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angelwithdemonictendencies · 14 hours ago

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my palms ran red turning over jagged rocks, thought i'd find some kind of sign; you pressed your mouth to my wound, weren't your bloody lips sign enough?

qh43 x reader: you really have to stop meeting like this.

(warnings: mostly plot, but also blasphemous filth (yes, we're back on the smut train), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), fingering, hair pulling (i haven't changed), choking (i really haven't changed), descriptions of self-doubt and shame and all my typical stuff. mostly tension building (10k words worth), general debauchery. please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: oh my god, favorites. i hadn't read this one in so long, so thank you for allowing me an avenue to rediscover it. i'm so happy you're getting to rediscover it now, too. if you want a song to listen to that i think goes with this story really well, give BONES! by girly teeth club a try :) i do genuinely believe that this story was a real turning point for me, and it holds a very special place in my heart because of that (i had the line then who was i praying to? well, who answered? taped to my computer for a long, long time. personal favorite of mine). i hope you enjoy this one again, and also hello to the followers and readers who have no idea what i'm talking about when i bitch and moan about my old account. i see you, and i love you, and i'm so eager to hear what you think. enjoy mechanic qh43 and all of the mythical divine powers that he inspires within me. to the seven people who care, more ol and rus coming momentarily. sunday is now my designated tumblr day, so if you want to chat, sunday is your best bet. i love you and your snakes! be kind to yourself).

like most all-consuming things, it started with something insignificant.

if your tail light had never gone out during the summer before your third year at university, perhaps none of it would have ever happened. part of you wanted to believe that some determined power would have guided the two of you together no matter what, but most of you thought the powers of the world to be nonchalant at best, hostile at worst.

regardless, your right tail light went out a few weeks before school started, and despite your intense unwillingness to spend money on your car, your mom insisted that you get it fixed.

"that family auto shop will do it quickly," she suggested, "the one a few streets down from school."

so here you were, standing uncomfortably in the lobby of the mechanic's, less than soothed by the harsh noises that echoed through the small garage.

you cleared your throat, attempting to get the attention of the teenage receptionist, probably the daughter or cousin of the owner, currently on her phone.

she looked up immediately, smiled wide, full of braces and friendliness. "sorry," she said, only a little guilty to be caught on her phone. "how can i help you?"

you smiled right back at her, immediately put at ease by her presence. "my mom called earlier," you said. you went to continue, but were enthusiastically cut off.

"miss tail light!" she exclaimed, to which you laughed and nodded. "have a seat," she urged, "quinn should be out in a minute, and that's a quick fix."

you nodded and sat down, then crossed your legs as you waited, bouncing one foot against your other calf. you looked at your hands, twisted one ring around your finger.

"you're the tail light?" a low voice called from the lobby entrance, forcing your gaze up from your hands to meet a pair of eyes that somehow swam with both steel and uncertainty.

this newcomer, quinn, supposedly, confirmed by the embroidered patch on his breast pocket, seemed to be immediately off-put by your matching gaze, as he shoved his wide hands in the pockets of his coveralls and blinked several times, a bit too fast.

his confusing mannerisms, combined with his curious combination of handsomeness and beauty, forced a small smile to your face as you stood up.

he really was pretty like you had never quite seen before, tall but not menacingly so, broad across the chest in a way that just looked warm, his coveralls hanging off of him, drawing attention to his frame, his thighs, his arms.

his hair was messy, curling only slightly at the tops of his ears, his cheekbones and jawline so, so sharp, but his nose and mouth softly curved.

you cleared your throat again when you realized you were probably staring.

"i suppose i am," you said, answering his question, approaching him and the door, by extension.

he gave a forced nod before turning to leave, urging a fluid reaction from the muscles in his neck and shoulders, which you pretended not to notice as you walked behind him.

in a choppy, sudden motion, he made to hold the door open for you, arm extended but gaze averted.

"thank you, quinn," you said, trying out his name, surprised to find how natural it felt on your tongue, something like a hymn a past-life you must have sang with unmatched conviction.

he seemed just as surprised as you, practically tripped over his own feet before quickly recovering. you bit your lip to stifle a laugh.

"should only take a second," he said as he crouched down next to your car, his voice a bit rougher than before, pulling a couple of tools and bulbs from his many pockets.

"take your time," you said, sitting down nearby as he got to work, and you meant it, feeling a somewhat shameful urge to just watch him. just look at him.

you fumbled to distract yourself, settling on looking interested in your phone. in reality, it took real effort to keep your eyes down, away from him, when you felt as if he emitted some kind of magnetic force suited only to you.

it felt like an eternity, but it took all of ten minutes, a couple swift motions, and he was done, rising again to his full height and turning to face you.

you allowed yourself to meet his eyes and it felt like a heaving exhale. "all done?" you asked, rising as well, willing brightness into your voice.

he nodded in affirmation, and you could have pouted. a man of few words, it seemed, and how you wished he would give you a few more.

he wiped his hands with a rag, and you refused to let your eyes follow the motion. "so i should pay..." you started.

he nodded towards the lobby. "you can pay with bean," he said, gruff.

you grinned right at him, and anyone else would have seen his gaze soften from stone to molten rock. "bean?" you asked.

the slightest smile took over his mouth. "my cousin," he said, slowly, "at reception."

you hummed, comforted by his sudden ease. "well then," you said, "i'll go check out with your cousin bean."

"i'll walk you," he blurted out, a blush coming to tint the tops of his ears in a positively dreamy sort of way.

so you walked the several steps back to the lobby together, the silence so comfortable you could have sighed, fallen asleep wrapped up in it.

already you felt some sense of loss creeping in, knowing you were probably never going to see him again, knowing this was all you were going to get. just a couple of glances and words and blushes, that's as far as this would go. and it made a lot of sense, but logical reason grew over your hazy, momentary crush like ivy on a brick building.

he held the door open for you again, and as you walked past him this time you looked up into his eyes. stone and steel and ivy.

you thanked him again.

"quinn?" came that delightfully girlish voice from behind the desk, this time intensely confused. "what are you doing?"

he stood in the door frame, his swallow almost cartoonish. "just making sure she checks out okay," he mumbled, not quite looking anyone in the face.

the girl smiled so wide, you could see she had chosen to make her braces purple last time she visited the orthodontist. "you've never done that before, is all," she observed with all the subtlety of a volcanic eruption.

was that pink tint creeping past his ears to his neck, now?

"do it plenty," he muttered, less than convincing and more to himself than anyone else.

the girl shot you a knowing look before turning to her cousin again. "if you say so," she relented. "miss tail light is in good hands with me, now, so you're all set, mr. random acts of kindness."

quinn muttered something under his breath before making to leave, embarrassment still flushing just under his collar.

the knowledge that this was it, this was all this would ever be, that's what made you reach a hand out to lightly grasp his forearm, stopping him where he stood.

you swore some kind of divine warmth rose to meet your hand.

he looked down at where your fingers met his arm before meeting your gaze. molten, yet again. he didn't move, didn't dare to scare off your touch.

"thank you again, quinn," you said, just to him.

a pause charged by meaning sparked between you both.

maybe some minuscule fraction of your heart feared he would push you away and roll his eyes, mumble something about personal space. or maybe that disgust would flood his lovely gaze, and he would say something much meaner.

you should never have touched him, you scolded yourself, stupid, desperate, foolish girl. you began to lift your hand away when his rough voice became a whisper, just for you.

"anything, doll," he said. and then he walked away, leaving his words to rattle around in your head like the whirring noises around the garage.

you paid, laughed playfully with the young receptionist as she insisted she had never seen her cousin so embarrassed, and especially not so bashful.

"i'm sure that's not true," you said, trying in vain to force your sky-rocketing hopes back to earth.

"oh, it is," she said as you made to leave, giving you a big smile and a wave as you bid her goodbye.

as you drove back home, those tendrils of reason crept back again, began to suffocate the dreamy romance that had settled like a glittery mist in your head.

you gave a single exhale, breathing out any unrealistic expectations. you'd probably never see him again, you admitted to yourself, and you tried to convince yourself that you were fine with it.

and so you let the image of steel and stone and ivy become a phantom in the back of your mind, along with the scorching solidity of his forearm underneath your delicate palm.

you'd never see him again, you believed.

in theory, you knew you could have had one of your friends find him on social media, it probably wouldn't have been too hard. a first name, an occupation, they'd tracked down fleeting flings and past crushes with much less information to go off of before.

but you didn't like the idea of interference, much preferred the way he looked in your memory to the fear that he would be someone very different online, that he would be someone different than the person that now existed exclusively in your head.

you were never supposed to see him again, and yet you did, and just as you had almost forgotten the way his shoulders moved when he walked, too.

three weeks later, just before you went back to school, you were eating dinner outside with your family at the country club they belonged to. you had been there maybe twice in the last couple of years, as your mom worked long hours and your dad only really used his membership for golf.

now, though, sitting outside, overlooking the course, in the pleasant air of the late summer, you were glad you were here, enjoying these last few moments with your family before you began your third year.

you were laughing at a joke your mom had made when you heard someone close by call out, "that's my marker, quinn!"

something distant fluttered in your stomach as you registered the name, tried so hard to not care if it was him or not. trying so, so hard to not care, but you cared so much it felt as if you might have willed him into existence yourself, wanted him enough that even the uninterested powers were forced to relent with a bored sigh.

so, in truth, you knew it was him even before you turned and focused on the hole just below the patio.

you knew it was him, and yet you were wholly unprepared for the way your head spun when you registered his familiar figure.

as if compelled by your gaze, or by something else worth worshipping, he turned, too, and there you were, staring at each other. did he recognize you the way you did him? the way you recognize your first lover's cologne? the way you recognize what's waiting behind a door with a scalding doorknob?

but then he took a hand off of his club and gave a timid wave, and you felt your body relax as you waved back. he paused for a moment as if in thought, then motioned towards him, silently asking you to come down.

"who is that?" your mother asked, not critical, only curious.

"my mechanic," you answered, "be right back, promise."

so, even though it was probably (definitely) against the rules, you made your way down to the impeccably cut grass, holding your shoes in one shaky hand.

you waved again as you approached him at the edge of the green, his friends gathered closer to the hole, talking animatedly amongst themselves.

he tilted his head and gave you a small smile, which gave you wings. a smile, and you hadn't even done anything!

"hi, quinn," you said, getting your first good look at him up close, and this time not in coveralls. this time in a polo that brought out his eyes and shorts that had you straining not to stare at his thighs.

"doll," he greeted, that ghost of a smile still on his full lips. "thought that was you."

heavy uncertainty suddenly settled between the both of you. what were you supposed to say? what was he supposed to say? what do you do with time that feels stolen?

"didn't think i'd see you again," you landed on, then physically cringed at yourself. "not that i was thinking about you, or anything," you added, then pursed your lips in a line.

awesome save.

he let out a laugh, though, and it shook his shoulders and lit up his face in a way that made it impossible to regret your rambling.

his laugh made him look human in a way he hadn't really, before, at the garage. it stripped back all the flowery expectations your imagination had buried him in and set him down here, in front of you, a real person.

a real person, who, in this summery light, was much more unabashed and generous with his smiles. his eyes had a softness to them that you hadn't noticed before.

"i wish you had, then," he said, in that deep, low, voice with a confidence that didn't quite suit him, like he was just trying it on.

it almost made you drop your shoes, regardless.

"yeah?" you asked, tilting your head and letting your satisfaction drench your face like sunset light.

he gave a little nod.

"c'mon, huggy!" one of his friends called. what do you do with time that feels stolen?

he looked back at them and his jaw clenched, for a second.

you knew you had to be the one to walk away, or it would haunt you like some ancestral debt.

"maybe i'll see you again, then, quinn," you said, your tone not conveying the desperate hope you felt.

he looked you up and down, amusement alight in his eyes. it seemed his nervous demeanor existed only in his coveralls. "you willing to take your chances on a 'maybe,' doll?"

were you?

you silently begged those distant forces to prove your hopes were not futile, but you didn't really believe that. you were headed to school in just two days, and who knows where he was headed, this mysterious mechanic who liked to golf and had eyes like a deity.

you knew you were on stolen time, and that this, again, was as far as this would ever go.

"we're going!" his friends called.

"i hope i see you again, quinn," you amended, already feeling a sense of loss again. but you had to be the one to walk away, so you began to.

his face was unreadable, some mixture of disappointment and interest and knowing.

"think about me some more this time, yeah? until you see me again?"

your smile glowed. "if 'm honest, quinn, that'll be hard," you said, thinking about how he had been a constant in your mind for the last couple of weeks. you leaned into your flirtatious side since you were both moving apart. it was always easiest when you were on the way out.

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "try extra hard for me, would you, doll?"

and for a moment, time seemed to ooze like amber. a blink felt like eternity, like you were both suspended in an hourglass.

"promise," you said. it came out like a whisper, but it felt like you screamed it across an open expanse.

and so you parted ways a second time, practically daring the universe to stop you from meeting again.

do whatever you want, universe, you seemed to say, i don't care! i'm fine with the story ending here!

oh, sweetheart, the universe seemed to say, yawning, barely looking at you, then why do you clutch at the book until your fingers bleed?

you could have scowled.

and, just as he wanted, and just as you were afraid of, he was there, in the back of your mind, for several weeks into the school year.

everything started smoothly. you were happy to see your friends again, to be living with them. classes started well. you went out when you wanted to. you began your regular job, tutoring other students in classes you had already taken. it was nice to see the students you had helped out last year, to continue helping them.

teachers referred you to help students who were struggling in their classes all the time, so it wasn't anything significant when one set up a time for you to meet at the library with someone who wasn't quite getting intro to calculus.

it was significant, however, when you opened up the reserved study room door to see quinn sitting at the table, textbooks out in front of him.

so significant, actually, that it genuinely scared you. "jesus," you muttered, exhaling and placing a calming hand over your heart.

he looked up when he heard the door open, and you were frozen in place.

this is what you wanted, right? the universe probably asked, bored. now will you leave me alone?

"i was not expecting you," you admitted, willing your heart back to beating normally.

you couldn't read him, yet again. and yet again, you felt as if you had wanted him hard enough that even the fibers of the universe were annoyed enough to comply.

ugh, they probably said to each other, just give that desperate fool what she wants! i'm tired of hearing her pleas!

but you could have sighed at how beautiful he looked, this time different again - sweatpants and a t-shirt and messy hair. soft looking and sleepy after a day of class and whatever else.

"yeah?" he asked, although he hadn't expected you either. he wasn't shocked the way you were, though. only pleasantness played across his full features. "who were you expecting?"

not you, you wanted to say. things just don't work out like this for me. "i didn't know you went here," you said, simply.

"i didn't know you were a tutor," he replied, leaning back in his chair.

i didn't know your smile gets lopsided when you're tired, you thought to yourself. you could never forget that, now.

"safe to say we know very little about each other, doll," he added, as if he could hear your thoughts.

and he was right - you hadn't asked him anything about himself the last two times you saw him, and he didn't know anything about you. how easy would it have been at the course to say you were going to the local university in a couple of days. why had you not?

why had you relinquished control so easily?

it practically pained you to think about that, just as it was practically painful to look at his face head on, eyes weary with sleep yet bright with amusement, so you decided to solve both of those problems.

"well," you said, sliding into the seat next to him at the table, excruciatingly aware of your closeness, "what do you know about derivatives?"

he gave a huff of a laugh. "probably even less," he said.

you gave him a smile and started to go over your notes with him. the more you spoke, and the deeper you got into the topic, the easier it was to be close to him.

you were still hyperaware of his warmth, his presence, his beauty, his being, but you could do this. getting lost in your purpose here instead of getting lost in him.

after about an hour of you explaining derivatives, you looking at your notes, and him looking at you, you shut your textbook.

"i think that's good for a first session, hm?" you asked, turning to face him and hugging one knee to your chest.

he held your gaze as if studying your face. it felt like being center stage, under a white hot spotlight.

he spread his legs out and reached his arms up, stretching after sitting in the same position for a while. you had to look down at your hands.

"five more minutes?" he asked like a kid begging for an extended bedtime. only now he was asking for more time with you.

you scrunched up your nose, which made him smile, a bit. "can i ask you a question, quinn?" you asked. "since we don't know anything about each other."

"only if i get one, too," he answered.

you thought carefully, flexed your hand on your knee as your gaze met his sleepy one. "it's not that late," you started, "why are you so tired?"

he laughed again, making your chest sing. "busy day," he answered, "had two classes, practice, and a lift."

and as he elaborated you added to the carefully protected vault in your mind of information you knew about him. he played hockey for the team here, he was a defensemen, he was always busy.

"my turn," he said after he was done, low like a secret.

you nodded, forced away the flush his tone alone was able to pull from you.

"did you keep your promise?" he asked.

of everything he could have said, you were least expecting that. of course you knew what promise he was referring to immediately. of course it felt like something abominable to tell him the truth.

suddenly the space between the two of you felt much too little, much too dangerous. so small that you could see each of his eyelashes, he could see the way your eyes dropped to his mouth for a second.

there was something in his eyes that surprised you, though. there was a trace of those nerves you had seen in him that first day - that instability and uncertainty. he wanted you to say yes, you realized. he wanted it so, so much.

"of course i did, quinn," you soothed, leaning forward onto your knee just a bit. it was always easiest on the way out. "did you have any doubts?"

did he let out a breath? his silence spoke for him. still, you had to be the one to walk away. you couldn't afford any more ghosts.

"same time next week?" you asked, gathering your things.

"not gonna leave it to chance this time, doll?" he asked, getting his things together too, but in a lazy sort of way. his hands moved slowly, reluctantly.

you tried not to stare at them.

you gave him a last look before you left.

"do you want to leave it to chance?" you asked, genuinely.

ugh, chance seemed to say, can't you just do it yourself?

his molten gaze dripped over you like honey. "no," he decided, "no, i wouldn't say that's at the top of my wishlist."

you didn't ask what was.

so, each tuesday night, you tutored him in calculus. and each tuesday night, you learned more about him, and he learned more about you.

you learned about how he got into auto mechanics (he never grew out of his childhood truck phase), why he liked golf (really just an excuse to talk with his friends for a couple of hours), what was so special about hockey (it felt like he could see things that others just couldn't). his favorite candy (sour skittles), his favorite color gatorade (red), his favorite t-shirt (a worn in concert shirt from high school).

but you also learned that he got shy when you complimented him, that he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek when he was about to say something that made you blush, that he got more confident as he got to know you.

his nerves only came out when he grew unsure, and you did your best to make him so, so sure.

and he did get to know you. how you got into your major (data analysis was the family business), why you applied yourself so vigorously in your classes (you didn't know any other way), all about your close friends and family. your favorite soda (cherry coke zero), your favorite frat (pike, only because a couple of your friends were dating brothers there, and they had the goofiest themes), your favorite snack (pretzel goldfish).

he was nothing if not observant, too, so he noticed that you had a special smile for when he got a question right, and that you only wore your hair up when you were extra tired, and that, towards the end of the session, when you were caught off guard, you would lean a little closer to him without realizing.

that was his favorite. when you would lean into his space, just a little more, as if you were pulled towards him by a magnetic force.

and each session, you made him a little more confident, and he made you blush a little bit more. until you both felt utterly comfortable with each other, like you had known each other for ages.

well, as comfortable as you could feel with a person who made you feel like every inch of your skin was on fire. as comfortable as you could feel with someone whose voice made your throat go dry, whose hands made you stutter, whose mannerisms made your stomach flutter.

one tuesday night, late into a session where he had told you he had passed his quiz with flying colors, he twisted his pen in his hand.

"you know, doll," he started, "you should come to a game sometime."

you looked up. "one of your games?" you asked, searching his steely eyes for meaning.

his lip quirked. "yes, one of my games."

here, he might as well have said, have a little more of me.

"unless you don't want to," he added to your silence. "which would also be fine. i don't want to force-"

you stopped him with a hand on his forearm, transporting you both back to that first day. did you imagine him relaxing into your touch, this time?

"i'd love to come," you said, looking him square in the face.

"good," he replied, content.

but nothing could have prepared you for what awaited you that friday night, standing with your friends in the student section of the rink you had never been to.

"how have we never been to a hockey game?" one of them asked, looking around at the crowd.

"basketball's just better," another said, although, to be fair, she was on the club basketball team. "what the hell is icing, anyways?"

"we never had a reason to, i guess," your best friend said in a teasing tone. you shot her a look, to which she raised her hands in surrender. "hey, no judgement," she said, and you laughed.

as soon as quinn was on the ice, though, he had your complete and undivided attention. he skated with a mesmerizing fluidity, hit with a concrete, undeniable kind of force. and he was right - he did see things no one else could see, made connections that you, nor anyone on the ice, could predict until they were already completed.

he was all over the ice, all over this space, he was everywhere. and you were transfixed.

walking back to the house with your friends, they noticed. of course they did.

"oh god, i know that look," one said.

"this is gonna be trouble," another added. was this trouble? was trouble when everything someone did felt like some great treasure you had discovered? was trouble this kind of fire, of comfort, of excitement, of rest?

you shook your head. "calm down, guys," you said. "it's not that serious."

"right," someone said. you didn't believe yourself, either.

"what did you think of the game?" he asked the following tuesday after you had covered enough material to be satisfied.

you were so close to him now, it probably would have been easier to just share a chair. so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, could all but feel his chest against your back.

"what did i think of the game?" you repeated lazily.

you could hear his smile in his voice. "yes, doll."

you hummed. how honest could you be, here? what could you get away with?

and maybe it was your closeness to him that made you bold. maybe it was the heat you saw in his eyes that had you leaning your head on his shoulder and looking up at him. you felt his breath rumble through him and into you.

the air sparked.

"thought you were incredible, quinn," you said honestly. "like nothing i've ever seen."

his exhale was shaky as he peered down at you. "yeah?" he asked.

"mhm," you hummed, your body buzzing with his contact, the most you had ever had. something unspoken settled between you like dust.

"you would come again, then?" he asked, hopeful but drowsy.

you couldn't help but smile, a bit, gaze up at him through your lashes. "think i'd have a hard time saying no to you, if 'm honest."

something like wonder misted across his heated gaze. "i like knowing you're there," he said. "like knowing you're thinking about me."

dangerous desire swirled around the two of you, melting your gaze and blurring the lines.

things don't work out like this for you, a voice said, bitter and mocking, drawing the lines up again, sturdy and menacing.

you cleared your throat, lifted your head from his shoulder. if you could look at him, you would have seen that uncertainty swimming in his eyes again, along with something like hurt.

but you couldn't look at him. at the drowsy slouch of his shoulders, the rugged line of his jaw, the glossy want that practically dripped down his face like starry tears.

i'm always thinking about you, you wanted to tell him. i'm sorry.

but you gathered your things, stood up. "i should go."

he was silent for a moment, looked you up and down, gave a small sigh. "okay, doll," he conceded. "on one condition."

you scrunched up your nose in confusion.

"you agree to come golfing with me tomorrow," he said in a completely satisfied tone. "then, you can go."

a million excuses flooded onto your tongue.

"i'm busy tomorrow," you tried, your voice coming out tight.

he waved that off lazily. "me too," he said, something like a smirk growing on his pink lips. "but we're both free at four, so let's plan on that. next?"

you sputtered.

"but i don't know how to golf," you tried.

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. trouble.

"don't worry, doll," he offered. "i'll go real slow for you."

you flushed, almost walked into the doorframe, quickly decided you needed to leave immediately, if you wanted to maintain any level of mystery or dignity.

"fine," you said, already on your way out. it felt like flames were nipping at your heels, biting at your nose. "i'll come."

his smirk deepened, a different look on him. "don't put up much of a fight, do you, doll?"

"i'm leaving," you choked as you walked out, turning to face him one final time. "what if i just didn't want to come?"

he seemed to ponder this for a moment. "i think," he started, "if you really didn't want to come, it wouldn't make you blush like this to say so."

he didn't ask you to think about him, but by the look on his face, you knew he could tell he didn't have to.

so, the following day, you found yourself on the course with quinn.

a terrible, terrible idea, really.

especially considering the want that filled his gaze when he first saw you, catching on your legs before returning up to your eyes.

"showed up for me, did you, doll?" he asked, a hope you recognized tinting his voice a shimmery pink.

you rolled your eyes, but smiled. "you knew i would."

"thank you anyways," he replied, and his genuineness, his honesty, his straightforwardness, it all made you melt. made you want to know what his smile felt like against your neck, what his hands felt like in your hair.

so, as you both made to tee off, you turned to him. "can you help me with my swing, please?"

his gaze softened. liquid steel. "sure, doll," he said, then lined up next to you and explained his way through it.

you bit your lip. "i'm a hands on learner," you said, which was a lie. "i think i need you closer." that part wasn't.

he didn't adopt a cocky smirk, like so many would have. he didn't lean into your act, didn't pounce on the opportunity to show his superiority. he only approached you from behind and reached his arms around you to grip your driver with you, his hands on top of yours, warm and rough.

you could feel each breath he took in your back, felt the solid plane of his chest on your shoulder blades.

"close enough?" he all but whispered into the space between your neck and your shoulder.

something sinful must have possessed you then. "for now," you breathed out.

he went through a swing with you, slow and fluid. you weren't paying attention, not really, but how could you, when he was just so, so close? was this dazed sensation, was that what he felt when you touched him, that first day? or later, in your study room?

but, of course, the swing was soon over, and he reluctantly retreated off to the side.

"your turn, doll," he said.

you took a breath to shake the phantom of his embrace away, then teed off - beautifully straight and hard, arcing through the air like a physics textbook problem.

you looked at him to find a knowing, teasing look on his face. he ran a hand through his hair, displacing the curling ends as he gave a quick laugh.

you smiled. "call me a natural," you offered, shrugging.

"oh yeah?" he said, tilting his head. "how about i call you a liar?"

you leaned forward onto the end of your driver, grin widening. "how about i call you gullible?"

he shook his head, let out a playful scoff. "like you'd ever have to trick me into touching you."

the rest of the round went by quickly, both of your guards down, lost in conversation and high on each other. too soon, it was over.

it was this realization that urged you to act uncharacteristically - in that, you acted according to what you truly felt.

"can i see you tomorrow?" you asked him as he loaded your clubs into the trunk of your car. you didn't cringe as much as you would have a few weeks ago.

he wiped his hands on his shorts, looked at you with something that looked like relief. "think i'd have a hard time saying no to you," he parroted. his ability to remember things about you warmed you from the inside out.

"meet me at the sig nu party tomorrow?" you asked hopefully. "maybe you can meet some of my friends?"

he looked truly touched. "some of the guys are going already since we don't have a morning lift on friday," he said, "so you could meet some of them, too, if you want."

you nodded, flushed with expectation. "see you then," you said, making to get in your car. "and yes, i'll think about you."

his smile as you shut your door was something of dreams.

sigma nu was not one of your favorite frats. their basement was especially dirty looking, their brothers were on the sketchier side, and the never seemed to have enough alcohol to make it through the night.

but one of your friends was talking to one of the brothers, who also played club basketball. so you and the rest of your group were going for moral support. and also because no one else was throwing. it was only a thursday.

you were nervous. you had only just begun to accept that you were really, really into quinn, and you had only just begun to accept that he might, possibly, probably, be just as into you.

it still didn't make much logical sense to you. when had it ever been so simple?

don't talk about logical sense around me, chance would say, that bitch knows what she did.

when you first saw quinn across the crowded room, chance and logical sense and all those divine powers, they all melted away.

it was just him. his hair was messy and his gaze was relaxed and the lights made it look like his face was glowing as he laughed with his friends.

but the crowd got the better of you, for a little while. you danced with your friends, politely escaped several "so, what's your major?" conversations, and actually spent a while talking to your friend's new talking stage.

as you laughed at something, you were internally surprised. this guy seemed perfect for your friend - they shared so many interests, and he was able to laugh at himself easily, which was something that was at the top of her priority list.

after a while of learning enough about him to approve of him graduating from the talking stage, you looked up. of course your gaze was immediately drawn to quinn, closer than you had seen him last.

closer, and yet farther than he had ever been, because he was leaning against the wall, talking to another girl.

you couldn't really see the girl, but it wouldn't have really mattered. it wasn't about her. she was just a girl talking to a guy at a party. a guy who was, in all technical senses, single and available.

it was more so about him, and how close he was to her, how he leaned down to hear her, meaning she could probably smell his all-but-worn-off cologne.

your grip tightened on your red cup as you swallowed.

before, quinn had only ever been yours, because even when you doubted that he could ever return your feelings, he had never given you concrete evidence that he was interested in anyone else. so even though he hadn't been yours, he had been almost yours, probably going to be yours, or something like that.

but here he was, giving you concrete proof that he existed to others, too, that other people could be interested in him and he could be interested back.

and of course that had always been the case. how could you have been so narcissistic? of course people would foster crushes on him, like you did, and of course he was bound to reciprocate eventually, to someone.

you had let yourself believe that you were the center of the world for a moment, of his world, and you hated that.

so, honestly, it was barely even about quinn. this struggle, this was about you.

but if you stripped back everything external, oh, how downright jealous you felt right then.

so jealous that you had to leave, that you couldn't watch anymore. when you got home, you shut the door and exhaled.

what did i tell you? that bitter voice said, things just don't work out that way for you.

you could have growled, now, at how lazy, how self-centered that sounded.

don't look at me, chance would have said, hands raised in surrender, this was all you.

he was just talking to another girl, logical reason would say, that doesn't mean he's not interested in you. you have what, a couple months of history?

and of course reason would be right. of course, you knew, deep down, you didn't have to let this consume you.

but now a tendril of doubt had woven its way into your heart. if you had been so misled by your own ego before, how could you tell if any of it was real? how could you trust yourself to know if this wasn't much more to you than it was to him?

time. you needed some time.

thankfully, that was doable. you went home for break on friday after class, and planned to stay there for the week.

so you stayed home, caught up with your parents, ignored his numerous texts.

it hurt to do so, but you told yourself you needed some distance.

which wasn't that hard, considering he was playing a series of games across the country. you still put on his games though, which your parents noticed.

"didn't even know we got this channel," you dad observed one night as you watched quinn stickhandle around a sloppy winger.

"when did you get into hockey?" you mom asked, never critical. "we could go see a game sometime, if you want."

you started to settle down a bit, really enjoyed the time at home. before you knew it, though, break was almost over.

"sweetheart," you mom called to you on your second to last day, "would you mind taking the car in?"

you were skeptical. "why?"

"they just called," she explained, "said we're due for an urgent oil change."

you thought it was weird that they would call for that, but quinn was supposedly still away, so you figured it wouldn't be that much of an issue.

"sure," you responded. "i'll bring it in now."

you knew it was a trap as soon as you opened your car door at the garage.

the young receptionist approached you quickly with a guilty smile.

"hi, miss bean," you said, trying to gauge what she was about to say.

"look," she rushed, "i didn't want to, and i'm thought the plan was stupid, and i'm sure you're ignoring him for good reason-"

you sighed, knowing what was coming. having walked right into it. "i'm not, really," you stopped her, then felt the need to clarify. "it's not really a good reason."

"what is it, then?" that low voice asked from your side, and everyone else disappeared.

just him, standing there, looking the same as you had last seen him, but so, so different.

the same, because he was just as lovely as you last recalled. was it insensitive to say that he wore his weariness beautifully?

so different, because he just looked so tired. his coveralls did little to hide the slight slouch in his shoulders. a subtle stubble now shadowed his face, making his jaw sharper. and his eyes. that steely stone that had occupied your mind all this time - it was cracking, desperate for something to hang on to.

"just needed some distance," you mustered. you were jarred by his appearance, by being close to him again, just the two of you.

"yeah?" he looked you up and down, that desperate disappointment now running down your figure. there was no malice in his tone. "why, doll? so you can say you were right?" you could have hissed. "so you can go on knowing everything went exactly as you told yourself it would?"

things like this don't work out for you. who had been telling you that, again?

you sucked on your teeth, had no idea what to say. what do you say to someone that sees right through you? the pause settled like sludge. "i thought you were away," you eventually whispered, ignoring his question.

he ran a hand through his hair, let all his grief flood into his eyes. "and i thought it would be a lot harder for you to forget me," he said, "so i guess we're both at a loss."

you took a step forward, then stopped yourself, almost dizzy. "you actually think i would forget you?" you breathed, practically choking on your words.

he scoffed. "what was i supposed to think?" he rubbed his palm against the back of his neck. "i think everything is going well when you ask me to come to this party, then you spend the whole time talking to some other guy-"

your brow furrowed before you understood. "my friend's new boyfriend," you interrupted. to his confusion, you clarified. "i was talking to my friend's boyfriend."

he blinked, registered this information, appeared a bit lighter. "regardless," he sighed, "you were supposed to be talking to me, doll."

"hold on," you said, the memory of jealousy seeping into your bloodstream, "you were talking to someone else, too, quinn." you crossed your arms, images flashing in your mind of him leaning down, his ear much too close to her lips. "and i don't think that was your friend's girlfriend, unless they're trying out an open relationship."

"i just-" he gave a frustrated gesture, looked down at his feet for a moment.

"you what?" you pressed.

he sighed, now flushed. "i just wanted you to look at me."

you both were silent for a beat as you processed his words. you exhaled, took a few steps until you were right in front of him. his eyes flickered down to your mouth, took the long way back up.

you took his face in your hands, his stubble rough under your palms. you knew you didn't imagine the way he softened into you touch.

"surely by now you know you're all i think about," you said, an offering. like some sacrifice at a long-abandoned altar, so terribly desperate, shamefully honest.

so terrible, the way he grabbed at your hip, pulled you forward, against him. so desperate, the way his other hand twisted into your hair.

so shameful, how he captured your lips with his, all brute emotion, sleepy resignation, a million pleas of "look at me" answered with "i never looked away."

so honest, how he just barely whimpered into your mouth when you tightened your grasp on his jaw, kissed him harder. he pulled so slightly on your hair, you slid a hand down to his chest, gathered the collar of his coveralls in your first, trying to get him impossibly closer.

here, you both were practically screaming, here, have some more of me.

someone whistled across the garage. you pulled away from each other with a jump, having gotten a little carried away. quinn flushed on the tips of his ears and shot the culprit a look, which made you let out a light laugh into his chest.

the little rumble made him look down at you, wrap his arms around your waist and clasp them on the small of your back.

you stayed like that for a moment, just looking at each other. stone, molten.

"i have this thing next week," he said eventually, barely anything more than a rasp. "a formal for the team."

you nodded, reached up, twisted a strand of his hair around your finger.

"come with me," he asked, soft. "please."

you didn't have to think about it. "yes."

and so, about a week later, you found yourself at the hockey formal, an event you hadn't known existed a couple of months ago.

the past week had been blissful, but frustrating - you both were so busy, you with schoolwork and tutoring, him with the team. so much so that you could barely see each other outside of your scheduled tutoring session.

needless to say, you were very much looking forward to a weekend away with him. a whole night, just for the two of you.

and the whole night was wonderful. you were introduced to his teammates, saw a new side of him, heard his laugh so many times it made your head spin.

it was all just so easy. even the mess ups, the uncertainty, the silences, those were easy too, because they were with him.

when he stuttered over telling you how beautiful you looked - easy.

when you didn't know how to introduce yourself to his friends, so you just said you were "quinn's..." and then faded out, unsure - that was easy, because you weren't even really lying. your laugh was instinctual, and everyone else's was, too.

when he asked you to dance, reaching his hand out to you, there had never been an easier yes.

you danced with all the beautiful awkwardness of two people who weren't quite sure what they were yet - weren't quite sure how far they could go. there was not a question of how you both felt, but how slow were you taking this?

how slow could you bear?

every touch felt electric, like a gentle flame ignited whereever his hands had been. you felt a shiver erupt when his hand grasped your waist as you both moved together to a simple rhythm.

so up close and personal, you could smell his worn cologne, feel the warmth from his chest.

he gave you a sly smile, something close to a smirk. "okay, doll?"

you bit your lip, peered up at him through your lashes. "you just look so lovely, quinn," you told him, squeezed his hand, gave him a flushed smile. "it's distracting."

he pulled you a little closer, so that your chests were almost touching as you moved across the floor. "yeah?" he asked, his smile lazy, almost shy. "love a suit, do you?"

you tilted your head, met his gaze entirely and absolutely. oh, how much, how deeply you wanted. hadn't your want seemed to fray the fibers of the universe before?

babe, they seemed to remind you, we never cared.

then who was i praying to? you could have asked.

and they would have only shared a look, laughed like two girls at a sleepover.

well, who answered? they would have responded.

what you did do is give a slight shake of your head. "not the suit," you said. "you're distracting."

you watched his eyes become hooded, felt the underlying heat ignite between you. his grip on your waist tightened. "careful, doll," he breathed out, a warning, a plea.

"don't wanna be," you replied. there was a moment of understanding, a pause of anticipation.

"how slow do you want to take this?" almost drowsy with desire, his voice was slow, rough, only for you. "you know i'd go so slow for you, right, doll?"

you nodded. "i know," you assured him, "but i don't want you to."

you thought you heard him mutter a fuck before he was pulling you from the floor, out of the elaborate event room, upstairs to your room at the hotel. everything was a blur as his hand clasped around yours. a desperate escape, fleeing from everything, everyone except him.

and then the door was shutting and he was pushing you up against it, a hand on your hip and the other on your jaw as his lips met yours in a heated kiss that was every bit as desperate, as longing, and terrible and horrible and shameful as the first one.

you were both too far gone to hold back any longer.

you tangled your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, felt the curls between your fingers.

he tasted like mint and salt and something earthy.

kissing him felt like barbed wire made of gold, flowery rust, somehow the most violent act you had ever committed, yet also the most gentle.

like removing your heart with a cookie cutter, offering it to him on a painted porcelain plate.

you moaned into his mouth, he hissed just a bit as you pulled at his hair.

he pushed his hips up against yours, hiked your leg up around his thigh, making you gasp at the hardness you found across his front.

"more," you murmured against his lips, felt his sly smirk grow against yours.

he moved his hand from your hip to slide up your dress, glide his fingertips along your inner thigh, just barely skirt across your folds. "like this, doll? so wet for me already," he asked, his voice gravelly. "this must be enough then, yeah?"

you shook your head, moved your hips to try to get some friction.

"no?" he said, obviously teasing, "greedy girl, hm? wants even more?" he brought his other hand to your mouth, pressed his thumb against your bottom lip, smirked when you closed your lips around him without a second thought. "what do you say?"

"please," you whined around his hand, in a voice you barely recognized. "please, quinn."

he answered you by dragging his fingers through your folds once before pushing two into you, slow and deep, making you arch your back up off of the door.

"fuck, so tight," he rasped.

you whimpered against his thumb, closed your eyes as you felt his hand move from your mouth to your throat.

"open up, doll," he demanded. "look at me."

you obliged with effort, wrapped an arm around his neck for support, another one bracing the door as he increased his pace, pushing his fingers in and out of you, grazing your clit each time.

your nails dug into his neck as you lost yourself in the sensation, barely registering the way he groaned at the delicious shot of pain.

"this enough, doll?" he cooed, annoyingly smug at how audibly wet you were.

you vigorously shook your head, so desperate to get him to keep going. "no," you pleaded, "fuck, please, quinn, don't stop."

he tightened his hand around your throat just a little, only barely squeezing as he flattened his other palm against your clit, making you moan loudly. "must be ready for me then, yeah?"

you fisted his dress shirt in your hand, pushed yourself off of the door and pulled him onto the bed. "please, need more of you," you begged, nothing more than a prayer, "fuck, want you so bad."

something lovely flooded his gaze as he moved his clothes aside, pulled himself out as you further hiked up your dress.

he spat into his hand, pumped himself up and down in a way that made your mouth water.

you were practically pouting. "please, fuck me, quinn," you said, pathetic and just so fine with it, "'s all i've been thinking about."

and you knew you had said something magical when he groaned and tugged you towards him by the undersides of your thighs, his grip hot and rough, a working man's grip.

"shit," he hissed as he ran his cock up and down your folds once, twice, collecting your wetness there, "'d never say no to you."

you whined when he first pushed into you, so, so deep that you swore you could feel him in the palms of your hands, feel him rattling around in your teeth, behind your eyes.

he moaned like a sinner, clutched at the flesh of your hips so tightly you knew his fingerprints would be left behind later.

as he began to thrust in and out of you, his rhythm hard and even, both of you could barely form words, so lost in the feeling of each other, finally as physically close as you could be.

"fuck," he bit out eventually, his rhythm picking up speed, "so tight, doll. so wet for me, hm?"

you nodded, clenched around him, reached one of your hands forward to rub at your clit, increasing the pressure quickly building inside of you.

he choked out a grunt at the sight of you touching yourself, only making you squeeze him harder. "feels so good, quinn," you whined, "so deep inside me."

he moved one hand up to your calf, hoisted one of your legs up to change his angle, thrusted down into you in a way that hit a dizzying spot inside of you. he kept going, bringing you both closer every minute.

"shit, feel so perfect," he bit out at some point. "made for me, hm?" he asked as you rubbed your clit faster. "squeezing me so perfect, yeah?"

you hummed something like affirmation, your breathing becoming ragged as he hit that spot over and over, his chest rising and falling, his thrusts becoming broken and messy.

"fuck, quinn," you moaned, "fuck, 'm so close."

he groaned. "gonna cum for me, doll?" he asked, letting your calf rest on his shoulder as his hand travelled down to apply only the slightest pressure to your lower stomach.

the sensation, that unique pressure making you feel him impossibly deeper, sent you soaring right to the edge.

"feel you squeezing me," he breathed out, his own voice tight and rough, his chest and stomach flexing as he fought off his own orgasm. "cum for me, doll, yeah? wanna feel you cum on my cock." he squinted with effort. "be good for me, hm?"

and his words sent you spiraling, a wave of pleasure finally crashing, clenching and spasming around him in a way that triggered his own high.

he moaned as he came, his breathing labored as you both collapsed back onto the hotel bed.

effort and satisfaction glowed on your faces, realized desire settling along his cheekbones and on the cupid's bow of your mouth.

there were several moments of easy silence in the warm air, his hand throw lazily around your middle, one of yours resting on his chest.

"can i ask you for something?" you said eventually, looking up at him with tired eyes full of possibility.

"anything, doll," he said, and you remembered back to that first day, in the garage. how easy it was, now, to remember it fondly.

"can i have a kiss, please?" you asked, almost shy, more so gentle.

a smile already played across his mouth. "especially that," he said, eager to comply with your request.

he leaned down to press a fluttering, beautiful kiss to your lips.

well i definitely didn't see this coming, chance stage-whispered to logical reason behind her hand.

i don't really deal with this lovey-dovey kind of stuff, logical reason said, not my thing.

all the divine powers and the fibers of the universe and such, they were silent. perhaps they always had been. perhaps this was much too far out of their jurisdiction.

perhaps it was just none of their business.

fin.

#hockey #nhl #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey smut #nhl smut #jack hughes #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes smut #vancouver canucks

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twipsai · 16 hours ago

Text

omega and silver fic is up! ill put the full thing under the cut yayyy

Days and weeks and months melted together, years going by as his body rusted and decayed, warping itself beyond repair as fewer and fewer people dared to enter the Flame Core, fewer caring to check in on them.

He wasn’t conscious for a large portion of it. How could he be? Why would he be? Any reason to stay present was gone.

So he sat. He waited. For what, he wasn’t sure.

…

And then.

And then one day.

One day, something new. The feeling of something stirring against his chest awoke him from a multi-decade slumber. It took minutes, maybe hours, for all of his systems to come back online. The ones remaining, anyway. Everything hit him like bullets— two lifeforms detected, tactile input detected, loss of ammunition, left shoulder joint disconnected, motor functions offline…

Everything buzzed faintly.

Finally, he could see again.

He shifted his cameras down to see…

“CHILD.”

The kid’s eyes flew open as he stumbled backwards from being curled up against his side. A scream erupted from the child’s body. Analysis showed he was a hedgehog, about six, not matching anyone stored within his database.

Though, there weren’t many people around who did, anymore.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Omega questioned, voice echoing unpleasantly against the cavern’s walls.

The child didn’t answer, his breathing picking up speed as his hands started to tremble. He fell to his knees, eyes wide and unblinkingly staring at Omega.

“I BELIEVE I MAY HAVE FRIGHTENED YOU. THIS WAS NOT MY INTENTION.”

It looked like the child couldn’t breathe, now, as if he was being strangled by an invisible force. He grasped a hand around his neck while tears rolled down his cheeks.

Somewhere in his data storage, something like a memory surfaced. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

At some point, someone he knew had something like this happen to them.

“INITIATING ‘COMFORT’ PROTOCOL.”

Through old, crackling speakers, a song started to play. Even with the terrible audio crunching, the piano still rang out as soft as ever. Slow notes drawled on. The lifeform behind him shifted. The child took about 3.49 seconds to visually indicate he had heard the music. His ears perked up and his terrified eyes softened. Over the course of six minutes and twenty-three seconds, the child’s heart rate decreased from 110 beats per minute to 100.

The first thing that tiny child squeaked out was, “Can you move?”

Omega responded after a moment to check. “NO.”

The child then slowly stood, inching forward on trembling legs to sit closer to the music. He leaned an ear to Omega’s chest where the sound crackled out from. He was way too warm for a tiny child, and if he wasn’t showing no other symptoms, Omega would have thought he was sick.

As the song steadily reached its conclusion, the child seemed about as relaxed as he was going to get.

“What is this?” he asked.

“GYMNOPEDIE NO. 1.”

The child looked up and squinted his eyes, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“IT’S A VERY OLD SONG FROM AN ESTIMATED 400 YEARS AGO.”

“A song? What’s a song?”

Omega was never very good at explaining the more… human aspects of life. The alive parts.

Others would be better suited to explain this.

He knew many that could’ve.

“A SONG IS TYPICALLY A COLLECTION OF NOTES PLAYED IN SUCCESSION TO CREATE A MELODY. WHY WERE YOU SLEEPING ON ME, CHILD?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I DO NOT CARE. YOU HAVE NOT ANSWERED MY QUESTION.”

The child’s grey quills flared out even more than they already had, and he fidgeted with the bandages around his wrists. “Your body is cold. It’s very warm here. I was just trying to cool off…”

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

“I think it’s Silver.”

“YOU ARE NOT SURE?”

“No.”

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

“I’m trying to get to Crisis City.”

That was an unfamiliar location. Omega checked his residual memory, and cross referenced it with previous data he had archived. “THE RUINS OF SOLEANNA.”

“Um. Maybe?”

“THE HEART OF IBLIS. INQUIRY: WHY IS A TINY MEATBAG LIKE YOU MARCHING TO YOUR CERTAIN DEATH?”

Silver sat down in the place where his left arm should have been, under exposed wires sparking threateningly. This close, Omega could see the scabs on his knees, the blood soaking through the messily-wrapped bandages, the cuts littering his arms and legs, his calloused hands and feet— he could see the determination in his eyes as he folded his hands in his lap and furrowed his brows. “I'm going to defeat Iblis.”

If Omega could laugh, he would. “DOES NOT COMPUTE. SILVER THE HEDGEHOG: SMALL, MORTAL, POWERLESS. IBLIS: GIANT, IMMORTAL, POWERFUL. I ASK AGAIN; WHY IS A TINY MEATBAG LIKE YOU MARCHING TO YOUR DEATH?”

“Because I have to! I have powers no one else has, if there's something I can do, then I wanna help!”

“FURTHER DATA NEEDED. WHAT POWERS DO YOU POSSESS, CHILD?”

“Um, someone told me its called psy– psycho— um—”

“PSYCHOKINESIS.”

“Yes! Psychokinesis!”

There was no telling how powerful the child actually was. Omega knew better than to underestimate children at this point, when three had accompanied him on adventure after adventure before the flames had consumed the world.

They were children. Most of his companions were.

His chest suddenly felt strange. Felt. He tried to run a diagnosis on his power core, only to find that it was still destroyed. Nothing had changed about his state. What made that feeling?

“Excuse me, uh… sir?”

“OMEGA.”

“Huh?”

“THAT IS MY NAME. E-123 OMEGA.”

“Oh. Well, your eyes are glowing.”

Strange. Someone once said that he was very expressive— he thought it was what she called “sarcasm”, but then went on to explain all the little things she noticed about him, and how he reacts to things. It seemed that, even with almost all of his functions offline, he was still finding ways to express himself.

“Omega?”

“WHAT.”

Silver looked up at him shyly. “Can I lean on you again? It’s very hot in here, and you’re very cool…”

“I LACK THE PROPER MOTOR FUNCTION TO STOP YOU.”

“That’s why I asked.”

A memory surfaced. Covered in rust and cobwebs and ash.

A very long time ago, he was carrying someone gently, as gently as he could. This person was tired— he had been through a lot that week. He could barely stand. So he carried him to his room quietly, trying his best not to tear the blankets he used to tuck him in. He must not have done a very good job at being quiet, because he woke up to a degree.

“Omega,” he mumbled, eyes still half-closed. “Don’t… don’t let anyone do anything to you. Even though you’re… you’re a robot… you should get to be your own person…”

He quietly took a step back.

“YOUR MUMBLING IS INCOHERENT,” Omega replied. “TELL ME TOMORROW; I WILL STILL BE HERE.”

And he turned.

And left.

Silver, for one reason or another, was dragging up memories that he thought had been trapped in old storage. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t had a conversation with another person in over a hundred years. Maybe the long stretches of silence had a way of turning one into a poet.

“YES,” Omega finally replied, “YOU MAY LEAN ON ME.”

Silver crawled over his lap, smushing himself in between Omega’s in-tact arm and torso, forehead leaning against his upper arm. If Omega thought the child would listen, he would warn him about getting tetanus from his rusted fingers.

“I have a question now. Is that okay?”

“YES.”

“How old are you?”

“73,784.8 DAYS HAVE PASSED SINCE MY CREATION.”

“Uhhh… that’s a lot…”

Eggman didn’t program conversion to weeks, months, and years into his internal clock. Eventually it would stop counting up when it hit 999,999.999 days. It also meant that he had to mentally convert it himself. “APPROXIMATELY 200 YEARS.”

“Oh.”

…

The child looked up at him with impossibly large eyes.

“Oh! Were you around before Iblis was, Omega?!”

“YES—”

“Can you tell me about it?! Please! I’ve heard stories but— but not from someone who was there! You gotta tell me!”

Much to his dismay, Omega was finding this child amusing. And familiar. “WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW?”

“Um, um…” When he was in thought, Silver fidgeted with his poncho’s hem. “Tell me about the sky!”

“...THE SKY?”

“Yes!”

Omega hadn’t been outside for most of his lifespan— he had spent it in the Flame Core. But he did remember that— “IT WAS GIANT.”

A massive expanse that blanketed the entire earth. A constant in a chaotic life. No matter where you went, the sky followed.

“IT WOULD CHANGE COLOR. MANY COMPARED IT TO A PAINTING.”

The child looked up at him with wonder in his eyes, absorbing every syllable.

“IT WAS THE ONE THING IN LIFE THAT REMAINED.”

Absolute awe was written on Silver’s face.

Omega could make a well-informed guess of what awaited him outside the cavern if he was ever fixed.

“Can you tell me about the people?”

“YOU ASK MANY QUESTIONS.”

“I haven’t gotten this many answers before.”

They were his companions. Teammates. Friends, though, that was pushing it a little, as one of them would say. After so long to think about it, to put his feelings into words, he came to the conclusion that he must have cared about them. They were almost all gone, now. Almost. But he could remember watching them from afar, completely captivated by how they moved. It was all just play to most of them. They would train against each other, race across continents, get takeout in the middle of a mission… Everything was just another day. They laughed in the face of danger. They stood tall. They cared.

Oh, how they cared.

“I BELIEVE THEY WERE NOT VERY DIFFERENT FROM THE PEOPLE OF THIS TIME.”

“No?”

“NO. THEY WERE ALL JUST PEOPLE. MUNDANE.”

Silver knitted his brows together in thought, then pointed past where Omega’s cameras could reach, behind the two of them. “Was he there?”

But he knew.

He knew.

Knew who he was pointing to.

“YES.”

“What’s his name?”

“SHADOW.”

“Why is he trapped in there?”

While Omega couldn’t see him in his position, he knew exactly how Shadow looked. Arms up and cuffed with giant metal rings, attached to a hexagonal cage that stretched over him in a diamond shape, glowing pink and white. The image was committed to his long-term memory.

Perhaps it was better he couldn’t turn to see.

“HUMANITY THOUGHT HE WAS THE CAUSE OF THE FLAMES OF DISASTER.”

Silver stood and walked behind him. The tingle of apprehensiveness of having his back turned to a sentient being was duller than he remembered. “Was he?”

“NO,” he could say for certain. “NO, HE WASN’T.”

“Then why did they do this to him?”

He could remember his claw gripping Shadow’s neck as he begged and pleaded for mercy. He remembered his body acting without his command as he unfeelingly attacked him. He remembered Shadow going limp on the floor, almost dead. He remembered watching as people crowded around him and quickly put him into stasis.

He remembered standing with him,

for centuries.

Maybe as an apology. Maybe because it was what he was built to do.

He remembered.

“HUMANITY FEARS WHAT THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND, CHILD.”

Quietly, Silver walked back to Omega’s side, leaning on him once again, and a little more curled up in his lap than he was before. “I know,” he said. “I know that.”

Of course he did. Omega could have guessed that, especially in this world; this world that was dominated by terror. After all, Silver was here, alone, at six years old. Whatever reason he had for that couldn't be a pleasant one.

“YOU REMIND ME OF THE PEOPLE I FOUGHT ALONGSIDE BACK THEN.”

“Before Iblis?”

“YES.”

“I do?”

“YOU ARE MARCHING TO FACE IMPOSSIBLE ODDS. YET YOU REMAIN OPTIMISTIC. YOU STRIVE TO PROTECT A BROKEN WORLD THAT HURT YOU.”

Silver fidgeted with the hem of his poncho. His markings pulsed with light. “Even if the whole world was against me,” he whispered, “I'd still protect it.”

“I SEE. INQUIRY;”

“Mhm?”

“HOW CAN YOU FIGHT WHEN YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T WIN?”

For a long time, Silver stayed quiet.

He spoke slowly. “As long as I don't give up… there's hope.”

How optimistic. How cruel, for a child to say those words with a trembling voice. If Omega could, he'd weep.

Then, he returned to his excited demeanor. “Hey, you know what? I could probably get Shadow out of there!”

“YOU COULD NOT.”

“I could try! If I could wake your friend up, then maybe—”

“CHILD.”

He stayed quiet.

“I MADE A VOW TO PROTECT THOSE I HELD DEAR.” He flickered some of the lights on his body on and off. “I BROKE THAT VOW ONCE. NOW, I WILL REMAIN HERE, BY HIS SIDE, UNTIL I AM GONE.”

Silver was practically curled up in his lap, forehead rested on his chest. His body temperature had dropped significantly since he had woken up. “Okay, then. Hey, I have another question.”

“ASK IT.”

“Can you make that ‘song’ again?”

How optimistic.

How cruel.

“YES. I CAN.”

The piano hummed through his broken speakers. It made ear-splitting popping noises occasionally, but Silver didn't seem to mind. He shifted so his ear was right above Omega’s internal speaker.

His companions would have liked Silver. It was obvious— maybe even Shadow would have. But they were separated by eons.

Omega only hoped the next time they met, it was for a kinder reason.

‘Hoped’...

Silver must have been rubbing off on him.

#sth #sonic fic #e-123 omega #silver the hedgehog

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shyshyshyz · 1 day ago

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Got a request: Caitlyn x astronaut reader who arrived to Runeterra via a wormhole and crashed in the harbor resulting in them being a celebrity among the locals. One day Caitlyn sees the reader trying to fix their radio and phone which they do as it begins singing things from their world.

Echoes from Beyond

Summary: After crash-landing in Piltover, you’ve drawn quite the crowd as the city’s first extraterrestrial visitor, but you’re more concerned about fixing your radio and tuning out the attention. Still, Caitlyn Kiramman’s curiosity—and her sharp wit—keep pulling you in. When she catches you trying to repair your old radio late one night, the device starts playing a song from home, and the sarcastic exchanges between you take on a different tone entirely.

Word Count: 6,500

W: Sci-fi elements, sarcastic humor, homesickness, slow-burn romance, tension.

Sparks flew from the radio, and you winced, pulling your hand back. The device sputtered, wires twisted and exposed, and the panel you’d jerry-rigged threatened to fall off altogether. “Perfect. Yeah, go ahead and fall apart on me,” you muttered, glaring at the radio like it might fix itself out of sheer guilt.

“Talking to your equipment?” a familiar voice broke in. “I’ve heard it’s not the most effective strategy.”

You glanced up, a smirk forming as you found Caitlyn Kiramman watching you with an amused arch of her brow. “Well, you’d talk to it too if you’d crashed on an alien planet and had exactly one broken radio to your name.”

She chuckled, stepping closer. “Good to know sarcasm is universal. You do realize half of Piltover’s harbor has been talking about you since the day you arrived?”

You gave a dramatic sigh, feigning a look of exhaustion. “Ah, yes. My lifelong dream: celebrity status on a world I didn’t even know existed. Truly, I’m living the dream.”

Caitlyn laughed, a real, warm sound that seemed out of place in the cold harbor air. She leaned down beside you, peering at the broken radio. “Does it ever work, or is it more of an… ornamental piece?”

“Oh, it works. When it feels like it.” You poked at the wiring, the sarcasm creeping back into your voice. “It’s a little temperamental, just like me, I guess.”

She tilted her head, giving you a sidelong glance. “I suppose I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

You smirked, glancing up at her. “Careful. Next thing you know, I’ll be making demands. Like… what’s a proper breakfast here? Any weird Piltover customs I should be aware of?”

Her lips quirked as she held your gaze. “Maybe you’ll find out if you stop playing with broken radios in the middle of the night.”

Just as you were about to volley back with another jab, the radio sputtered to life, static giving way to a faint, haunting melody from your world. Both of you fell silent, the sarcasm fading as the music filled the air, bringing a rare quietness to your typically witty exchanges.

For once, Caitlyn looked genuinely speechless. “That’s… that’s beautiful,” she murmured. “It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard.”

You cleared your throat, attempting to hide the sudden vulnerability the music brought. “It’s just a song from home. They—uh, they play it a lot back there. It’s about… finding beauty, even when you’re a million miles from home.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened, and you felt her presence in a way that startled you. “I think I get it.” Her hand brushed against yours, and your sarcasm melted just a bit. “Maybe you don’t have to be so far from that kind of beauty. Maybe Piltover has a little of it, too.”

You let out a scoff, though it came out weaker than intended. “Yeah? Well, jury’s still out on that one.”

But as her hand stayed near yours, and her gaze held yours just a moment longer than usual, you felt a warmth that wasn’t just from the music. Maybe, you thought, Piltover had more than you’d given it credit for—especially if Caitlyn was part of it.

#arcane #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #league of legends caitlyn #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane x reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x you #caitlyn x y/n #wlw post #wlw blog #sapphic #lesbian

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rindreamery · 7 hours ago

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you make me wanna make you fall in love!

a mini series of your cliche love stories with blue lock men.

note. truthfully, not sure when these will be released as my final exams are coming up in 4 weeks... but i'll be putting out a lot of filler fics while i write these!

the love poem. [tba]

you find yourself falling for the charming, but unfriendly, boy who’s always seemed out of your league. when tasked to write a poem for an assignment, you find yourself writing more than you intended to. regardless of the fact that it was nameless, anyone with 2 brain cells would be able to put two-and-two together— it was a love confession to itoshi rin. imagine the panic you feel when the poem goes missing the day it's due.

itoshi rin x reader

the boom box serenade. [tba]

after a messy breakup, nagi seishiro finds himself standing outside the window of his ex-girlfriend's (you) apartment, holding a boombox in the dead of night. the world is silent, except for the sound of the music he’s playing— the song that was playing when you two first met. he’s not sure why he’s going out of his way to do such a grand gesture, something that is typically “such a hassle.” all he knows is that he misses you, and he can’t stand another day of being away.

nagi seishiro x reader

the (un)sent letter. [tba]

you should’ve known better than to put an address on your love letters— you never intended to mail them out anyways. but after writing a series of private love letters, meant only for your eyes, you find that they are mysteriously mailed to their intended recipients. in a desperate act to avoid humiliation, you strike an unexpected deal with one of the recipients— oliver aiku, a charming and confident boy. not quite a stranger, but not really your friend, but also… your new boyfriend?

oliver aiku x reader

the kiss in the rain. [tba]

it’s been two years since you’d last seen itoshi sae— your relationship ending on a series of broken promises and unspoken words— and you tell yourself that you’re over him now. the universe always has other plans for you, and unexpectedly, you reunite with him while seeking shelter from an unexpected rainstorm. it’s much harder to ignore your buried feelings for him, you realize, when he’s pressed up close to you and all you can feel is him. you might not be as over sae as you initially thought.

itoshi sae x reader

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro x reader #oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #aiku oliver #aiku oliver x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader

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eggmeralda · 1 year ago

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need to start playing ukulele again like it literally ruled my life from age 13-19 and then I just stopped?? so I made a playlist of songs that are coverable I guess bc I need to play things that aren't just my own songs, but anyway most of the songs are in A. classic. typical. and there's two Who songs in there. obviously. just typical

#and one of the who songs is in A. typical #actually typical of me to like a Who song in A but not typical of them to write a song in A #they give such D and G vibes as a band i swear like most of their songs are in those keys #this is based off no source. just vibes #omg i'm gonna work out the average key used in who songs. evening plans SORTED #ramble

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idiosyncraticrednebula · 7 months ago

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The backlash against Frozen, which, from my observation, has cooled down (that isn't a joke, I swear-) quite a bit over the past few years, was less based on the quality of the movie itself and more on the fact that its massive success and reach really overshadowed a lot of other movies that came out prior to it and after it and was getting credited for stuff that had already been done before plenty of times, and in many cases, in those exact movies. This is why, to this day, many fans STILL refuse to give Tangled its props without trying to put Frozen down in some way. In their eyes, Tangled should have gotten the glory and accolades Frozen received, but did not, and that made them quite jealous. Overall, Frozen is far from a bad movie. It's a great movie with a great message, characters, music and does actually deserve the success and recognition it got, and some fans need to stop being so salty about it and uplift their fav movies without putting Frozen down so they get the proper appreciation they deserve as well. Although, yes, the credit this movie got for allegedly introducing themes, archetypes and tropes that had already been seen before in Disney, including movies set in a fairytale world with heroines as the protags, was undoubtedly the most annoying part about its success and is part of the reason why many tried to drag this movie and its main leads.

#disney #frozen #txt #ngl i was part of the hate train for a long time too #not as much as others tho but still i was one of these people who thought frozen was overrated af #but now i realized i was kinda full of it for that opinion #when i saw it the first time the major gripe i had with how many songs it had #but now i'm actually fine with that #idk my stance on this movie had always been a weird one #i have always contradicted myself when it came to this movie #until recently when i've finally begun to embrace it #i have always liked it and not liked it? idk. it's been weird #i do want to see thiw franchise get expanded but i'd prefer a tv series #and i think frozen ii needs a retcon ngl that movie was a whole shitshow writing wise #and the message was not as impactful i'm sorry but it's in line with the typical “the power is actually in me” bullshit #it's some selfish nonsense and is against the main theme of almost every disney movie #which is about how your dreams will come true if you have faith AND do for others. something even better will happen or you will want #something else entirely #it's about selflessness love and sacrifice whether it's romantic platonic familiar or even related to the community as a whole #but anyways that's an entirely different point #so yeah frozen isn't a terrible movie you guys. i think the anger is misplaced

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liamrrys · 30 days ago

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made a modern!au landing page for my own reference, but wanted to share a sneaky peek <33

#i literally only have their playlists written rn #i give my favourite songs to my babiest of girls (rame and isman lol)#dia is a swiftie im so sorry (im right tho)#running gag is that evas music taste is ass (isman is crying as her playlist shuffles from megan thee stallion — to tchaikovsky — to fein 💀#also!! surname reveal!! ik they typically didn't have surnames in ancient egypt so i made them up lol #eva idk if i'll make merenset her last name or give her a new one #“elbaz” for isman means falcon in arabic bc it was the animal i picked in s1 lol #dia's surname means “generous and honourable” for not ratting out our girl eva #i think that doesn't get talked about enough so i wanted 2 honour it in this au at least #rame's last name mayari is after the filipino goddess of the moon and nighttime #CONTEXT: artist who designed rame ALLEGEDLY drew him to be part asian?? weird for canon but in modern au it means he's part filo now oops

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satoumafuyuss · 1 year ago

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shes just like me fr 💚

#i love nene sm shes sooooo <3333 #i also made the bg purple not only cause her eyes but also i love ruinene #nene kusanagi #project sekai #proseka #prsk fa #kusanagi nene #will the day ever come where i admit nene is also one of my top faves?#who knows #for now shes just in my faves list #i love her sm tho #yknow its bad when youre listening to her vas songs and not just her in game songs #also oh my god i kinda hated this when i was sketching it but it turned out way better than i expected so yeah trust the process or whateve #nillyart #also also i feel like ive gotten SO MUCH BETTER AT FANART THIS YEAR #i used to be so scared of fanart cause oh my god i just could not draw other peoples characters but omg look at me now!!!!#i think it also helps i dont care as much about canon anymore like no im gonna draw them how they look in my head thankies #typically that is close to canon tho #unless its love live or proseka characters i like to darken their skin cause oh my god <3 they are SO PALE #like girl i barely go outside and IM STILL DARKER THAN YOU #IM SO WHITE #IM 90% IRISH!!!!!#nillyfanart

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sleepwalk-living · 2 years ago

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me: i hate self insert and y/n fics so much- they're too intimate for a parasocial relationship and cross too many boundaries. SO cringey and kinda gross.

niall: im making fun of my fans for partaking in fanfiction by reading this self insert fic for cringe and comedic purposes.

me:

#niall horan #one direction #so get this #listen.#LISTEN. its like feminism yk #i hate this bitch but i will protect her from this stupid misogynist.#idk man. like why are you making fun of your fans? we pay your bills.#also i think he severely misunderstands which of his fans do fics #casual fans dont #but casual fans are also not the people watching videos made for content or interviews.#the fans who read and write fic DO watch the tiktoks and youtube shorts and like instagram posts #and listen to bonus songs and buy albums instead of streaming them #AND. WATCH. INTERVIEWS.#idk dude. BAD taste in my mouth.#its fan work and fan space. most of us do not want you in this space where we makr and distribute things for OTHER fans #this stuff is not meant for anybody but fans #like sure theres younger fans or ppl who dont get how fandom works and they tag the celebs or whatever #but most fans do NOT want their (typically shippy) fanworks shared w their muse #just.. disappointed.#like. i know. parasocial relationship. but this was just rly disrespectful and thoughtless.

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doctorwhoisadhd · 6 months ago

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hmm thinking about the idea of love songs. i think the idea of what a love song is that we have in our culture is inherently a little bit flawed because we have the idea that any song written about romantic feelings is a love song and im thinking thats not exactly true because there is a difference between "romance" and "love". what i'm saying is not that love is a broader category and applies to things that are not romantic in nature. this is in fact true, but it's not what makes the important distinction here. the true distinction between "romance" and "love" is that romance is a societally defined type of interest in another person, whereas love is, essentially, a promise that you make when you build a relationship.

as such, what i call "love" here might be better defined as "care", as that implies more time and effort, but that's a different suitcase to unpack and largely unimportant to my point here, which is more about the societal conventions of what we call love songs. the point is, relationships can be built with other people, yes, but also animals, places, organizations, ideas, so on and so on, whereas romance requires another person, hence the difference between the ideas of "romance" and "love".

with that in mind, there are two types of songs we in western, english speaking, society call "love songs":

1) songs that are about a person's romantic interest in someone that is either definitively known to be unrequited (existing monogamous relationship, sexuality that doesn't align, etc) or simply not requited (aka romantic interest being unknown); and

2) songs about an existing relationship (keeping in mind my points about relationships not just being with people, but also places, things, etcetera) as is.

(some examples of the latter category: mountaintop by relient k, which defines the relationship in question as non-romantic; or i miss my mum by cavetown, which is - as the title implies - a song about the singer missing their mother.)

now, the thing that makes distinguishing these two difficult is the fact that songs about an existing relationship CAN be about wanting certain aspects of that relationship to change. in these cases, determining that a song is one or the other will hinge either on a) authorial intent or b) whether the song is more about what the singer wants (thereby implying #1) or the lack thereof in that relationship (which would imply #2).

to get back to the subject at hand: the term "love song", as we think of it, is an umbrella term that include both of these two categories, and i think that perhaps it is reductive to do so. with that in mind, i think perhaps it would be more appropriate for "love song" to mean only the latter, whereas the former is a category of its own. WHICH is not to say that the two can't overlap — just that if a song is about a person with whom the singer has no relationship, it cannot be considered a love song due to the fact that it is a song about infatuation, not love.

(another interesting wrinkle this provides is the fact that a song might start out in the first category and, as the writer develops a relationship with a person, might move into the second category as they write more.)

#anyway. just some of my thoughts on this as an aromantic songwriter #ari opinion hour #this goes a good deal to reconcile my constant writing of love songs with the fact that none of them are romantic #which im fine with as long as im keeping them to myself but it DOES feel dishonest when i hide that theyre love songs.#however this did also go some way to convince me that maybe care songs is an alternative that i SHOULD use because it is more applicable to #me than the concept of love which MOST people do not have the same perspective on as i do and having different definitions of the same word #is an important barrier to consider in communication #i will admit i do think im clinging to my care songs being love songs due to my relationship with an organization to which love is very #important as i dont want to go back on my promises to that organization as it IS very important to me #anyway. can you tell ive been reading house of leaves by the fact that this appeared fully fledged in my head in fully academic language #but for real like thinking about it now and even my old love songs like most would probably think to see them that they would go in the #first category and they just. DO NOT. at least not the ones that were written after i was like Yeah im aro again #its interesting the ones i wrote in the brief period where i thought i WASNT aro in like mid hs those i WOULD put in the first category #even though like i do NOT think i was right about it being romantic #but the ones after i was like Yea im aro again are like. Thats definitely the latter #part of it is i did find a voice that was like genuinely Mine and wasnt just writing sort of generic love songs #love songs in the typical usage i mean so they were really more infatuation songs #but like i was still with the last person irl who i wrote these about divorced from like... my aroness because of how much i liked him #and i would still put those in the second category #so part of it is awareness as well #so. yeah. its interesting #i probably should just suck it up and start calling them care songs. even if people dont know what i mean to say that

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prettyinpunk · 1 year ago

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tagged by beloved @josephtrohman <<333 to shuffle my on repeat playlist and post the first 10 songs!

king for a day/green day

love from the other side/fob

get up and fight/muse

lazy bones/green day

rhythm of love/plain white t's

i've been waiting/fob&ilovemakonnen&lil peep

wet hot american summer/cobra starship

soldier's poem/muse

young volcanoes/fob

WHAT YOU GONNA DO???/bastille&graham coxon

tagging @originofpwoper @alonetogether @aeolianblues & @syd-opaque if y'all haven't done it and want to :))

#i feel like i might've done this before but its always fun to do it again!#ty for the tag kelci ilyyyy mwah <3 #this is all very typical behavior for me #which is a tag i've used before #classic #idk why that bastille title is so aggressive #two muse songs who are beautiful girls that i love forever #pretty sure soldier's poem came up in another tag game i did lmao #i am constantly in soldiers poem world #i actually had to skip one of the songs that came up bc my keyboard doesn't write in katakana #i guess i could've translated to hiragana but i'm lazy #theres probably a way to change idk i'm stupid anyway #tag games #tar.txt

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merlinmerlot · 1 year ago

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i finally finished bg3

and it only took me [looks at steam]

SIX HUNDRED HOURS

#merlin.txt #w/ the new computer the rest of act 3 went by super quickly #honestly i dont think my computer and my sanity would have survived all those cutscenes #ANYWAYS initial thoughts:#cried like a baby. ending credits songs really really good. i can't WAIT to start a new playthru. HOWEVER:#oh my god the ending felt so fucking rushed. i was expecting like a typical rpg ending slideshow at LEAST but nothing???#like you only get One cutscene with your romanced partner (a short one too) but i don't get to see what everyone else is doing??? hello??#gale is literally like 'lets celebrate' and we don't get to see the celebration??? or at the very least a chance to talk to everyone again #like in act 1 and 2????#imo i think the most satisfying one was lae'zels. god i love her #also act 3 is hella buggy especially towards the end. a lot of broken dialogue. but ah well #OK NOW SPOILER THOUGHTS SAMMIE DONT LOOK:#the game Really wants you to turn illithid but i ended up just letting karlach do it ... i felt bad .. but like #i found the arc of my tav like. getting So close to going full power hungry and martyr and hero only to finally be humbled like -#'you dont have to always play hero' was really interesting. like doing that and then hearing the post credits 'the power' song. gshldgksmal #guy who is soo miserable abt the fact that all their cool illithid powers are now gone. has to go back to being normal #ALSO. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE ENDING AST SCENE. HELLO?#HIM RUNNING AWAY FROM THE SUN. IT BEING COMPLETELY PLAYED FOR LAUGHS. SO MEAN #any other time i may have laughed but the fact that you dont really get epilogues made that Really sting.#THE FACT THAT THE COMPANIONS ARE NOT EVEN NICE ABOUT IT??????

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years ago

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"I didn't know you were there," says Lucy, hesitant but curious. Quill stops what he's doing, sets down a box. He frowns, moves to check an item off of Holly's neatly written list.

"I've been here all morning," he replies bemusedly. "Would have thought you'd notice, with how the lot of you tend to gripe about my very breathing." He says it complainingly, but with the slightest air of a smile.

Lucy shakes her head and quirks her lips, as if thinking. "That's not what I mean. Lockwood said something the other day, that you were here the night... when Jessica died." She looks away, hiding her questioning gaze. Even now, Lockwood can be cagey about his past, and she tries not to press him too much.

Kipps makes a noncommittal sound and shrugs stiffly. "I wasn't here when it happened," he says slowly. "I was... too late."

In the golden early-afternoon sunshine of the hall, his face almost looks soft, wistful. Lucy moves closer, sensing a shift in the mood. She knows vaguely that he'd known Jessica before her death, but she's not sure how well.

"I could tell you about it, if you wanted," he continues softly. "It's... there are many things I wish I could change."

"Mmhmm," Lucy hums reassuringly. She leans over to check Holly's list herself, picks up a box of her own. "Would you maybe write it down for me?" She asks, then grimaces at her own insensitivity. "For the casebooks, I mean, the history."

Quill gives her a look. "Me?" He asks, brow furrowed.

Lucy nods. "Everyone's written something," she says, "Even Hol. But even Lockwood hasn't written much about Jessica. If you wanted, that could be your entry."

He stares at her, unsure, for a long moment. Before he can say anything, George comes stomping through with a heavy-laden garbage bag, grumbling all the way and followed by a particularly chipper Holly, who asks how the tidying is going on her way past. In between the movement and bustle, Kipps catches Lucy's eye past Holly's neatly braided hair.

He nods just once, but with certainty. Lucy nods back and smiles a hesitantly sad smile.

~~~~~

In a world where the dead can walk and must be staved off by children with swords, timing is everything. Back then, I didn't know that the way I do now. Timing was for prompt attacks on a Spectre, planning an evening to catch a Phantom by surprise. Nor did I even truly know that I was a child, and only now do i truly feel such. Funny, how as a child I felt like a grown-up, but as a man I feel like a child.

My name, for this record, is Quill Kipps. I've been asked to write this down as it may matter later on as a historical record, though why this tale is of import I don't know. Perhaps it's a cautionary tale. Much of my later exploits have already been taken down by my colleague, Lucy Carlyle of the now-esteemed Lockwood and Co. psychic agency. However, difficult as it is, Ms. Carlyle has requested that I tell my own perspective of the events preceding my days as a supervisor of the Fittes agency and later in solving the most pivotal case of most people's lives alongside Lockwood & Co. It is the story of how I, a child at the time, learned something of timing.

I was seven minutes too late. That was all it took for my life — and, I'm sorry, that sounds selfish now I've written it down, but this is in ink, so shall we say — how two lives, one of which was mine, were irrevocably changed. Back then, both of us would have said they were ruined. But we both survived, as most people do, and I think have both finally come to be glad of that fact.

Only agents walk freely after dark. Curfews take affect, and fear even before that, meaning most adults take to their homes, iron-fortified and scented of lavender, at the first sign of sunset. Most of them likely haven't even seen a sunset in years. That's particularly sad, I think. There's so much beauty after light, and so few can ever see it.

Adults, who cannot detect Visitors, live in more fear even than those who can see, or in some cases, such as that of the esteemed Ms. Carlyle, hear them. Funny how the lack of knowing makes things so much more terrifying. After dark the only living human forms to be seen are those who a century ago would have been considered small and vulnerable, but who now protect their elders from horrors they're blind to. I know what it's like to be blind. I have walked both sides. But that isn't what this is about.

I didn't have a case that night. My team had the night off after a serious domestic case the previous evening, one including a feral Poltergeist with a penchant for throwing kitchen knives willy-nilly. Our Listener had taken a deep cut in the process of sealing the Source, and as such our team had been told to take a respite for a weekend, rest and recover with extra time that we often didn't have as part of the largest psychic agency in London. And, amidst the desperate rush of the previous night's haunting, I had realized precisely what I wished to do with that time.

It's difficult for a child, even a teenager as I was, to conceptualize the passage of time. When you're fourteen, you can't think of what your life will be like in a decade. When you are a fourteen year old psychic agent, you can't think of it due to doubts that you will even reach that age. It's a job with a high mortality rate. Any benefits or honor you may receive don't change the fact that you can die, possibly quite alone, at any time in the line of work. This particular night, I wasn't thinking about that, however. I was thinking of a future, vague and hypothetical, clearly far too hopeful, in which I married the girl of my dreams.

Jessica Lockwood was lithe, dark-haired, and had the sweetest smile that I have ever seen to this day — and for the record and for irony's sake, it has indeed been nearly a decade since then. She and her brother, Anthony, who has since made quite the name for himself, were the inheritors of their late parents' house at 35 Portland Row. The late Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood had been researchers and collectors of rare and potentially psychic items from around the globe. Their research had led to an untimely death and orphaning of their children, but it had also led to a connection with the Fittes agency and thus my meeting Jessica, back in those days when I could See Visitors unaided and she was alive.

She was so, so alive. I don't quite know how to describe it. There was a determination about her that gave her a kind of almost glow, a vibrancy that surrounded her and lit up even the most depressing of rooms, even the DEPRAC waiting room I had met her in shortly after her parents lost their lives. Anthony, Tony as Jessica called him, was only nine years old and well on his way to becoming a fully-fledged agent with Sight better than most, possibly even my adolescent self. Jessica, if she had been gifted in Talent, had never made mention of it and thus had not taken up a rapier in the fight against the Problem. Her efforts were focused on her family's home, and the one other person remaining in it.

She was tidying up, as she called it, making a project of her parent's research and the items collected throughout it. I had peeked in on this organization a few times over the past few months that Jessica and I had been seeing each other, but none of the items held any significance to my eyes. A few carried a slight psychic residue, but Tony could have told her that much, and likely did. He never hesitated to speak his mind, albeit often in a roundabout way even then. He certainly spoke his mind about me.

It was understood that Tony and I did not particularly get along. He was somewhat possessive of his sister, which was understandable, and I found him to be pretentious and annoying. Still do, for that matter. However back then we mutually endeavored to keep the peace, for Jessica's sake if nothing else. I would have been honored to be allowed into the family eventually. I think in that moment I was so assured in my love for Jessica that I would have readily given up my work as an agent if she'd asked it, and a part of me knew she would. I would have given up the world for her.

I whistled quietly to myself as I walked down the streets that night. I'd taken a Night Cab to a corner nearby and was just rounding the corner, where a small shop sat for as long as most could remember, to continue down the Row when a wailing came speeding up behind me, preceded and followed by blindingly bright lights. An iron-lined ambulance and two DEPRAC cruisers tore down the road I was headed down, and before the realization had even sunk in I was jogging to catch up out of sheer curiosity. It didn't occur to me until I had already watched them pull to a stop that they could even potentially be going to number 35.

But they did, and even with my own cocksure refusal to understand mortality on a personal level, a chill sank through me even harsher than a ghost-chill or miasma. It made my hands numb; even though I had my rapier, I couldn't have handled it in that moment if I had had to. I sprinted through the gate, past the already rushing medics preparing borderline-overdoses of adrenaline, and when the DEPRAC officers called out ordering me to stop, asking me what I was doing here, I growled that I was a Fittes operative, let me through, I had to get to the scene.

Because I knew even then that there was a scene in the Lockwood house. Adrenaline is the only treatment for ghost-touch and either way this night could go, it was not going to go well. I had been coming to tell the girl of my dreams that I loved her, and now, the realization was hitting me smack in the face that I might instead be either comforting her at her precious little brother's bedside, or telling her goodbye instead.

I was the first to her room, then, closely followed by the DEPRAC people who were then followed by the medics. And all of us were too late. Something, I'm not quite sure what, was cracked on the floor, a dark tear in solid silver that told me a Seal had been broken, and the small dark-haired form of Tony was standing stock-still holding a rapier, but this isn't what any of us was focusing on.

Jessica Lockwood, or by this time, the body of Jessica Lockwood, lay silently on her own bed. There was no blood, no signs of physical struggle, but there never was in cases like this. She should never have been a case, not like this. If it weren't for the fear and pain on her face, a twisting that my heart easily matched upon seeing it, she could have been safely asleep. The ghost-touch must have been acute, a wrap of faintly glowing arms, and Jessica's death near immediate, because the telltale bloating and bruising of her flesh had only barely begun. They should have brought a hearse truck, not an ambulance.

And the death-glow hovering over her, suffusing the dim room with light to those of us who could see it, was brighter than any I had or to this day have ever seen. It was like a small bit of sunshine, or a star itself, lit up Jessica's bloating body from the inside out, and not simply because I was in love with her, which was true. The light was overwhelming.

Tony was staring at it as well, as the medics began to take protective measures for handling the body. There were ectoplasm stains on the floor near the bed, and near where the boy stood. A thin film coated the edge of his rapier. He was in jeans and a white shirt, half-tucked in but slightly dirty as if he'd been playing outside in the back garden. I forced myself to close my gaping mouth, took a step towards him and forced my heart to untwist.

"Tony," I said, reminding myself how to speak and in particular how to speak to someone in a volatile state, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Tony jerked back away from me. "Don't touch me!" He cried out, and I backed off with my hands in the air. His rapier had swung wildly about when I touched him, coming to rest tremulously near my ribcage.

"Tony, you have to come with me," I said, nervousness and slowly settling grief making it sound far more bossy than I think I really intended. I wanted to get him out of there, away from the body of his sister which was becoming more and more grotesque by the minute, and away from the site where her spirit might return if given a moment's chance. "It's me, Quill."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he hissed. His eyes were fixed mostly on Jessica's bed, mouth twitching as if he wanted to shout at the medics and officers working to take care of her body, but he glanced at me with such vitriol that it took me aback. "You were too late," he spat, and I flinched at the truthfulness of it.

I cleared my throat, which had suddenly started to close. "I wasn't with them," I told him. "I was coming here to-" and there i stopped, because what use was it telling Tony now? I had missed my chance, and it didn't matter if I had loved her, or how much her little brother had, because those things did not change that she was dead now.

"To what?" The question was asked in such a low tone that it would have frightened me to hear it come from someone so young, if I hadn't been in some kind of shock and struggling just to make it through this conversation and get the boy away from the scene.

I stared at him. In that moment I had never felt more defeated or useless. "I was coming to tell her I loved her," I admitted, helplessly.

"Lot of good that did her," Tony hissed at me after only a second's hesitation, then with one last, lingering look at his sister's death-glow, ran out of the room. I later found out that he ran all the way out of the house, and had to be restrained by a DEPRAC agent in order to be taken to Scotland Yard to give a statement.

I was taken in as well, as I had been on the scene so immediately, and as the long night passed in a sort of numb turmoil, the next I saw of Tony was in a waiting room just like the one where I'd first met Jessica. It was dull and gray and certainly didn't help with the sudden numbness that had come after the shock. I approached the boy slowly, hoping he could see me and wouldn't be startled. I was trying, very hard, to be friendly, but I've never been much good at that.

"I'm-"

"Sorry?" Anthony finished for me, more than a little bitterly. "I knew you'd say that, Quill." He glared at his hands resting on his knees, hands which a couple hours before had had a death grip on a rapier and now were painfully empty.

It struck me that this was a boy with nothing left to hold onto at all, no family left to speak of. He could have been a vengeful spirit himself, for as pale and hollow as he looked in that fluorescent-lit room deep inside Scotland Yard. It was evening now. They couldn't just send him away into the dark, rapier or no rapier. Not back to a house that could be haunted, even as we sat and stood in uncomfortable silence in an all-gray room, by the spirit of the girl we had both loved.

"She loved you too, you know," Tony said quietly, startling me from my numbish reverie. His tone was low and dangerous, something I was then unaccustomed to. Sarcasm, certainly, and taunts, but the delicate anger in his voice that night was something entirely new to me. I would come to know it much better over the years. When he turned to fix his gaze on me, locking me in place just as well as a Visitor's trance, there was a hollow look in his eyes that looked almost dead and nearly made me flinch.

"Why couldn't you have gotten there sooner?" He accused, standing from the cheaply built waiting room chair and coming toe to toe with me despite being then significantly shorter. "It was seven minutes, I counted! You were seven minutes late! Why weren't you there sooner?" The danger in his voice turned ragged toward the end, high-pitched and boyish. I didn't know what to do with that.

I had no reply. I'd had no case that night, no reason to dawdle. I hadn't thought I had dawdled, really, until it was too late. I couldn't let myself think that I had, refused to acknowledge the implication that Jessica's death could have been prevented if I had only picked up my pace by a bit. If I did, the regret, already threatening just beyond the numbness I was slowly emerging from, would overwhelm me. I was only a child, only fourteen. I was equipped to handle Visitors of all kinds, even the dangerous Poltergeist my team had faced earlier in the week, but I was not equipped to handle this any better than nine year old Anthony Lockwood.

I stood my ground against his dark, sad eyes and bitter trembling. This time there was no sword to stab into me if I took a step too close. We were caught, in a standoff, stock-still in that dingy, timeless waiting room with the ghost of Jessica hanging over us, if not literally then very present figuratively speaking. Both of us, I know now, were children. This shouldn't have been our lot; but it was, and despite the grief and the pain, we stood firm in it.

"I'm sorry, Tony," I said stiffly, though genuine. I couldn't force my mouth to form the words any more gently while shouting and fighting inside and knowing that he wouldn't accept it either way. I was always going to take his sister from him, one way or another. None of us ever thought it would be like this, though.

He glared harder, tipped up his chin at me. Even then a bit of hair flopped over his eyes. "Don't call me Tony," he snapped, then whirled away, arms crossed. "It's just Lockwood, now."

"Is it?" I sniped back, as if on autopilot. I nearly didn't realize the snide words had come out of my mouth until he replied.

"Only one of my name," he said. He only faltered a little, but the similarities to Jessica were enough that I could see it. I didn't acknowledge it, though. That would be something too close, too painful, and there was no safe way to let this scene turn into that from where we were just then. "I dealt with it, even DEPRAC agrees. The Visitor-" and here, his voice definitely shook. The Visitor that killed Jessica. "The Visitor is well gone. I could start my own agency, if I wanted." He tightened his arms around himself, another tell that I refused to see.

I was horribly selfish then, and for a long while afterwards. Sometimes I still am. Sometimes, I regret that. I have a lot of things I regret.

"Good luck," I told him, after a long, suddenly chilly silence. A DEPRAC inspector, Barnes, was coming down the hall. My self-imposed responsibility, to not let Tony be alone on this night, was ended. I would go home and curl onto my bed, fully clothed, and tremble until the dawn came. I would make tea and pretend that I could taste what kind it was. I would not concern myself with a boy who was not my responsibility, even if I'd come very close to having him for a brother once upon a time. Those hypotheticals were out of reach now, and the fact of that was all too quickly sinking in. I didn't want to be around people when the lingering shock fully faded.

I turned at the door, passing by Barnes as he entered the room and cleared his throat for Tony's attention. I looked over my shoulder and made a momentary eye contact with Jessica's little brother, the only connection to her still alive in this world. I thought of her just a few hours before, alive and well and glowing with life, now nothing but a death-glow in her own bedroom. I swallowed hard, gave Tony a firm nod. "I'm sorry," I said once more, and didn't stay long enough to hear any reply he may have made.

I cried it again, later, staring into the dark of the night unable to sleep. "I'm sorry," I whispered, as if Jessica could still hear me. Her room was being filled with lavender and reinforced with iron and silver at that very moment. There was no chance, or at least very little, that she would return. To this day I don't think I knew if I wished she would or wouldn't. For my sake and for Tony's, now I'm glad that she didn't. I'm not sure either of us would have survived that.

I'm not sure of the purpose of this record, except that I hope I can give a warning to those who may one day read it. Life does not last forever the way we think it does as kids. As an adult now, I feel both older and younger than I've ever been. I was seven minutes too late for the girl that I loved more than I believe I really knew how to love. It isn't all that much. Just seven minutes for a life to be lost and two more to nearly follow. Timing is everything, and I missed mine. I hope that others will not make the same mistake.

~~~~~

Lucy reads through the story slower than she usually would for anyone or anything else and only looks at Kipps again once she's gotten to the end. He won't look at her, staring staunchly at some teasing doodle on the Thinking Cloth. There's a heaviness in the air. Holly appears at the threshold of the kitchen for a moment, seems to take stock, and moves on without hardly a noise. If Lucy hadn't been facing her, she wouldn't have even known Holly had been there.

She holds the pages carefully in her hands for a moment longer before handing them back to Quill. "The last paragraph," she begins quietly.

It's fading afternoon again, golden hour a few days after she first brought up the question of Jessica to him. He'd knocked at the front door earlier in the day even though Lockwood had faux-reluctantly given an open invitation, and a spare key, over a snacking smorgasbord during the few days they'd spent organizing and painting Jessica's room and a few others. With Lockwood and George out, presumably to chat with Flo or scrape up some research, 35 Portland Row is quietly peaceful.

Lucy and Kipps both have cups of tea in front of them; Kipps has mostly drained his, possibly just for something to do, and Lucy's has started to go cold. She stares into the liquid, tapping the side of her cup with a quiet ringing tick noise. The silence, once awkward and anxious, sits with them and they let it. Eventually, Lucy looks at Kipps and he automatically looks back at her.

"The last paragraph," she repeats quietly. "Is that for him?" She means Lockwood, of course. Of course Quill would notice the closeness between the two of them, that Lockwood seems sure to continue as he is without addressing it.

Quill shrugs. "Maybe," he says. "I wrote it down because you asked," he tells her, with more earnestness than she had honestly expected. Kipps is a dear friend these days. He's also still often abrasive and detached by habit. "But maybe the whole thing is for him, really," he admits.

Lucy thinks of his own words: very close to a brother, once upon a time. She nods solemnly. "Thank you," she says softly. Quill nods back, and manages a hesitant, sad smile in return.

#SO ANYWAY I GUESS I HAVE FEELINGS #in typical fashion I managed to switch both tenses and POV and ALSO make this somehow both pre and post canon #which i think is pretty prestigious. if i do say so myself #but aldjdlsnfjsj yeah emotions. gonna crosspost this to ao3 in the morning probably???#need to decide on a title but the song i kept listening to during this was i hope by we are the guests. so there's that #Lu writes #lockwood & co #L&c #quill kipps #songbird babe this is for you bc you're the one who got the idea of kipps/jessica into my head in the first place #any typos will be edited out uhhhh later

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