, and I will grieve, just like you will.” She tilted her head, drawing Helmi’s eyes to the wisps of dark hair spilling like black moonlight against the porcelain of her throat. “And what do we say to our grief?”

“Sorrow shared,” Helmi whispered, “sorrow halved.”

“That is exactly right.” Kajsa leaned back, the curve of her dark mouth, feline and sharp, wrenching right on Helmi’s resolve. “You will go for me, won’t you?”

I don’t want to, she thought again, the idea of leaving Kajsa alone to sit in the dark, to peel apart the mother’s layers one by one, unthread her, a distressing one. They had never been so far apart. I don’t want to be away from you.

“Helmi.”

“I will,” she managed out at last. “For you.” I would do anything, for you.

Kajsa’s smile widened, razor-sharp.

“And that is why," the woman murmured, "you are perfect to me."

#my writing #fic: witching hour #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #john's impending death is near on the horizon #i can feel it in my bones #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed/deputy #fc5 oc #john seed x deputy #poor mans about to get eviscerated by scarlet honeysett #jskjdaskjd

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jtem · 4 years ago

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Better Call Saul Season-6 Predictions

#1. Lalo dies

The buzz online is that Lalo survives Better Call Saul and is still running around, unseen, in the Breaking Bad world.

Don’t believe it.

Most of this buzz seems to be emanating from the same source. I’ve watched more than one Youtube video speculating about Season-6, for example, which pretty much mirrored each other. We’re talking little or no difference in content from supposedly unrelated people! So that’s not a Buzz, that’s the studio setting expectations.

Anyhow, the buzz points back to an Episode in Breaking Bad, Season-2, where Walt & Jesse kidnap Saul in an attempt to pressure/scare him into not making any deals with the DEA no matter how beneficial they would be for his client. Anyhow, they succeed in scaring Saul, he thinks they’re drug cartel henchmen, and pleads for his life insisting “it wasn’t me” and “it was Ignacio.”

Ignacio is the Nacho character’s real name in Better Call Saul.

So the Buzz is claiming that the scene in Breaking Bad, WHICH TAKES PLACE AFTER SEASON-6 OF BETTER CALL SAUL, means that Lalo is still alive & walking around, and none of this makes sense.

“Family is everything.”

That’s a Salamanca family creed, heard in Breaking Bad & Better Call Saul both.

There were at least four Salamancas alive in the Breaking Bad universe at the time Saul Goodman was pleading for his life and none of those Salamancas were Lalo.

Hector. Not very active, post stroke, but not dead.

Hector’s two nephews (the psycho twins), later done in by Hank Schrader, but still very much alive at this point.

Hector’s son, who is eventually killed by Jesse in Season-4.

So we don’t need Lalo alive for Saul to fear retribution, we’ve got Salamancas enough for that, and... And... AND...

Lalo doesn’t kill Saul. If Lalo was alive and had reason to murder Saul, Saul would be dead.

But, again, Lalo isn’t in Breaking Bad. The last of the Salamancas dies in Season-4 of Breaking Bad and none of them are Lalo. Gus visits Hector in the nursing home, after poisoning the cartel’s leadership, taunting him with the fact that they’re all dead and the Salamanca name dies with him (Hector).

We watched all the Salamancas die. None of them were Lalo.

#2. Kim Wexler

Ever notice that Kim’s enemies are all men? She hates Howard. She hates Kevin at Messe Verde. The victims of her little play con games were men. She’s a loner, she doesn’t seem to have any friends except for Jimmy, and Jimmy appears less a man in her life than a surrogate mom. Which doesn’t make sense because she didn’t seem to get along with her mom too well. But we don’t really know much of that story so maybe Jimmy/Saul is that loving relationship she never had with her mom, maybe Jimmy/Saul is a place holder for the dad we never saw...

Kim’s mom was unreliable and pretty shady it seems. That implies Jimmy but who knows? Still I have to make a prediction so I’m saying that Jimmy is Kim’s way of trying to have an emotional relationship with her mom.

I don’t think we’ve seen “The Real Kim” in Season-5.

“Opposites Attract.” Kim is far more similar to Howard and Kevin than she is to Jimmy, which may explain her negative feelings towards them. She’s beating on herself? By beating on them she’s beating on herself?

Anyway, I think the journey for Kim comes full circle, and the Jimmy Experiment ends. I don’t think she dies, I think she walks. That, the love and attention from whatever parent she never got growing up she now gets from Jimmy has served it’s purpose. It fulfilled her needs. And, she realizes this. She doesn’t hate Jimmy, it’s an experience she had always wanted, and Jimmy is never going to stop loving her but their paths diverge in Season-6.

Would be a hoot if she winds up with Howard... Probably what I would have done with the story.

#3. Jimmy/Saul

At some point Jimmy fully transforms into the Saul Goodman character of Breaking Bad, and I’m guessing it’s the departure of Kim Wexler from his life that makes it happen.

Supposedly “Slipping Jimmy” had been trying to recast himself, and rebrand himself, from the beginning of the series, and he drew most if not all the inspiration from Kim Wexler. It was her rise from humble mailroom beginning to Power Attorney that prompted Jimmy to try the same. It was Kim, or Jimmy’s emotions for Kim, that drew him away from the path of Slipping Jimmy and towards that of Kim’s... and his brother’s.

Anyway, I see Kim as Jimmy’s anchor. He’s a moth drawn inexorably towards her flame. The moment that flame is gone there is nothing to oppose Slipping Jimmy, no reason to fight it, no incentive to try much less actually change.

So that’s how I see it: Kim walks and Saul Goodman snaps back hard into the Slipping Jimmy traits. He becomes the Saul Goodman of Breaking Bad.

#4. Nacho/Ignacio

I suspect that he dies. If I was writing for the show I would certainly write that in, his death, see if it stuck. I mean, he clearly has no future in the Better Call Saul universe as he doesn’t appear as Nacho/Ignacio.

Could he just run? Of course. That’s what he wants to do. He wants out of the drug cartel, he wants out of his life of crime, he wants to run and he could certainly do that. He could run. And that could be why the character is not in Breaking Bad. It could be. It could happen that way. Or he can die. I’m going to say he dies.

#5. Francesca

I don’t know. I really honestly don’t. She was an employee of Jimmy’s and Kim’s, they loved her, she was a great worker and then in Breaking Bad she seems like a mostly angry and corrupted person. On Breaking Bad she often comes across as somebody who is compromised and doesn’t like it, but she clearly is not lifting a finger to stop being compromised...

So I don’t get it.

Francesca returns to Saul Goodman sometime between Season-6 of Better Call Saul and Season-2 of Breaking Bad. I’m assuming we see her in Season-6. So, um, I guess that’s my prediction? We see Francesca again?

#6. They overlap

Better Call Saul is a prequel to Breaking Bad. It happens first. Right?

Not necessarily.

The two shows could run concurrently.

Saul Goodman doesn’t make his first appearance in Breaking Bad until Season-2, Episode-8. So that leaves the entire first year and just over half the second for a Better Call Saul/Breaking Bad crossover.

We’ll definitely see more Breaking Bad characters pop up in Season-6. The money is on Walter White making an appearance.

#10. The Breaking Bad Movie

So Breaking Bad ends and Walter White is dead, right? No. Wrong. All we saw was him collapse, presumably unconscious. But he could have been alive. People survive gunshot wounds all the time. So Walt is alive, in prison and the first act of the film is Walt’s stupendous breakout! We’re talking Mission Impossible & MacGyver all rolled into one! Walt engineers the most brilliant escape EVER, and then goes hunting for his $80 million that the Neo Nazis stole from him. He doesn’t know where it is but unlike everyone else on the planet he knows that it exists.

What do you think? Ground penetrating RADAR? Maybe inferred to search out changes in surface temperature, revealing hidden doors or tunnels?

AND THEN he needs to go after Gretchen & Elliot. Walt hated them, yes, but if you recall he dropped all of his money on them with instructions to gift it to his son, Walt Junior. Gretchen and Elliot agreed, of course, but after Walt’s capture they turn it all over to law enforcement, double crossing Walt. So Walt needs revenge on them, but he also needs a flight out of the country because he’s sick of trying to hide his cash, and he doesn’t want to go underground. No, Walt wants to retire someplace where he can live out his life as a free man, spend his money without care and Gretchen & Elliot just happen to own a private jet!

See how that works out?

Now, is Jesse involved in any of this? Jesse now knows that everything he was thinking about Walt was wrong, that Walt never double crossed him but he had double crossed Walt.

Jesse’s turning point -- against Walt -- when he was waiting to “The Vacuum Cleaner Repair Man” to help him to disappear, start a new life. Jesse seems to believe that he was being set up but in El Camino he spots the exact same mini van parked at the vacuum cleaner’s shop, so he knows that Walt was legitimately trying to help.

So, maybe now Jesse wants to help Walt. Or maybe law enforcement caught up to him and he just wants to escape and start a new life somewhere else, like Walt.

Is Saul Goodman in prison? How does Season-6 end? We know that in Season-5 he got made by a cab driver who seems intent on some sort of “Reward” i.e. blackmail. Maybe he puts Saul in prison. Or someone else recognizes him. Anything. So by the end of Season-6 Saul may be behind bars with Walt or even Walt & Jesse.

I think I’d rather see Walt reunited with his family on Gretchen & Elliot’s plane, instead of Saul. And the movie might need a sequel anyway, and Saul is as good a reason to have one as any, so there’s that...

#Better Call Saul #Breaking Bad #Predictions #TV Series #Fandom #Binge watching #Kim Wexler #Slipping Jimmy #Walter White #text post #Txt Post

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mcustorm · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on Jamie Johnson 5x06

SPOILERS

Old habits die hard...forgiveness...cancellation. This episode's main theme is how it can be hard to shake who we’ve been, how we have to reconcile that with who we’re trying to be. Zoe and Liam both are having a mirror thrown up in their face, and they unfortunately act pretty much like how I’d expect.

First things first, the show is called Jamie Johnson! Our title character is entering that Hey Arnold!-esque role where we are now fully aware that so much of the show’s strength is because of the ensemble. Anyways, Jamie’s going through it; he’s delusional and just kinda wants to yeet off his cast with a quickness, kinda like how we here in America basically said “Yea, the virus is over.” As I fear we may find out soon, these things take time. So Jamie finds solace in video games (Let’s discuss how *terrible* I am at FIFA). Which isn’t too bad...for now.

Let’s talk about how Boggy is such a good friend to these people. Episode 1, Boggy could not care less about football. Episode 50, it is basically his entire identity, and he doesn’t even play! Football had an extensive hand in ruining his relationship, ehh nobody cares. I don’t like how Boggy constantly is the biggest cheerleader for various characters in the show (Jamie, Jack, the whole mascot era, this episode he went out of his way for Zoe), but *whenever* he has something of his own to do (which is rare!), they just pat him on the back, say “Oh you’ll be fine,” and head off to the pitch. Justice for Boggy!

Before we start with Liam, let me preface by saying I like Eric and Freddie. They remind me of younger cousins of mine, warts and all. And the show has really humanized Alba in her episodes. The point is, generally, I like those characters. I do not necessarily like that trio’s dynamic. I said last week I didn’t trust Liam, well I still don’t. One of the scenes that I really liked from seasons prior is after Dillon gets kicked out of Hawkstone Academy, Hansard sits him down and basically tells him, “You lost out big not because they’re jealous, not because of your diabetes, but because you’re a shithead.” Point blank period, “You’re a shithead, Dillon.” Some people just need to be told.

And for me, a large part of what makes Dillon’s character so compelling is because in that moment, he really dashed his chances of becoming as successful as he could be. I mean, it still could happen, but it’ll be a helluva lot harder. Hence why Liam’s “redemption” I’m really cold on. Both Dillon and Liam have to learn the same lesson: How you treat people has substantial impact on how successful you’ll be. But Dillon never had a shot of making it back to the Academy, so he used that lesson to impact his general outlook. That’s why he told Jamie “don’t do it sis” when he started to steal the bikes with Jethro. He was being empathetic.

Liam, on the other hand, is only using that lesson to get back on the pitch. He realized that shit-talking to Alba took him off the field, so he plays nice with Alba to get back on. That easy, right? It’s not genuine. And Alba knows that he’s gonna play nice with her, so she’s fine letting him back on to win. The only people who are as unsympathetic to this character as I am are Eric and Duncan the Snake (Mike keeps shading him about how much of a snake he was, so there ya go). Also, you wanna talk about redemption? Duncan has just about done everything right since the incident.

Is Eric arrogant? Yes! Is he absolutely right to not like Liam and not want him on the team? Yes! Was he wrong in being cold and cautious? Naaaaah. Was he wrong in being openly antagonistic, as well as dumping Liam’s bag when it had certainly already been searched? Okay, fine I’ll give you that. Were Alba and Freddie wrong for saying “Oh Eric, you’re being an angry shithead again. We’re going to hang out with Liam who is totally and completely redeemed because he picked up some trash!�� AN EMPHATIC YES!

Ruby is also here, and this week *she’s* the one to tell Dillon he’s a shithead. The only thing these quick scenes do is 1) tide us over till next week, when this is gonna get gud and 2) inform us that Dillon has already scored a date-but-not-a-date with Elliot?! WHAT? What in the hell is going down in those DM’s?! We DEMAND a Jamie Johnson text app, Andi Mack style.

Finally, Zoe. Oh Zoe. What’s her last name again? Sharapova? I’m gonna be straight up: I am VERY hot and cold on this character. I cannot stand the whole “there can only be one” trope, because it only ever is applied to girls, and of course Zoe is the embodiment of it. Remember when she bent over backwards to avoid having Jack know about the contest, and then got mad when she found out Jack neglected to mention it to her?

For the record, we don’t know if Jack did this intentionally or not. All we *know* is that Jack told her before the deadline and encouraged her to apply, way more than Zoe ever planned to do for Jack. At worst it was a front-stab, and everybody knows you’d rather be front-stabbed than back-stabbed.

And then of course there was the whole stealing incident that she only did to undermine Jack’s success that day. So yes, Zoe is a hater, and a hypocrite, and a snake. And I forgot all about it after Jack left. I actually was warming up to the character, especially as she pushed to lead the team last season. But then, Jack showed back up and her character reverted back like 1.5 seasons. Haven’t cared for the character since then.

So now, there’s a new girl in town, and Zoe is back on her bullshit. Once again, she is insecure. Once again, she is projecting. Once again, the girl tries to be nice to Zoe and she gives her nothing but grief. Now, in a full circle moment, it’s Dillon’s turn to tell her “Hey, you’re kind of a shithead to these girls.” And just when I’m about to forgive the character and move on, the plot steps in and says “Nah, bruh. We still got like 7 episodes left this season. Maybe later.” The show pulls the ol’ “if she had stayed just 3 seconds longer she would’ve gotten the whole context” trope. So for now, I still can’t stand Zoe and I’m patiently awaiting her redemption. Also, Kat needs to put the damn necklace in a picture frame or a lockbox or sumthin.

So all in all, a delightfully frustrating episode that does exactly what it’s supposed to do: set us up for some juicier content down the road. The first stop on that road being next week -- *the* episode of the season so far and Love, Victor (early!). Yall already know what time it is.

#jamie johnson #dillon simmonds #delliot #thanks for reading #why am i so angry at these children #justice for boggy #andi mack #love victor

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gingerwritess · 6 years ago

Note

"Person A is pregnant but finds out just before Person B has to gone on a six month long trip. When Person B returns Person A surprises them with their growing baby bump hilarity and confusion ensues" Maybe this one for Elliot and dad!Loki? have a great day sweetcheeks

combined with this request from @mylovelycrazyworld

summary: well…Elliot wanted a sibling. it’s about time he got one.

warnings: pregnancy stuff, a tiny hint of angst, missing Loki, fluff, and lots of Elliot silliness

a/n: FIRST OF ALL I AM SO PROUD OF THIS so i hope you e n j o y

sorry, second, i got waaay too carried away with this and suddenly its like a part of a wholeass story and yeah we’re gonna move this little storyline right along.

third i accidentally posted this before it was done a couple weeks ago so if you read it that time, i’m so sorry, this one is done and much better.

i’m also so sorry i’ve been gone lately. it’s been a crazy hectic last couple weeks so i haven’t had much time to sit down and finish writing anything! thanks for sticking around :)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Of course Loki had to leave this week, of all weeks.

Elliot’s taking the separation fairly well; Loki had left for Asgard with a kiss on the forehead, a tight hug, and a pretty serious request.

“You’ll take care of your mother for me while I’m away, won’t you?”

The little boy had promised, naturally, trying to look as serious and grown-up as he could, and even offered his hand to Loki for a handshake when he went in for a hug goodbye. Loki’s jaw had dropped in shock; then he pushed Elliot’s hand out of the way and swooped him up laughing into his arms for a tight, chaotic, firm hug.

So now you have a protective five year old fussing over you all day long, which is honestly worse than having a protective 1000+ year old fussing over you. He tries to do everything he sees Loki doing, everything he’s supposed to do to “take care of his mother:” like holding your hand in every possible situation, running up behind you and hugging the back of your legs, he’s even kissed your forehead at one point.

Loki’s trained him well.

But morning four of Loki being gone brings an unexpected turn. Elliot has been sleeping in your bed with you, wanting to keep you company—but mostly just missing the clone that Loki normally lets Elliot cuddle up with every night. This Tuesday morning, he’s laying across your stomach, happily sucking a thumb and drooling onto your shirt—well, technically it’s Loki’s.

It would’ve been nice to wake up and see his chubby little face all squished up with sleep, but you’re brutally shaken from your rest by a lurching stomach—you’re going to throw up, right now. You try to push Elliot off you as gently as you can, already retching as you shove him one last time, a little harder than you meant to, and he groggily sits up.

“Whasgoin’on?” He rubs the sleep from his eyes, but you’re already sprawled on the tiles in the adjacent bathroom floor, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet. “Mom! No, mom, what’s wrong?!”

“S-stay—stay back,” you cough and wave him away just as before another retch doubles you over, chest heaving when it finally simmers down. “Just give me a second, okay? You don’t want to see this, bud.”

“But are you okay? You got really sick!” He rushes up behind you and starts rubbing your back with a cool little hand. “Ew, you smell kinda funny.”

“Gee, thanks, kiddo.”

“I’m just sayin’!” He holds his nose with one hand, using the other to wrap around your waist and lean into your side. “What does dad do to help you when you’re sick?”

You pull yourself up and over to lean back against the wall, trying to catch your breath and running a hand through Elliot’s curls. “Uses his magic stuff to make me feel better…cuddles with me, just like you’re doing.” You smile weakly down at the little boy, and he quickly lays his little hands on your stomach. “No no no, don’t try it, it’s okay! I feel better!”

“Aw, man.” He sadly retracts his sparking hands—thank god—and nestles back into your side. “I’m getting gooder at my magic, ya know. Dad’s teachin’ me real good.”

“I don’t doubt it, Elliot,” you assure him with a light squeeze of a hug. “But you probably shouldn’t test out any of your magic on people, okay?”

He nods seriously, patting your stomach gently. “Good idea. I gotta be careful with your tummy now, too.”

“Don’t worry, buddy, this is just a bug. I’m already feeling better.”

Elliot shakes his head and crawls onto your lap, leaning down to put his ear to your stomach—what in the world? He listens for a moment and suddenly the wheels in your brain start turning: oh my god. This couldn’t mean…?

The little boy sits up again and feels your stomach one more time, focusing hard on something. “Nope, s’not a bug,” he smiles and gives your belly another gentle pat. “It’s just my baby tryna say hi.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Six pregnancy tests later, there’s no doubt about it. How Elliot figured it out before you even had a hunch, you have no idea, but the little piece of plastic drops from your hand when you flop face-first onto the bed, mind swirling.

This isn’t a surprise.

Elliot had asked. Loki and you had talked, agreed; this is what you want. But really, baby?

Now?

Loki doesn’t get back for another four months. Pregnancies are hard; you’re not going to pretend they aren’t, and to not have your husband here to help you through it…this is going to be much different than when you were pregnant with Elliot.

You glance once more at the last test: positive as ever.

Pregnant. Again.

Sighing audibly, you roll over on the bed and grab Loki’s pillow, hugging it to your chest and breathing deeply, eyes drifting shut.

“We��re gonna be fine,” you whisper, your voice serving more to soothe your own racing mind than anything, “we’re gonna have another baby, and we’re gonna be fine.”

You bury your face in the pillow, hugging it tighter. It smells like Loki—heavenly.

That’ll have to do for the next four months.

* * * *

“What does dad wanna name the baby?”

The plastic fork scrapes against Elliot’s plate in grating anticipation of your answer. He’s picking at his lunch; his appetite hasn’t been quite so bottomless with Loki having been gone for so long.

For yours, on the other hand, the exact opposite is true.

“Dad…doesn’t know yet.” You rip another chunk of bread from the entire baguette in your hand and dip it in butter. This baby seems to have an appetite for seven and a particular fondness for carbs.

Wonderful.

“That’s ok,” Elliot nods thoughtfully. “Names are hard to come up with. I think it should be…blueberry! Cause I love blueberries so much and I love my baby—”

“No, no, I meant…” you struggle to swallow your mouthful of bread and hold up a finger. “Dad doesn’t know that we’re having a baby yet.”

“Why not?”

…yeah, that’s a good question. You probably should’ve called Loki a good while ago, when you’d found out you’re expecting—I mean, it’s his kid too.

But telling Loki he’s going to have a second child just seems like something you don’t do over the phone.

“I don’t want to miss his reaction,” you answer honestly, shoving another chunk of baguette in your mouth. “I wanna sh-uprise ‘im when ‘e gets home.”

Translation: I’m terrified.

Elliot eagerly claps his hands together, the fork falling to the table with a clatter. “That’s a good idea!” He squeals, jumping up to run over and climb into your lap, laying his little hands on your belly. “Dad’s gonna be so excited to meet Blueberry, he’s gonna cry—”

“We are not naming this baby after a fruit. Sorry, kiddo.”

* * * *

An agonising two more months pass, lonely and chock-full of horrid cravings, mood swings, aches and pains and puking nearly every single morning…this baby already seems to hate you.

Elliot’s been a little trooper the past four months.

Hugs whenever you need them, plenty of crayon drawings of your family so you “don’t miss dad too much,” peace and quiet when you fall asleep at the table again, even a few attempted breakfasts in bed. He’s been so sweet and helpful when you know he misses his dad more than anything, so today you drag yourself out of bed, throw up once for good measure, and tell him to get ready for an ice cream trip.

Loki was supposed to be home a week ago, but you can’t let yourself think about that.

Driving with your little bump of a belly is starting to get really uncomfortable, but you make it alright to the little ice cream parlour that Elliot claims makes the best cotton candy ice cream of all time.

“I miss my dad,” Elliot pipes up while you’re sitting in silence, a faint bluish tint to his skin due to the coldness of the ice cream. “He shouldn’t hafta leave ever again.”

“Same here, kiddo, I’m sorry.” You lay a hand on your belly and try to give Elliot a reassuring smile. “This little monster misses him too, but they’re just glad that they have an awesome big brother to take care of them!”

That brings a halfhearted smile to the little boy’s face, and he goes back to licking his ice cream cone, watching you with reddish eyes deep in thought.

“Y’know, dad loves you, mom.” Elliot reaches over to take your hand in his tiny, sticky one, much to your surprise. “He loves you a whole lot, I know it, and he’s not gonna be angry that we’re havin’ another baby.”

Your jaw drops.

What the hell??

Your son, who is apparently getting some kind of crazy read on your thoughts right now, leans over the table and plants a sticky blue kiss to the back of your hand—just like he’s seen Loki do countless times. “Don’t be ‘fraid of him, he’s gonna be so super excited.”

Part of you kind of wants to run away screaming, but maybe mothers shouldn’t do that to their children, so you just gape like a dying fish at the strange little mini-Loki in front of you.

“I’m…I uh…” your mouth opens and closes a few times while your brain tries to catch up. “I’m not…I’m not scared of dad, Elliot, what makes you say that?”

You’re not…right?

Elliot licks his ice cream cone again, catching a drip down his arm. “Nah, you’re ‘voiding your ‘sponsibilities.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re scared to tell dad about Blueberry, right? I heard you in my dream, you told me dad was gonna be upset and get scared to have two kids.”

You swallow hard, trying to find the lie in his innocent statement. “But he—no, he won’t be upset, he wants another kid, he told me.”

This kid is ripping you to shreds, covered in blue and pink melted ice cream.

“S’what you told me,” Elliot shrugs. “Said dad’s gonna like one of us better.”

…you’ve got to pee again.

A blessed escape, cause if Elliot says one more word about Loki or this baby, you’re pretty sure your hormonal self is going to break down in tears.

“I’ll—I’ll be right back,” you choke, scooting your chair back with a loud scrape and pulling yourself to your feet. “Are you okay to stay here? I’ll only be a couple minutes right over there, no talking to strangers, you know the rules.”

Elliot nods, looking worried as you swipe at your eyes and set down your cup of ice cream with shaking hands. “You okay, mom?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll be right back,” You mutter and rush off to the bathroom.

You certainly didn’t look fine, but Elliot shrugs to himself and goes back to his ice cream, keeping a wary eye on the other people in the shop.

“Did your mother just leave you out here all alone?”

Elliot spins around in his chair at the voice, dropping his ice cream cone to the floor and bringing his hands up ready to fight whoever is approaching him—Loki’s taught him enough to fend for himself.

But when he whirls around, he immediately lowers his hands and jumps out of his chair—it’s Loki.

“DAD!” Elliot scrambles out of the chair and bolts into Loki’s waiting arms, knocking him over with the force of his hug. “Dad, dad, you’re home! You’re home!!”

“That I am,” Loki laughs, hugging the little boy tightly to his chest. “I missed you so much, Elliot, so much.”

“Hey!” Elliot points a little finger into Loki’s chest, suddenly serious. “Don’t you ever leave us again, ‘kay??”

“Of course, I’m so sorry I had to—”

“Pinky promise??” Elliot shoves his little finger in Loki’s face, and the god chuckles, extending his own to seal the promise.

“Pinky promise. Hopefully.”

Satisfied with the agreement, Elliot jumps off his dad and rushes back to the table, frowning at the sticky mess that’s left of his ice cream on the floor. “You owe me an ice cream, dad, look whatcha made me do.”

“My sincerest apologies, young man,” Loki chuckles, swooping the kid up in his arms for another squirming hug, trying to sneak a few tickling kisses somewhere on his face. “Where is your mother?”

You come out of the bathroom just in time to hear Elliot answer “hidin’ from you, I think,” and you stop dead in the middle of the shop when you see your husband smiling wide and holding Elliot in his arms.

“Elliot! No I’m not!” You shake yourself out of your shocked daze, running over to the two of them and nearly knocking them over when you throw your arms around Loki’s neck.

Immediately setting Elliot back on the ground, Loki breathes your name and draws you into the tightest embrace he can manage, his arms clutching you so close you have to plant your hands on his chest and gently push him away to keep him from hurting your belly.

He doesn’t seem to notice, but Elliot sure does.

Loki’s hands cradle your face as he pulls away and just stares at you for a moment, trying to decide if words could even begin to describe how happy he is to be with you again.

“I missed…oh, come here.”

He laughs with watering eyes and pulls you close, pressing his lips to yours over and over until neither of you can breathe, half laughing, half teary-eyed because he’s here, you’re all here, together finally.

“That was—mmph—too long,” you laugh around Loki’s relentless lips, keeping a hand to his chest to keep him from your baby bump.

Elliot bounces on the balls of his feet, glad to see his parents so happy again, but sticks a hand between you both to cover your belly. “Careful, dad, don’t hurt my b—”

“ELLIOT!” You cut him off with a nervous chuckle, shooting him a pointed look—shh!

The little boy claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Sorry.”

“What for?” Loki asks with a breathless laugh, his hand cradling the back of your head to keep you pressed against him.

“Nothing, nothing,” you assure him, kissing him again. “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re home, Loki. Tell us everything!”

He holds you away from him for a moment with his hands on your shoulders, looking you up and down with a dopey grin on his face—you’re really glad you wore a too-big shirt today, it covers your beginning baby bump pretty well.

“You look incredible,” he murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief—he missed you. His eyes fall on your chest and linger for a half a second longer; your breasts seem…bigger than when he left.

Trust me, he would know.

But he shakes it away and pulls up a chair, and the three of you launch into a detailed retelling of everything you’ve missed over the past four months.

“Well, everything went wrong the moment I stepped foot in Asgard.” He leans forward, eager to tell his story. “There had been an attempt on the relics, and rumours of more to come, so we had to—what’s so funny?”

Elliot’s covering his mouth with a sticky hand, desperately trying to muffle the giggle-fit overcoming him as he looks at you: you’re clutching your stomach with an extremely pained grimace, trying to get comfortable in the little metal chair.

“Nothin’…” he snorts and quickly looks away from you when you glare at him. “What happened next, dad?”

“Okay…” Loki shoots you a confused glance and you quickly grin back, trying not to look like there’s a tiny human laying directly on your bladder right now.

How’s that working out for you?

“Are you alright, my love? You look like you’re in pain.”

“Just a stomachache!” Your gritted laughter is nervous but hopefully convincing enough.

“Are you sure? Just tell me, darling, I can disspell the sickness in less than a second—Elliot!” He whirls around in his chair to glare halfheartedly at the little boy giggling again. “Your mother is in pain, why are you smiling??”

“‘Cause I know something you don’t know,” Elliot sings, clapping his hands with glee and wiggling around in his seat. “Mhm, I’ve got a secret, ‘n I’m not tellin’—”

“Elliot. That’s enough.”

You reach over and pull the little guy into your lap, clamping both hands over his mouth and smiling sweetly at your husband—who just looks very confused. And a little worried.

He’s made it pretty clear that there would be no secrets in this little family of yours.

“Our son…has a secret?” Speaking to you, not Elliot, he raises an eyebrow and it’s not exactly amused. “Care to enlighten me, wife?”

“Don’t worry, Loki, it’s not a secret,” you sooth, tapping Elliot’s mouth twice before letting him go again. “It’s more of…a surprise, really.”

Elliot clasps his hand behind his back and rocks forward on his toes, excited eyes darting back and forth between you and Loki.

“I don’t like surprises.”

“But you’re really gonna like this one,” Elliot promises, sending an overly dramatic attempt of a wink your way.

Unbelievable.

Letting out a dismayed groan, you drop your forehead to your hand. “Elliot, please stop…”

Loki crosses his arms, already looking a little on the defensive side with lips tightly pressed together—this is exactly why you didn’t want to tell him. Way to go, kid.

“If you have something to tell me, tell me now.”

“I—can I tell you at home? Later?”

The god sighs, not able to help feeling as if the joy of your reunion had been let out faster than the air in a deflating balloon—now he’s worried, feeling excluded, almost offended.

Secrets. Never a good idea within a family.

“Don’t worry, snowflake,” you chirp with feigned nonchalance. “You’re gonna love this surprise.”

Your fingers cross under the table.

* * * *

Loki doesn’t bring it up the rest of the day.

You’d guessed he would mention it again at least during dinner, try to pry the information from you, but he smiled and listened to Elliot talk about his loose tooth, eating his food apparently unbothered.

Your knee hasn’t stopped nervously bouncing since you sat down.

Maybe he knows? If Elliot felt it, Loki certainly could. The kid’s voice is still echoing through your mind as you get Elliot ready for bed:

“You told me dad was gonna be upset and get scared to have two kids.”

Okay, maybe you’re a little worried that Loki’s past may hinder his enthusiasm for a second child, but you’ve never even admitted to yourself that he would be upset or scared. But the more you think about it, the more sense it makes: he would be terrified.

Favouring one child over another? That would be Loki’s worst nightmare, yet he hadn’t brought that up when Elliot first asked for a sibling. He’d happily agreed to have a second kid, kissing away your concerns…

Hugging your arms around yourself, you stare at his back from the doorway. His hair is lazy, pulled into a mindless knot on the top of his head; he looks relaxed, doing dishes. At peace with his life.

His life with his wife and his one son.

Did he lie to you?

Had he looked you in the eye, said “I want another baby,” and lied?

God of lies, you keep letting yourself forget.

Your mind goes berserk right there in the kitchen, convincing you that he lied to you, that this baby is unwanted, that he only said that he wanted another baby to keep you happy, that no, he didn’t ever want children, he just wanted to fuck you, that everything he’s ever said to you is a lie—

“Your thoughts are deafening, my love.”

You jump with a start as his voice interrupts your destructive train of thought. “Were you listening?” You immediately ask, voice venomous. “Loki, did you listen?”

He turns around and dries off his hands, leaning back against the counter with a sad smile. “Of course not, out of respect for your secret. I trust you to tell me.”

You stare at him, unmoving and unsure, and he pushes himself away from the counter to take a few tentative steps toward you. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, sensing your troubled mind. “You need rest, then you can tell me this secret when you are ready.”

Nodding slowly, you let him take your hand and lead you to the bedroom, keeping your mouth firmly shut. He shuts the door behind you and you walk straight to the bed, laying down and turning your back on him to avoid this as long as possible.

“Don’t you want to change first?” Loki laughs, and the mattress dips as he climbs on next to you, laying right against your body and pulling you back into him. “Those pants can’t be comfortable, let me get them off of you.”

You shake your head—horny, lying bastard.

“…would you like me to draw you a bath?” He’s trying a gentler approach now, noticing your apprehension and holding you closer.

Another shake of the head.

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

Your hand subconsciously falls to your little baby bump, but Loki’s follows right after to cover your own hand with his.

You’re sick of this—just tell him.

You slip your hand out from under his, grab his wrist, and press it to your belly. His breath catches in his throat, you can hear it, and his cold hand gently runs across the swell of your stomach.

“What is this?”

Just say it.

“I’m pregnant.”

He sits straight up behind you and you screw your eyes shut—he’s going to leave now, right?

But he doesn’t leave; instead cold hands grip your waist and pull you onto your back, catching the hem of your shirt and promptly ripping it from your body.

“Loki!”

He looms over you, knees on either side of your body as he stares down at you. His eyes are wide and a distracted hand rubs over his mouth, trying to process this.

“How long have you known?” His voice is barely a breath.

“…four months.”

“You didn’t tell me?”

The hurt on his beautiful face is a sucker punch to the gut—you idiot, of course he wouldn’t be upset. This is Loki we’re talking about, your husband, the father of your child—children.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologise quietly, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t…I thought you-you would be upset.”

He breathes a laugh and carefully runs his fingertips down your sides, trying to memorise the sight of you carrying his child…again.

“Why would I ever be upset, my love? I can’t believe you’re this pregnant and you didn’t tell me—”

“Elliot said something,” you anxiously cut him off. “It was stupid, really, I’m stupid for believing it…” you take a breath and ramble on. “He said he had a dream you got upset about having two kids cause you might like one more than the other.”

Loki pauses his kissing down your torso, freezing with his hand splayed across your baby bump. “How did he…”

“I dunno. He was freaking me out, Loki, he started telling me things I wasn’t even thinking yet.”

“That’s my boy,” the god laughs, resting his forehead on your stomach as your brow knits in concern.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you nudge Loki’s head up to look at you. “This doesn’t worry you?”

“Our son turns blue when he touches something cold.” He presses his lips to your stomach again, eyes tightly shut. “I’m afraid your family isn’t exactly the epitome of human normalcy.”

“Yeah, but Loki, was he right?”

“That I’m scared?” He trails his lips up your baby bump, over your chest and coming to rest firmly over your mouth. “My love…I am terrified.”

“Oh.”

Your arms wind around his neck and pull him back down to your lips—maybe if you keep kissing him, he won’t be able to see the disappointment in your eyes.

It works for a little bit, and you nearly lose yourself completely when he starts gently nipping at your lips and moving to tend to your neck; he’s making you drunk on him with the flip of a switch.

It’s too easy for him.

“Loki.” Your hands curl tighter in his hair.

“Hmm.”

“Then why did you tell me you wanted another kid?”

The god pauses, moving from your collarbone back to your face to frown down at you. His fingers are cold along your jaw. “Because I do want another kid.”

“But you’re terrified.”

“And you’re not?”

That makes your mouth snap shut, eyes darting around the room to avoid his piercing gaze. Of course you’re nervous, it’s not like you have any better ideas of how to raise a child—and you’re the one carrying it, for god’s sake.

“I don’t think I need to say more.” Loki smiles, soft and edging closer to the sad end of the spectrum. “I’m always scared. Of you, of my son…and now my second child.”

You still can’t look at him. Shame, maybe.

“I’m terrified of you, did you know that?” He’s kissing you again, lazy lips soft along the outline of your own, up and down your jaw. “Terrified of you, our future, our children. I could lose you in seconds.”

“That’s optimistic.” You try for a cracked smile.

Cool lips meet yours, firm as his hand traces over your baby bump. “It’s realistic, actually. Keeps me honest with myself.”

“We’re not leaving you, if that’s what you’re scared of.”

“But I don’t deserve for you to stay.”

Here we go again.

“Why do you always do this??” You force a playful smile onto your face and sit up, a hand on Loki’s chest pushing him off of you onto the bed. “There you go hating yourself again, sheesh.”

Grateful for the change in subject, you roll over halfway on top of him and mold your lips to his—his, parted slightly in surprise. Your hands cradle his face, stroking through his hair and over his cheekbones as you pour every ounce of adoration you possess for him into the kiss.

Then it really clicks, just how much you missed him.

Maybe that’s why you feel this…disconnect.

Within seconds his shirt is off too, your hands scouring every inch of his skin you can reach, Loki’s breathing becoming shallower as he fumbles with belts and tries to hold your face to his at the same time.

“Missed you,” he whispers hoarsely, giving up on the belt and falling into you, shaking hands holding your neck and waist in a death grip. “My family, I missed you both, and this new one—”

His voice cracks and he moves down, littering every inch of you with kisses that come to rest on the swell of your stomach as his hands hold tight to your hips.

“I’m beyond excited.” It’s nothing more than a whisper. “Terrified, scared out of my mind, but I am so, so happy our family is growing.”

“You sure?” You tangle your fingers in his hair and tip his head up to smile down at him.

“Do I need to prove it?”

God, you missed him.

You grab hold of his face and pull him up, smashing your lips to his. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

So he does.

At least, he tries, until a yell for dad echoes down the hall.

“Good to see nothing has changed,” Loki sighs, pressing one last kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t you go anywhere, we’re not done here.”

You throw a pillow at him with a laugh as he winks and slips out the door.

Elliot is awake, as expected, sitting in his bed clutching the blankets to his chest, a strangely bright smile on his little face. “Hey dad!”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Hey…”

“You awake?”

“I am now, clearly.” He sits on the edge of the bed and plants a kiss on the top of Elliot’s head. “Why did you call for me?”

The little boy shrugs. “Just wonderin’.”

“…if I was awake?”

“Yup.”

They stare at each other for a second—

—Loki confused and battling with the fact that he just had to leave you on the bed to come take care of this kid, and Elliot scrunching his nose up in the biggest grin at his dad, just happy to see him.

“I’m…going to go back to bed now.” Loki points at the door, giving his son a strange look. “Unless you have literally anything else to tell me? Redeem my coming in here?”

“Nope!” Elliot throws his arms out in a request for a hug.

…that Loki all too happily delivers.

“Oh! Did mom tell you the secret yet?” He whispers, squeezing Loki tighter with arms thrown around his neck.

“She did,” Loki chuckles. “Are you excited?”

“I can’t wait! We’re gonna be bestest friends and I’m naming it Blueberry cause I love blueberries and I love my baby so I’m gonna—”

“Blueberry??”

“Yeah!”

Loki shakes his head with a laugh. “Blueberry Lokason. A name for the ages, without a doubt.”

Elliot beams at his father’s approval and Loki ruffles a hand through his curly hair. “Come on, go to sleep. You shouldn’t be awake right now.”

“Well you guys woke me up…” he grumbles, flopping down on his pillow.

Not again. Loki freezes, face twisting in worry—you hadn’t even started. If that was too loud, then by the end of the night the whole neighbourhood is going to be awake. “Were we being too loud?”

“Nah.” A little smile spreads over the kid’s face. “Mom’s just happy, real happy, and it woke me up.”

“You…you can feel that?”

“Yup. Just like you.” He nuzzles deeper into his pillow. “Thought’ya might wanna know, dad, ‘case you forgot.”

With a face as precious as that, Loki doesn’t have the heart to tell him that’s not just like him…that’s not exactly how his access to the mind works, but the last thing Elliot needs is another reason to believe he’s unusual.

“In case I forgot what, Elliot?” He smiles and kisses the boy’s forehead, running a hand through his hair.

“How to tell when mom’s happy!” He opens his eyes and rolls onto his back, grinning up at Loki. “I almost forgotted too, she’s been sad so long. S’why I woke up!”

“Well.” Loki’s heart twists painfully in his chest. “Thank you. I think I remember now.”

“I gotcha covered, daddy.”

“Go to sleep, little giant.”

* * * * * * * *

The walk down the hall back to the room leaves Loki wondering.

He…felt it.

The kid could tell you were pregnant before you even knew, he could tell that you were nervous to tell Loki, he knew that Loki was scared before he’d admitted it to you…now he felt that you were happy? Strong enough to wake him up?

Apparently Elliot can do a lot more than just turn blue.

The thought of that is terrifying.

All Loki can think of as his hand rests hesitantly on the doorknob is what he’s done. What he’s passed on to this child, unwillingly taking another life down with his own curses.

Elliot’s life is going to be full of pain, if this is what he is capable of. It’s bad enough that he has no control over the shifting of his skin, no thanks to the fruitless attempts Loki has made to figure out how to help him, but now…

Loki starts when you open the door.

“What’d he need?”

You’re smiling—happy, Loki can tell this time. He silently thanks Elliot for the reminder.

“A hug.” He quickly smiles back. “Wanted to know if I was awake…the usual midnight Elliot inquiries.”

“Can I get one?”

You hold your arms out and grin, giddy and irresistibly bright, and Loki steps forward to sweep you into his arms.

“I’ll give you a bit extra, too,” he chuckles, peppering your neck with light kisses as he walks you backward towards the bed. Your knees hit the edge and you fall onto the mattress, grabbing him behind the neck to bring him down with you.

An arm by your head to keep him hovering over you, Loki pauses, just smiling down at you as a few lingering laughs leave your lips.

“Are you happy, my love?”

Cold fingers run down your cheek and he leans down, brushing his lips against yours.

“Of course I am,” you mumble, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him close. “You’re home, I’ve got the best little kid sleeping down the hall, and we’ve got another one on the way.” Another peck on the lips. “I’m way past happy, snowflake.”

“Good,” he whispers, and decides that’s going to be enough for him.

That’ll be enough for all four of you.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettrosella @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @vast-ish @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @little-scintilla @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective

#loki x reader #loki reader insert #dad!loki #loki x pregnant!reader #loki x reader fluff #loki imagine #loki requests #loki drabbles #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki fluff #elliot lokason #elliot lokison

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katefiction · 4 years ago

Text

Cora, Chapter 2: Invitations

I have to tell someone.

I can’t.

I can’t tell anyone.

Annie, she’d know what to do.

No, she’d just congratulate me and pat me on the back.

Jenny? She’d freak me out even more.

Mum…let’s not go there.

Dad? I quiver at the thought.

The door swings open as I stand contemplating my options, one hand in my mouth, my nail being torn to shreds, the other clutching a bottle of brandy.

‘Cora!’, he says as if I’m a wonderful surprise he wasn’t expecting.

‘Evening Nicholas’, I smile, placing my hand at my side quickly.

He looks fantastic, his hair perfectly in place, and wearing a blue shirt and chinos. I have opted for a little black dress.

‘You look lovely’, he kisses me on both cheeks and I hand him the brandy.

‘For you’.

‘Brandy and fish? I think I’ll have to teach you a thing or two about flavours!’, he chuckles.

He lets me in to his plush Notting Hill apartment. Unlike my apartment at Clarence House, Nicholas is surrounded by shiny new furniture and contemporary art. It’s the kind of place that when you step bare foot, your feet sink into the lush, soft strands of the carpet.

He puts the brandy to one side and pours me a glass of wine.

‘So what’s for dinner?’, I ask.

‘Salt-crusted grilled fish with lemongrass’, he says proudly.

‘You are full of surprises! Who knew you were a cook?’

‘I have many talents’, he says, looking over his glass at me.

I blush lightly. I have no idea what to say in response.

We settle down to dinner, Nicholas entertaining me with stories from his childhood, and the rivalry he and his older brother, Jonathan, had as boys.

‘I used to scribble out his grades on his school work and replace them with E’s and F’s’, he laughs, ‘he used to get so angry when Mum and Dad made him do more homework to make up for it’.

‘I wish I had siblings’

‘They’re not all they’re made out to be’

‘No, you’re so lucky to have that one person who understands…’, I trail off. ‘…I remember being seven and finally realising that Mum and Dad divorcing meant I wouldn’t get a little brother or sister to play with.’

I don’t have to tell Nicholas the story, we’d never talked about it, but of course he knew, the whole world knew. My parents divorced when I was five. They continued to live in Clarence House, albeit in very separate apartments, for my sake. When I left home for university, Mum wasted no time in moving to a secluded country home in Surrey. I’d resented her for it ever since. For leaving me. For leaving Dad.

I snap myself out of it as Nicholas says, ‘yes well, silver linings and all that.’ I can see I’ve made him uncomfortable. He changes the subject and my family aren’t mentioned for the rest of the meal.

After a chocolate soufflé, we head over to the living area. I’m a little woozy from the wine and would love to put my feet up and sink into the couch, but it’s hard on the back and sides, and I sit awkwardly upright as Nicholas sits next to me, looking all the more glamorous, his arm draped over his arm rest.

‘Get comfortable’, he insists.

I shuffle backwards into the couch, holding my wine in one hand, doing my best to look casual.

Nicholas swirls the wine in his glass. ‘So I know it’s a bit short notice for someone like you, but my father’s hosting our annual Highland Fling next month, and I wondered if you’d like to accompany me?’

‘Will you be dancing?’, I giggle.

‘Yes, of course, and I’ll be in a kilt’

I almost ask him if he’ll wear the kilt in the traditional way, with nothing underneath, but I stop myself. He raises an eyebrow as if he’s expecting me to ask that very question.

‘I’ll check my diary’, I say instead.

Nicholas’ face drops slightly, giving him a look of an abandoned puppy on the roadside.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine though Nick! Best not double book myself’, I say cheerily, placing a hand on his knee to reassure him.

‘Good’. He reaches to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear before resting it on my shoulder. Tilting his body toward mine, my heart starts to beat uncontrollably. He’s taken that small gesture as a green light. Shit.

Nicholas is inches away from my face when I panic, ‘I can’t!’, I say, my voice going to liquid.

He stops, but doesn’t pull away, his face still ludicrously close to mine given what I’d just said.

‘You can’t?’

‘I mean I won’t…I mean…just not on the first date’, I manage a smile.

I’m lying; I did mean ‘I can’t’. A Freudian slip. How could I kiss this man after kissing another yesterday? How could he compare? I shake the thought of Ben out of my mind.

Nicholas pats my knee, ‘of course’.

‘Could I use the bathroom?’, I say, hoping to change the subject.

‘Through the passage, second on the right’. I think I hear a hint of annoyance in his voice.

I amble back from the bathroom a few minutes later, looking at the art work in the passage as I go. Next to the doorway that leads back to the living area is a small, wooden telephone table, with a telephone and a pile of documents sitting on top. The one messy thing in Nicholas’ home, I think to myself.

My father has always said I have an inquisitive mind; anyone else would call it nosy. I reassure myself that I’m just getting to know him better as I flick nonchalantly through Nicholas’ papers. A single sheet at the bottom of the pile catches my eye.

25/07/2163

Invoice

Elliot Mason Private Catering

2 course meal x2 £250.00

I push the papers back into place, smarting from my discovery. Part of me is endeared that he would go to such lengths for our date. The other part, the niggling part in my chest, is annoyed that he lied to me. It’s the cynical princess that wins. I have to test him.

‘So’ I say as I re-enter the room, where Nicholas is clearing away the glasses, ‘what are you going to cook for me next time?’

‘Ha! Well next time, we’ll be at the Highland Fling, so I won’t need to’, he gives me a small wink.

Forcing myself to come to my senses, I thank him for the evening, and promise to get in touch. So what if he paid a chef and lied about it? Surely that proves he likes me?

Maybe that niggling feeling I’ve felt all night isn’t my doubt, maybe it’s guilt.

I have to tell someone.

***

I drum my fingers across the desk in an erratic beat as Maggie reals off my commitments for the coming month. Our monthly diary meetings were her idea; a way to keep me organised and for us to merge my work diary with my personal one.

‘The weekend beginning Saturday, August twenty-eighth, you have free…’

‘I’m in Scotland that weekend’, I say, distracted by a fly buzzing near the window, trying to escape.

‘Ok, for the whole weekend?’ Maggie never asked for specifics, where I was going and who with were my business. Nevertheless, I usually told her anyway.

I get up and open the window, releasing the fly to the world, ‘I’m not sure yet, it’s the Dunrobin Highland Fling, I might come home the next day’.

She scribbles something in her diary, as we discuss the last few days of August for a couple of minutes. I’m eager to leave, I hate meetings. I’m always the fly trying to escape from the window.

‘Just one last thing Ma’am’, Maggie picks up a large, thick envelope. ‘This came for you at the office, I presume you were expecting it?’

She hands it to me and I pull out the contents; a navy blue information pack, with the words ‘Marion and James Evans Trust’ in white writing on the cover. My heart skips a beat.

Opening the folder, I find a compliments note written in scrawling, spiky handwriting,

‘In case you couldn’t find the email address,

Ben Evans’

I’m convinced Maggie can hear my heart humming.

‘It’s from Ben Evans, about the Trust’, I say, my mouth dry.

‘Is he wanting you to get involved?’ Maggie asks, more interested in her paperwork.

‘Um…I don’t know’, I stay glued to the spot, staring at his disjointed penmanship, wondering what it says about him.

‘Are you ok Ma’am?’

When I look up, Maggie is looking at me, a slightly concerned expression on her face. It’s not like me to be so quiet.

‘I kissed him’. The words are out before my brain can stop them.

‘Mr Egerton, Ma’am?’

‘What?’, she thinks I’m talking about Nicholas, I had told her about the date in a fit of nerves on the way back from the awards. ‘No, not Nicholas…Ben, that night, I don’t know what happened, one minute we were talking, the next…’

Maggie’s eyes widen for a milli-second, then settle. She is truly the calmest person I know.

‘Are you planning to see each other again?’

‘I don’t know, I mean of course not! I’m seeing Nicholas, it was just a moment of madness’, I blurt out.

‘Are you worried?’, she says, trying to find the source of my angst.

‘About what?’

‘That he may speak to someone?’

Her innocent question hits me in the chest like a freezing snowball on a winter’s day. I hadn’t even considered he might talk to someone, and by ‘someone’, Maggie meant the press.

‘He wouldn’t, would he? I mean, why would he?’, the panic in my voice is rising by the second.

‘For publicity, press attention…any number of reasons Ma’am’

‘Oh shit’. How could I be so stupid?

Maggie tries to placate me, ‘I can get in contact with his team, make sure he knows any such action would be deplorable’

‘No! No, it’s fine, I’ll speak to him myself’, I scan the room, my mind buzzing.

‘I’m not sure that would be advisable’, she says calmly.

I ignore her against my better judgement, ‘I should see him in person, yes, that’s what I need to do, I need to see him.’

***

Queen’s Club, London

Maggie knew it was an excuse, I knew it was an excuse. But that wasn’t enough to stop me.

I’m well known around here, visiting every month or so to play a quick game of tennis. Ben and I had spoken about it that night, he had told me he comes here often, and after a few discreet phone calls from Maggie, I had discovered he’d be here training today.

Walking towards the lawns in my tennis whites and neon pink trainers, I scan the area for any sight of him and it doesn’t take long before I do. Swinging his racket forcefully against his training partner’s forehand, he bounces around the court, sweating head to toe in the August heat.

I stand and watch for a few minutes, admiring the shapes his body can make under such speed, until his partner relents and goes to find some shade. Ben heads over to a bench on the side of the court, sits down and leans back his head, pouring water from his bottle all over his face, before gulping the rest down.

I stride towards him purposefully. I am here for a reason.

I see him squinting like he’s seen a mirage. A grin passes over his face as I approach.

‘Morning, how are you?’, he says simply.

‘Good thanks, and you?’, I say. Casual. Be casual.

‘Good, good’

I stand in front of him, an expectant silence between us. Say something clever, Cora, or funny. Say anything. Speak for God’s sake!

‘I got your information pack, thank you!’, I say with a squeak.

‘Well, I noticed there hadn’t been any emails from you’, he shrugged. ‘I thought you might have been avoiding me.’

I laugh like a deranged idiot, ‘why would I avoid you?’

‘Because you kissed me’

I’m startled by his bluntness and stumble over my words before I realise what he’s just said.

‘Wait a second, you kissed me’, I say indignantly.

‘That’s not how I remember it’, he leans down to re-tie his shoelaces.

I open my mouth to bite back, then realise what he’s doing. ‘Nice try’.

‘Aha, she’s discovered a sense of humour at last’, he says, looking to the sky playfully.

I sit down next to him; I need to bite the bullet. ‘I have to ask you something…’, I say tentatively.

‘Go on’

‘Have you…told anyone about what happened?’

‘Nope, why?’

‘I just had to check’

‘For?…’ He places his elbows on his thighs and studies me.

‘If it got out, well, it would be a nightmare; I would really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence’, he rolls his eyes. ‘Is there someone in particular you don’t want to find out? A boyfriend, perhaps’

My heart jumps into my throat. ‘No!’ I say it a little too quickly. ‘But, I’ve been on a date, since…it happened’

Why did I just tell him that?

A flicker of disappointment passes over his face.

‘So you‘re just worried I’ll use you for publicity?’, a darkness clouds his voice.

‘No, I-’

‘Cora, I’ve been in the public eye long enough to know how it works, I’m not interested in making the Sunday papers, I just want to play tennis’

‘I’m sorry, it would be stupid of me not to check’, I say.

He nods in agreement, ‘I appreciate you coming to me yourself’

‘See, I told Maggie that would be best!’, I can’t wait for the chance to rub that one in her face.

‘So Maggie knows does she?’, he raises both eyebrows. ‘And yet I’m getting the lecture about keeping my mouth shut!’

Crap. ‘She’s the only person I told, I swear’, I say, panicking.

Ben laughs, that glorious, big laugh, ‘I couldn’t give a shit who you tell’. There’s that bluntness again.

I want to hit him with my racket; this man knows how to break me into a sweat.

‘As you’re here, do you fancy a game?’, he motions towards the court.

‘With you?’

‘No with the Pope, yes with me. I heard Bejar offered you lessons, I think you can do better than him’, his deep brown eyes dart across mine.

I force Nicholas back into my mind like a shoehorn. Don’t flirt, don’t flirt.

‘Well you do need help on that forehand’, I tease.

We head over to the court where we hit a few balls around, Ben giving me some pointers along the way. As we finally get into a game, unsurprisingly, he wins every point. All but one, when he hits the net.

Later as I walk him to the changing rooms, I can’t help but gloat. ‘A point against a tennis champion, that’s pretty good going.’

‘One measly point! And it was only because I was distracted by those ridiculous trainers!’, he looks down at my neon pink feet.

It usually takes an age for a new friend to feel like they can tease me. I smile to myself, grateful that he just didn’t ‘give a shit’.

‘I’m sure you’re better at other things’, he pats me on the shoulder unaware of the glow it ignites inside me.

‘I am’, I try and sound mysterious.

‘Like?’

I say the first think that pops into my mind, ‘like the Highland Fling’

Ben finds this hilarious, of course he does.

‘I bet you couldn’t do it, I bet you’re too “manly” to even try’, I hold his gaze.

‘Try me’, he says, his voice deep.

‘There’s a party on the twenty-eighth, my friend…the guy I’m going with, it’s at his home, a big do, I’ll send you the details…if you’re not too much of a wuss, that is’

What am I doing?

‘Great’, if he’s registered that I’m going there with a date, he doesn’t show it.

‘Great, see you then’, I flounce off , my face on fire, my heart thumping.

‘Uh Cora!’, he calls after me.

I turn around.

‘You’ll probably need my number, to send me the details?’

‘Oh yes’, I blush.

I walk away with my hand gripped around my racket, Ben’s number in my phone, and his eyes on my back.

This has suddenly become very real.

What have I done?

#royal fanfiction #katefiction

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marksburyscripts · 4 years ago

Text

Season 1, Episode 5-- Heartwrench

Google Doc

[Henry’s hospital room. Day. There are no longer the sounds of life support.]

VICTOR

...You’re sure it’s okay?

HENRY

Yeah, it’s fine. Whatever helps. Record away.

VICTOR

All right. Thanks.

HENRY

...You don’t have to be nervous, you know.

VICTOR

I’m not.

HENRY

Then why are you doing that?

VICTOR

Doing what?

HENRY

You’re clenching and releasing your hand, and you’re rocking a bit in your chair. Both of which you do when you’re nervous. Seriously, how long have I known you? [Beat.] No, you don’t have to stop.

VICTOR

Oh thank God. [Beat.] ...How’re you feeling?

HENRY

Like I’ve been in a coma for the better part of a year. But lucid, so that’s an improvement, I guess.

VICTOR

Right. Right, yeah.

HENRY

...You know we’ve gotta talk about this, right?

VICTOR

Henry, shouldn’t we wait until you’re--

HENRY

No. We’re doing it now. While you’re recording. ...Victor, please tell me that I’m remembering wrong. Please tell me that I’ve just got some real bad brain damage and it’s fucking with me. That I didn’t walk in on some… first attempt at reanimating a fucking corpse.

VICTOR

[Mumbled] Second.

HENRY

Excuse me?

VICTOR

It was a second attempt, I’d done it before.

HENRY

Jesus Christ.

VICTOR

Also it’s not technically reanimation. If it had been a single body, sure, but I used materials from several donors--

HENRY

What the hell is wrong with you? In what fantasy could you ever see that turning out well? That’s the kind of shit that horror movies are made from!

VICTOR

I’m sorry, I--

HENRY

You were stupid! You were stupid, and reckless, and you didn’t think about the consequences!

VICTOR

I know, I just--

HENRY

Oh my God, that’s what the fire was about, wasn’t it? That had something to do with it. You freaked out, and you tried to burn the evidence. So what, you figured you’d risk more lives then, too? What if there had been people in there, Victor, what then?! Is that what attacked me? And did-- Did Justine really kill your brother? Or was that part of it, too? You have people’s lives on your conscience, all because you wanted to fuck around and find out if you could--

VICTOR

I just wanted my mom back, okay?! I know I fucked up. Believe me, I don’t need any more reminders. But I-- I had my reasons, it wasn’t just some ego trip.

HENRY

[Calmer now] ...Does Elliot know?

VICTOR

I’m sure he figured it out, yeah.

HENRY

What’s that supposed to mean?

VICTOR

Oh. Oh God, they didn’t tell you.

HENRY

Tell me what?

VICTOR

...Henry, Elliot’s dead.

HENRY

Oh God. God, I…. I’m so sorry, I…. How’s your dad taking it?

VICTOR

Well, considering he died two days later, I’d say not very well.

HENRY

What?

VICTOR

[Getting more and more distraught] He’s dead too, Henry. Him, Elliot, my mother, Billy, Justine. Everyone is dead, and I have been so alone and so scared, and I have no idea what I am supposed to do.

HENRY

...Hey. C’mere. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m just stressed, I shouldn’t have said all that shit.

VICTOR

You have every right to.

HENRY

No, being a dick won’t fix anything. Plus, you’ve obviously been through hell. Your glasses look like you were just at a 4Chan meetup.

VICTOR

[Laughs] I don’t know what that means.

HENRY

It means you need to get some damn lens cleaner, how the hell can you see out of those thing?

VICTOR

Just used to it, I suppose.

HENRY

You hear from Evelynn at all?

VICTOR

Take a guess.

HENRY

That’ll be a no. You try talking to her?

VICTOR

Of course not.

HENRY

...So you’re upset that you’ve been alone, yet you haven’t even tried to get in contact with your sister?

VICTOR

Look, I don’t need a lecture right now, okay? I get enough of those from Dr Walton.

HENRY

Wait, you’re seeing Dr Walton? Like, Robert Walton? Kinda short, always has a bow tie?

VICTOR

Yeah…? Do you know him, or…?

HENRY

Sort of, he was a guest speaker for my Abnormal Psych class during undergrad. He seems good.

VICTOR

Yeah, I suppose.

HENRY

How much you tell him?

VICTOR

I’m not sure I could tell him what happened even if I wanted to.

HENRY

...What happens when you try?

VICTOR

Don’t. Don’t do that.

HENRY

Do what?

VICTOR

That. You’re trying to… diagnose me.

HENRY

No, you’re my friend and I don’t have a license to practice. That’s illegal. I’m… offering informed advice.

VICTOR

Yeah, well, I’ll save you the trouble. Clinical depression, post traumatic stress disorder, and paranoid personality disorder. Though that last one is debatable. I might be missing some. Come back when you finish your Ph.D, Clerval.

HENRY

[Softly] Jesus…. [Trying to lighten the mood now] Doing it then it would be even more illegal. Then we’ll have two criminals here. [Beat.] Sorry. That wasn’t as funny as I expected it to be.

VICTOR

No. No, it’s fine. You’re not wrong. [Laughs] Should’ve seen what it was like trying to find a job with an arson charge. I’m lucky I managed to get the one I have.

HENRY

Yeah? What job’s that?

VICTOR

I’m over at Harris’ down on Main Street.

HENRY

Holy shit. The great Victor Frankenstein, the mad genius, the Prometheus of the 21st century, is selling discount hardware.

VICTOR

Well, I don’t actually sell anything most of the time. I’m customer service. Mostly returns, taking phone calls, fun stuff like that.

HENRY

You’re fucking with me. You hate talking on the phone.

VICTOR

And I hate my job. But if they’re willing to give a felon minimum wage, who am I to argue?

HENRY

Hey man, whatever works. I do have one more question, though.

VICTOR

Okay?

HENRY

Is that the hoodie I lent you that day?

VICTOR

Oh, um, right, yeah. I-- I was going to give it back, but then you-- You know, and then I was just so distracted, between worrying about you and the police hounding me--

HENRY

Hold on, police?

VICTOR

Oh. Right. They, um… They thought that I did it for a while. Elliot, too.

HENRY

Oh God.

VICTOR

I mean, I can't blame them. I've got a record, and that's a lot of people close to me who--

[The door opens. Both men are silent for a moment.]

HENRY

Hello…?

VICTOR

Sorry. That’s probably me.

HENRY

What?

VICTOR

Things have been… weird. It’s a long story.

HENRY

You built a person out of corpses, and I’m bedridden for who knows how long. I’ve got all the time in the world for the details.

VICTOR

...Ever since I…. Ever since the fire, things have been… happening around me. I know how this is going to sound, but you need to believe me, okay? Ever since I… made it… it’s like…. I don’t know. It doesn’t even really make sense, I-- The two concepts aren’t even remotely similar, I--

HENRY

Hey. Hey, breathe for me, okay?

VICTOR

Okay. Okay, sorry. ...That was the first night that I experienced something that I was unable to explain. Granted, I wasn’t exactly in the best mental state at the time, so for a while, I figured that it must have been a hallucination. I’ll be honest, sometimes I’m still able to convince myself that it was. But I know it’s not.

VICTOR (Cont.)

Sorry. Sorry, let me back up. [Sighs] The… first signs of life came at 1:15 AM. The rise and fall of the chest, the flicker of movement behind the eyelids. Whether or not there was cognitive function had yet to be seen, but… I suppose you know how that turned out. It was at 1:16 that everything started to go downhill. When I realized what I’d done, when-- when the possible consequences hit me all at once. The wrongness of the situation, I…. I almost didn’t hear it. Or-- No. No, I didn’t hear it so much as I felt it. I felt a voice throughout my body, in every single nerve, clawing its way into my subconscious. I-- I couldn’t make out what it was saying, but… I got the sickening feeling that it was proud of me. Proud of what I’d managed to achieve. Whether or not anything happened for the couple months that I was in the hospital afterwards, I can’t really say. I was in shock, I couldn’t tell you what was real and what was hallucination. Honestly, you’d probably be better at figuring out if anything odd was happening during that time, you were there. But what I can tell you is that it never stopped. Sometimes the TV would turn on in the middle of the night blasting static, a couple times I woke up in the morning to find my glasses outside on the windowsill. Then there are the more… sinister ones. Beings that aren’t quite human, there one moment, gone the next. Or sinking, terrifying senses of dread that lead up to disaster.

HENRY

So… you’re seeing ghosts?

VICTOR

No, obviously not ghosts, ghosts don’t exist. Jeeze, you sound like Elliot. [He laughs, but it fades] ...Not ghosts. But… something. Something that found me that night and hasn’t left me alone since. It’s all connected, I know it is. I just need to analyze everything. You know me, I work with data and research. If I can get the evidence, I can work out what’s going on. I even ended up setting cameras up in my house, but… they always freeze up whenever something happens. Typical. Either that or-- Or I don’t even have it happen myself, sometimes it’s other people who--

HENRY

Wait. Other people?

VICTOR

Yes. But it’s not like I want it to happen, it just does. I usually don’t even know them. I just… hear about them on the news, or sometimes they tell me themselves if I happen to run into them.

HENRY

...And strangers just tell you about all the creepy shit that happens to them?

VICTOR

...Sometimes, yeah.

HENRY

...You know what, I’m not going to even pretend to be surprised.

VICTOR

Honestly, that’s how I deal with it. So yeah. There you go. Spooky.

HENRY

...Do people get hurt because of it? [Victor doesn’t answer] Shit…. Well then. That settles it. I guess we’ve got work to do.

VICTOR

What?

HENRY

I said, we’ve got work to do. Maybe you’re content wallowing in self-pity while creepy shit radiates off of you, but I sure as hell won’t sit on my ass as it happens.

VICTOR

Henry--

HENRY

I know what you’re doing. You’re treating it like some punishment. Like you deserve it. Well, I’m here to tell you that you don’t. And neither does anyone else. You fucked up, yeah. And I’m not going to lie, it’s going to take some time for us to get back to the way we were. But it’s like you said. You had your reasons. You didn’t mean for it all to go to hell. And you didn’t kill them. So you and me are going to buck up and--

[He is cut off by a sound of pain as he moves]

VICTOR

Hey, whoa, whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa. We'll figure it out. We have time to plan, take action, whatever we need to do. But right now, what you need to do is rest. I'll wash the hoodie and bring it back first thing tomorrow.

HENRY

Nah, you keep it. It suits you, I can always get another. Plus, who the hell knows where you've been the past year?

VICTOR

[He laughs. This time it feels genuine] Asshole.

NEXT EPISODE➝

#Season 1 #Epsiode 5 #Victor Frankenstein #Henry Clerval

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