#and our other dousins

[tinybitofhope]

tfw one of ur ‘best friends’ is so damn dramatic and emotional abt everything

[thrashton]

Soaring light (chapter 1)

thank you for your lovely comments and messages for the prologue!! here’s the first chapter!

Name: Soaring Light

Fandom: Skam france

Pairing: Lucas Lallemant/Eliott Demaury

Tags: assassin!au, falling in love, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Do not get attached, do not waste time, do not engage in any physical contact… The list of rules were long, but Lucas had never been the one to follow orders. In fact, he might have broken all of them in just a week, all because of the piercing blue eyes staring at him from the assignment in his hands, and the charming, mysterious boy they belonged to.

Chapter summary: Lucas tries to be very subtle as he online-stalks Eliott. It doesn’t go too well.

——--

(prologue can be found at the soaring-light tag at my blog, just click on the tag on this post. tumblr don't wanna show my post in the search tag if I put in links... and on ao3 with the username thetimeisnow)

CHAPTER ONE Why were storms a thing? Who invited storms? Lucas was going to find out and kick his ass. It was stupid, the rain covering his sight was stupid. The way he can’t see in front of the road he’s driving on was stupid.

The whole day was stupid.

Lucas had spent five hours trying find Eliott Demoury, but there was no one at his apartment, no one at his registered working place and no one at his two favorite coffee shops. He had googled his name and regretted it in a second, because dousins - no, hundreds - of model photos of the perfectly sculptured face and the piercing deep blue eyes stared back at him and Lucas had let his laptop fall close with a groan.

He can’t be attracted to his assignment to kill. Well, technically, he could. It wasn’t in the rules. The contract just said he wasn’t allowed any physical contact with his targets, mostly to hide all traces of DNA. And to make sure he didn’t get attached, which was another rule. Well fuck him, just the picture of this man got his knees weak.

Lucas hesitated a moment, then sent a text.

-

To: Manon D.

Change?

-

Change of contract, that meant. Manon would know that. In their work of line you had to keep yourself short and never, absolutely never, give out any information over the phone. Especially not their private phone. Lucas knew he’d most likely get his brains blown out if he said too much and he would never risk one of his closest friends and colleagues life as well. His phone buzzed. Manon, quick with a response as always.

-

From: Manon D.

No thanks, got my dream man ;)

-

To: Manon D.

Ugh. Fine. Drinks tonight?

-

From: Manon D.

That’s a yes, thanks. I’ll tell Mika and Emma. See you at 8?

-

To: Manon D.

Lol, sure. Bringing the boys if they’re up. See you, sunshine.

-

From: Manon D.

Dickhead.

-

Lucas rolled his eyes. His ever the lovely friend and colleague, Manon. They had worked in the same business for two years before they realised they were both carrying the same burden. They had been on the same funeral, a funeral for an older man whose two sons were the target of Manon, and his new wife was assigned to Lucas. He remembered it like it was yesterday as they stood gaping, staring at each other in the church when the priest did his thing.

A smile appeared on his lips at the memory. Back then, it had been the shock of his life but now it was a fun thing to remind him how small the world was. They were going to meet at their usual bar, and Lucas had actually seen a few pictures of the blue eyed God in just that bar when he googled his name, so maybe his luck would turn tonight. He could use that as an excuse to get pissed drunk.

Perfect. Just what he needed.

He parked his car exceptionally well considering the storm raging outside. It was only 6pm, but the sky was pitched black. He gave the car window a good, long stare before he forced himself to get the door open. The few meters from the car to the door of the building he lived in felt like a mile and his clothes was drenched in rain as he stumbled inside, muttering angrily to himself.

Stupid ass weather. He was going to kick its ass.

His older neighbour greeted him from the stairs and Lucas threw up his hand in a reply, he didn’t really feel like speaking until he was in comfortable, warm, dry clothes. And a beer in his hand. Maybe a joint between his lips. Ah. Perfect.

Pulling on his sweatpants like his life depended on it, he hurried towards his bed. Where the magic happens, as his best friend Yann dramatically put it when he visited Lucas new apartment for the first time. Well, where his hand happened. Or, another correction, where his hand was supposed to happen. But how no matter how much he tried, what type of porn he put on, he couldn’t get those stupid fucking blue eyes out of his head long enough to concentrate on jerking off, and there was no way he was going to pleasure himself thinking of his next assignment to kill.

Fucking hell.

Eliott really got the best of him. He needed to get rid of this guy fast, so he could get back to his normal routines, so his body could see some hot, big tits chick on his phone screen and think that’s hot! and not but it’s not him. How was this even possible? He hadn’t even met the guy!

In conclusion, his visit to the bed was unsuccessful. Lucas groaned loudly, burying his face in his pillow. He couldn’t wait to get drunk. A week from now Eliott would be dead and Lucas would be rich and he’d get the fuck out of Paris. He’d bring Yann, Basile and Arthur and they’d go to Amsterdam, or something. Find a nice penthouse apartment where they could throw the best parties in Netherlands, bring the best people and smoke a ridiculous amount of weed.

Lucas phone rang. He glanced over at the screen the name of his best friend staring back at him. Yann would know if he ignored him, that guy could read him like a book.

“Yep”, he answered as he put the phone to his ear.

“We going out tonight?”

“Uh-uh. Manon, Mika and Emma too.”

Yann went quiet for a moment. “Emma?”

“Dude. It was years ago, pull it together.” He gave out a light chuckle.

“Fine”, Yann sighed loudly, “only so you get get your lonely ass out there.”

Lucas laughed at him and got up to a sitting position on his bed. “Do you know a Eliott Demuary?” he asked. That wouldn’t hurt, Yann didn’t know he did for a living. Lucas wanted to tell him badly, but he wasn’t going to risk his best friend’s life only to have someone to talk murder with, that would be dumb. Yann wasn’t stupid though, and Lucas suspected he had a slight suspicion of what he did during his days; not that he’d ever tell him, or that Yann would ever get it confirmed.

“Of course”, Yann replied and Lucas almost choked on his own spit.

Okay. That wasn’t the answer he expected at all. It took a few moment for him to pull himself back together and hide the sudden excitement in his voice as he tried to sound as carefree as possible. “Aha”, he said and shrugged, “how’s that?”

“Why are you asking?” Yann was hesitating.

Fuck. Maybe he didn’t sound as carefree as he thought. “You know, just saw a picture of him.”

“Yeah, he went to our school…”

Lucas frowned. “What? No?”

He imagined Yann nodding from the other line. “Yeah, he did. Literature, I think, not sure. Don’t you remember, everyone was talking about him?”

Lucas did definitely not remember, because there was no way he could forget a face like that. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah!” Yann exclaimed, “are you? Ladies were fighting to get into his pants.”

“Shit.” How did he manage to miss this? Lucas shook his head, no, it didn’t matter. Now he had a way in to complete his assignment and he should be very happy for that since Eliott apparently didn’t want to be found. “Cool. Awesome. Nice. I mean, have you met him recently?”

Yann was silent for a moment. “Are you crushing on Demuary?”

Lucas gasped. “Excuse me? I am not!”

“I don’t blame you. He’s hot and- Oh, sorry, forgot you’re still hiding in the closet.”

Lucas pouted and wished Yann was standing in front of him so he could shove a middle finger up his face. Yann knew he was - or maybe was? He wasn’t really sure himself - gay. A little gay. Just a tiny little bit. Like, dick is nice and all and titties isn’t as nice. Which, in conclusion meant; a little gay. “Unfair”, he told him, “was just asking.”

He could hear Yann moving around. “Well, haven’t met him in a while but I’ve seen him in town a few times. Seriously Lu-Lu, you didn’t know he went to our school?”

“I didn’t, I swear! I wouldn’t forget a face like that. I mean, Yann, have you seen him?”

His best friend laughed. “Yeah, I have. How about you spend some time crying over a picture of Eliott and I come over with some beer?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Great. I’ll be over in 45.”

Lucas ended the call without saying good bye. He had no time to waste when he only had 45 minutes to google some more information about this mysterious man, who apparently went to their school. Did that mean Eliott knew who he was? No, that would be impossible. If he hadn’t seen Eliott, Eliott hadn’t seen him.

He found an instagram account. With a stupid fucking riddle to solve. It took Lucas longer than he chose to admit to figure out the name of Eliott’s second account, but when he did; it was absolutely worth it. A majority of his posts were black and white art. It looked like doodles but there was real talent behind it.

Too bad he was going to kill the guy, he would really want to hear the stories about the numerous posts of raccoons. A short video caught his attention; Eliott in a black hoodie, staring into the camera with his lips pressed together and his hair in a soft mess on his head. He zoomed slowly until there was nothing else than his left eye covering the screen. Lucas found himself sighing, feeling like an absolute jerk about having to end this, clearly well liked and talented young man’s life.

Most of Lucas’ targets were old men. Rapists, embezzlement criminals or other scandals more often than not involving money. He’d never really felt bad about killing them, a lot of them deserved to die. Lucas never stayed to see if his job was finished after poisoning his targets; he learned early on that it was way easier to get caught that way. Instead, he showed up a few days later, or watched the news if his target was someone famous or well-known.

But Eliott. He couldn’t believe this man had done anything to deserve to die. 50k was a lot of money and the higher the prize, the worse the crime. That’s how it usually went, anyways.

And in that moment, trying to pause the video just when Eliott zoomed in on his eyes, Lucas fucked up. He liked the video. Panicking, he yelped, a high pitched noise he’d be embarrassed to even try to describe, and got up from his bed fast enough to make his vision blur. As a first reaction his brain thought of the brilliant idea to throw the phone away from him to keep him from making more mistakes, but then he realised that shit, he need to unlike the video before Eliott noticed. He stumbled after the phone, tripping over a shirt on the floor and hit his toe in the foot of the bed at the same time. Ignoring the pain radiating through his body, he reached over the bed in panic and clicked on the red heard so fast and intensely that he accidentally disliked and liked it again.

Lucas wanted to scream. With an surprisingly steady hand, he finally managed to to unlike the video and sank down on the floor with a loud groan of disappointment. Shit. What the hell. Being subtle wasn’t his best personality trait, obviously.

Eliott had a lot of followers, someone liking his video wouldn’t matter, right? That was, of course, if his theory that Eliott didn’t know who he was, was correct. Lucas considered blocking him but quickly threw that idea aside; the video was worth seeing a few more times.

The doorbell rang. Yann. Had it been 45 minutes already? Apparently it had, because Yann was standing with a big grin and beer in both hands as Lucas opened the door, still sweaty and his heart beating like crazy in his chest.

“You look like you just ran a marathon. Which I know you wouldn’t.”

“Fuck you”, Lucas smirked at him, giving him a helping hand with the beer. “I accidentally liked one of Eliott Demaury’s posts on instagram. It was stressful.”

Yann let out a snort. “When he sees it, he’ll show up with flowers and a ring and propose right here, I’m calling it.”

“I unliked it. And liked it again. And then unliked it again.”

“Even I am slightly embarrassed for you now”, Yann laughed, “let’s drink to forget about it.”

Lucas smirk grew, it sounded like a good plan. Little did he know, forget about  it was the least he would do that night.

[damagedsmile]

Drabble #14

“I guess it all started when I was a kid, like everybody else really; I got the idea in my head that I jus’ wanted t’make art.

I had a loose concept in my head of what that meant an’ it was somethin’ like art makes me happy, art speaks for me ‘cuz I’m s’posed t’be silent, an’ it made all sorts of sense t’me.

My Ma kept all the art on the fridge that I’d make at school an’ at home at the kitchen table - it got t’the point o’ course that she had t’hang my stuff on the cupboards an’ walls an’ if ever one fell down, she’d hang it back up double-quick.

She was my first fan… moms are like that, even though I was shit back then; it was all squiggles an’ shit with maybe dry spaghetti glued on in places with glitter an’ stuff she’d buy especially for me whenever she could afford ‘em ‘cuz I ran through that shit like it was goin’ outta fashion.

Especially the glitter… if I wasn’t pourin’ it over glue I was dousin’ myself an’ her in it when we was alone in the house an’ able to laugh an’ play music: that was our private lil’ world, jus’ us an Ol’ Blue Eyes an’ glitter… I modeled my world after that one I guess even though she can’t be in it.

Gettin’ older I got better with drawin’ an’ I started to get a bigger idea of what makin’ art meant: it meant ya got t’be called an ARTIST like Andy Warhol or somethin’ an’ it meant ya were quirky an’ famous an’ everybody talked ‘bout ya. It appealed t’me even more, not ‘cuz of the fame angle… it jus’ meant if people knew who I was an’ talked ‘bout what I did then I’d never have t’talk again, which suited me to the fuckin’ ground.

Photography became my other passion after I first really looked in t’Chernobyl an’ other things like that; I mean I’d always been obsessed with the idea that a photo captures a moment forever an’ STOPS TIME… I used to go through our photo albums regularly, lookin’ at the photos of Ma an’ Dad an’ me thinkin’ ‘wow… this is history right here, an’ it means we can always know what we dreamed an’ what actually happened!’.

‘Course all those photos are long gone now… photos don’t last forever bu’ as long as ya know they once were there, that matters, don’t it? It jus’ means ya gotta REMEMBER.

I guess them not existin’ anymore made me wanna incorporate my artistic yearnin’s in to the vision I had o’ myself: this artist who could take photos of things people didn’t wanna see bu’ couldn’t LOOK AWAY FROM… things that were painful bu’ mattered so much, an’ this person who’d make sure people DID remember.

School stifled my creativity… an’ much to my disappointment college weren’t much different: they all thought I was too dark, too surreal, too… fucked-up. They was RIGHT o’ course bu’ art is meant t’EXPRESS the shit ya can’t say aloud t’anybody, right?

Ya can’t be free in yer art ‘cuz yer NOT Warhol or NOBODY… that was the bottom line: an’ ‘til ya got famous, ya gotta do art that’s HAPPY an’ meanin’less an’ jus’ fuckin’ hollow.

They’d tell me I wouldn’t get far with my vision ‘cuz it was too dark… I like t’think Bacon or Dali got that kinda piss-talk once too an’ that’s what kept me goin’… ‘cuz I had dreams so bright an’ sharp that they couldn’t kill.

So I kept on… I got better an’ better, I even got better at paintin’ an’ clay; I wanted to do it all an’ be the best, to be able to take any medium an’ use it for my own purpose.

Well… my dreams didn’t get me fuckin’ far after graduation. Nor did my hope. In the end the darkness that I could express in art jus’… it ate up my dreams an’ hopes in some act of betrayal.

An’ then all I could see was art, all I could breathe an’ eat an’ think an’ FEEL was art… it helped me t’create my world an’ even MYSELF: I took that ol’ vision of myself an’ jus’ twisted it to suit who I KNEW I had t’be, who I knew I WANTED t’be.

The artist… who didn’t jus’ make art bu’ who WAS art… a photograph o’ society that people don’t wanna look at bu’ means SOMETHIN’… somethin’ happened that ya can’t jus’ FORGET.

The shit in my past helped in all this, it was all my muse, my inspiration… like with everythin’ I ever did. I blazed a trail of paint splotches an’ Polaroids that went on with every step I took in makin’ my greatest piece: ME.

An’ i don’t wanna be admired… REAL art ain’t meant t’be admired, jus’ remembered for the shiver it puts in yer spine or the awe it puts in yer heart.”