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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years ago

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Deja Vu pt 7

Hey guys. Been a hot minute. If it makes you feel any better this was supposed to be a short chapter and it ended up being 25 pages long. :) If you’re new to the story, you can check out the first chapter [here] or if you need a refresher check out the previous chapter [here]!

Summary: Dee takes on The Prince in a fight, and Remus takes on the Prince’s sidekick.

Word Count: 12029

TW: temporary character death, blood, teargas, guns,

Read on Ao3 || Hero Worship Series || My General Writing Masterlist

Remus is twenty-one and he doesn’t think he’s ever been as terrified before in his life as he is the second he sees Dee launch across the stage.

He’s been scared before though: scared from the moment he saw Roman hit the asphalt at eight years old and there was so much blood outside his body and Mom wouldn’t stop cradling the body even when the EMTs were trying to help; scared from the moment he stood in the gas station bathroom miles and miles from what he’d thought had been his home and trying to tell himself that that was going to be the last time he chose to look at a future where he tossed himself into the jaws of death; scared from the moment when he was laying in Dee’s lap with a million lies stuffed in his throat and still was choosing to tell him the truth about this stupid ability of his that only ever ended with him alone and forgotten and not missed at all.

Remus has been scared out of his mind, scared in his mind, scared far beyond the way that he thinks that any other living person could understand. He’s been walking with one foot in the grave since he was eight years old and eleven minutes younger than Roman and people still-- since that was still-- since the first time it started mattering to him at all.

He’s been scared.

It’s still nothing compared to the horror that grips his heart in an icy fist as Dee throws himself mindlessly into a fight Remus can’t see the end of.

It’s stupid and Remus doesn’t quite know how it got to this point even though he had been listening so hard to what Dee was saying. Dee is smart. He’s brilliant. He’s the type of kid that grew up excelling in everything he touched and he liked touching everything. He does math in his head like the numbers work for him, he speaks French like his tongue had never known another language, he lies and steals and uses people without them ever knowing they were puppets in his show.

Dee is a genius among idiots.

And somehow Remus is still watching him pitch himself into a physical fight with The Prince despite how he spent the previous three days saying that physical fights weren’t his forte and that their best bet was to humiliate and discredit the man on stage instead.

The Prince is smart and fast and most likely expecting the attack, but even he doesn’t have a chance to dodge against the agility of Dee aided by a surplus of invisible animal speed traits. Dee is moving for less than a second and--

--his claws are morphing right there in front of Remus’s eyes, too slow to make out, too fast to miss and Remus is beyond time and space as he stands there feeling more stuck than he’s ever been before. Dee’s nails are sharp with hatred, with protectiveness, with a selfish defense that Remus had only ever seen in spurts before. The Prince’s throat is soft and fleshy and weak.

One hit would take him out, permanently. One hit could have him covered in his own red blood, one hit could remove him forever and Remus would be in love with a murderer.

Dee lunges for The Princes throat, but at the last second he dips down and aims for an upsweep of his claws, cutting clean through that sash, shallow, painful, but not deadly because Janus is not a murderer.--

--One hit would take him out, permanently. One hit could have him covered in his own red blood, one hit could remove him forever and Remus would be in love with a murderer.

--shallow, painful, but not deadly because Dee is not a murderer.--

--Dee is moving for less than a second, but The Prince is expecting an attack and raises his arm in a flash of green light, and rolls to the side. Dee’s fist misses his face by inches, but it’s enough for the superhero to stumble off the stage which is not right, which is not what Remus saw, not what is supposed to be happening.

His head is screaming so loudly he can’t piece together a single thought. His stomach lurches up his esophagus, leaving him choking on something that might or might nor be real while Dee fights up on that stage.

The police bodyguards nearest to the shapeshifter swing into action, with guns or tasers or whatever-- it doesn’t matter because Dee’s body turns to a golden jelly like substance and absorbs the bullets and negates the electrical charge with a near maniac grin.

((And god, is it alluring to see Dee go absolutely feral even when Remus thinks that his own body is trying to kill him. He’s always so posh, so sophisticated, so in control. This is the side of Dee that he hides under a pleasant smile, the part that matches the scales and the fangs and the claws, the part that is half animal and doesn’t care about empty words.))

The crowd screams, chaotic and messy and dangerous and it turns the atmosphere into a thick soup of confusion and desperation. Remus feels one of those stupid fucking signs crash into his shoulder blade as someone gets shoved or hit or slammed or run over-- Remus isn’t sure because his focus is only on Dee, only on The Prince, only on the absolute anarchy that is playing out on stage like a theater production.

Remus remembers suddenly that he’s never made it through the intermission of a theater show, never made it to the second act and never made it to see the lead actors take their bows. Remus always left early.

He can’t leave early now.

He doesn’t even want to, not really, not in any way that matters. Remus’s lungs are burning and his heart is slamming against his ribcage like it’s trying to break out and taste the world for itself. He grips the crowd control fence, so hard he’s not sure anything short of a nuclear bomb can get him off of it-- there’s a cold feeling stroking his spine, a voice in his head that tells him he needs to go and go now or he’s going to end up in one of those futures he promised his seventeen year old self that he’d never go through with.

He can’t move.

Call him a captive audience but Remus is on the edge of his seat, off his seat, one breath away from joining the actors on stage and ruining everything.

Dee lunges forward at the police line while The Prince crawls back up to his feet in a stupid daze, too slow, too dumb, too much like someone who couldn’t actually believe this was happening and too thick-headed to keep up with the actions.

Dee never told Remus that he was an acrobat, that he was as flexible as an Olympic Gymnast, that he could twist in the air and remove his own bones and make use of every breath between him and his enemy. Remus thinks of every time he’d counted the feet, inches, centimeters, between the two of them and for the first time he thinks that Dee might have been counting them too, thinking of every way in which he might be able to use that space as leverage to pin Remus up against the wall--

Dee said he wasn’t good at fighting. But Remus watches him grow claws that slice right through bullet proof armor and then flip in the turbulent air and drive his heel into the soft of someone’s neck. A bullet misses him by a hair’s breadth and Remus catches sight of his fangs dripping with blood or venom or something as he hisses at the unfortunate soul who shot at him, missed, and lost a bullet to the dissonant crowd.

The techie with the bright purple hair stumbles back to the van pressing his hands to his headphones and squeezing his eyes closed like he can make all the bad things go away if he pretends hard enough. Remus wants to laugh at him; can’t he see this is too real to be fake?

Someone barrels into the side of him, knocking Remus nearly through the crowd barrier. His head rings at the collision, sending sparks of stars shattering over his vision that he thinks match the pattern of tire treads on an eighteen wheeler that once ran him over.

Someone with another ability lets it loose and there’s an explosion from down the street, sending more people running towards the stage and the battle up there. The winds twist unnaturally, ripping the confetti papers into the air again and throwing them straight up into the air along with any loose accessories not pinned down.

A girl screams right in his ear, an arm jostles into her throat to make her stop and Remus isn’t entirely sure it’s not his arm. Her face is gone in the shifting crowd before Remus can even figure out what she looked like. People shove and jostle and move and tear apart so quickly that Remus can’t keep track of it.

There’s so much noise Remus can’t think. Gunshots, screams, the screech of metal and whirl of the wind-- it’s so much and Remus is so small against it. He feels the world moving around him, feels the time breathing through his skin, detaching him from reality and yanking him into something else, somewhere else, somewhen else. He’s not breathing, his heart isn’t beating, he’s not moving and his vision is flickering, flashing, fleeting: there and then it’s not and he can’t stop any of it. He can’t figure out what to do, what he needs to do, what’s supposed to be--

There’s a coin in Remus’s hand, pressed in his palm cutting into this numbed skin and he clings to it like a lifeline. There’s a Barney in his hand, the Barney from the night he met Dee, the Barney that means nothing to Dee and everything to Remus, the Barney that represents a decision Remus made when he caught it in the air three days ago.

Who gives a fuck about what’s suppposed to happen? Remus stopped Roman from dying thirteen years ago and the universe is going to have to live with it because Remus is not going to get Dee die, either.

He’s somewhere in the crowd, coming into his body, unsure when he left it, and there’s something thick in his throat he swallows away before he figures out what it tastes like. An arm is in his gut, a body slams into his shoulder. The force of the crowd is tearing him back from the fight, and Remus can’t go against it.

The sky is tinged with a low hanging cloud; something grey green and the screams are largest near it, the people shoving vigorously forward and away as it sweeps over--

Remus opens his mouth and it’s a mistake, a mistake, a mistake. It smells like vinegar, sharp and pungent and it fights its way down Remus’s throat when he breathes it in. His skin burns and itches and smolders where the smoke touches, where it seeps into his clothes, where it floods over his eyes. He screams as his lungs warp and twist in on themselves, tight, tight, tight and he can’t breathe through it.

He’s dying, he’s dying again, he’s dying and he doesn’t know what he did--

--them like a wispy wave. Remus feels it pass over him too, a force that he’s barely aware of for a second because it's so quick and then nothing happens at all. It's hard to see anything, hard to hear, hard to focus. The gas is everywhere and Remus can’t see where he’s going and if he stops whoever is behind him will run him over.

He shoves forward burying his mouth and nose in his sleeve, but it's not enough. His heart is exploding in his chest splattering across, bursting so hard it shatters his ribs but not enough to break his skin. He claws at his chest certain there’s blood there even though he can’t see it. He dead and dying and he can’t even gasp an apology to Dee he’s sorry Dee please he’s sorrysorrysorry--

--them like a wispy wave. Remus feels it pass over him too, a force that he’s barely aware of for a second because it's so quick and then nothing happens at all. It's hard to see anything, hard to hear, hard to focus. He’s trapped, caught in a gaseous net of tear gas that lives up to its name because he’s sobbing at the burn that he’s sure is the worst death to have survived. He doubles over, and he’s gone and done and dead because he can’t do it a third time.

He doesn’t have enough sense to brace himself before there’s someone else’s panicked foot on the small of his back. Remus curls on himself covering his head in the chaos to protect himself, but the agony over his body is shredding his insides like razor blades that could pass through anything.

He can’t breathe. He can’t think. His eyes flicker trying to catch an understanding of anything around him, but his tears make it hard to make out anything up close and the smoke obscures the world he knows is past that.

Someone is screaming something, but Remus can’t make out the words.

This is the exact thing Dee did not want to happen, he thinks as his body convulses, as a guy with horns trips over him and several more people without powers descend on him with signs and fists and whatever else they have. Remus’s tears are streaking down his face and he weakly raises an arm towards them like he can help anyone when his own body feels like it’s dying. This is the exact thing they were trying to avoid.

It doesn’t make sense, Remus curses as someone steps on his ankle and he feels the bone do something it probably shouldn’t and his throat cremates the air in his lungs. It doesn’t make sense. Dee is smart. He’s brilliant. He’s clever and witty and always seven steps ahead.

Dee was the one who said a fight would cause a riot in the crowd and it would make everything bad. A fight was the opposite of what they wanted. Dee had even said that if he couldn’t get The Prince to agree with him, he’d back off and find another way.

“It’s not so much for The Prince,” Dee had said. “It’s about getting the message to the people.”

And Remus is twenty one years old and can’t think of what Dee was expecting to happen when he launched across the stage like that when his own head just got kicked again and his lungs are a birthday candle away from engulfing him in flames.

What The Prince was saying was stupid, but it wasn’t something that Dee would have let get on his nerves. Dee was better than that-- Remus had seen him be better than that. Remus had said things that were more annoying, more irksome, more cutthroat than The Pitiful Prince could have thought to say. Dee had been shot half a million times in futures that didn’t happen and Remus had plucked him from the jaws of death every time.

Dee trusted Remus to keep him safe and informed. Even against The Prince.

Dee shouldn’t have been attacking at that point.

Someone kicks his stomach again, and Remus tastes the dregs of Dee’s latte wander back into his mouth with a burn that reminds him of his worst nights except this is worse than all that. He feels like he’s one open flame away from igniting which doesn’t make sense because fire needs oxygen and he’s not getting any. Something happened to Dee, something wasn’t right-- Dee wouldn’t have attacked unless The Prince did something to him.

Remus thinks that if he gets up he’s going to put The Prince in the ground, permanently. His earpiece sings with noises from the fight: Dee’s grunts, his huffs, his ha’s. Remus latches on to the sound of them, of Dee being alive, of Dee being completely in the moment rather than his usual twenty steps ahead of it. He’s not sure if the terror is from the shoe that slams into his spine at that moment, the ache of being unable to help, the fear that the teargas is going to kill him, or the idea that whatever The Prince did to Dee is still happening.

He tries to sit up, but someone jumps over him just poorly enough to kick him in the side of the head as they go. Remus feels the sting of wet concrete at 3 AM shock through his body again, stupidly. His brain screams something about windshields and rain and Remus tells it to shut up because Dee was in trouble and Remus had made him a promise to stick around all those lifetimes ago in that Casino where they’d met, on the balcony when he’d been stuck rather than gone, when he was laying in Dee’s lap in their hotel room saying all the words he’d never told anyone else ever before.

There’s wind. Remus blinks hard, choking on a sob that claws through his esophagus far more effectively than glass from a windshield ever did. There’s wind and it’s moving like a storm front, a physical force, direct, and purposefully. The wind is twisting through the crowd and catching the greenish tear gas in its invisible hands; Remus watches in delirious disbelief as it funnels upwards with the remains of confetti and signs, hats and papers, trash and abandoned items, upwards and out of his lungs, upwards and saving his life.

He breathes in a breath that feels like his ribs are going straight through his lungs, and desperately scrubs the memories of things that he swore weren’t going to happen from his mind. Another foot slams down inches from his face, and loose gravel sprays up into this face.

“HEY!” a voice yells. There are hands on him, Remus realizes in the next second, someone helping move him out from under the current of people that are in too much of a panic to help him. “HEY!--

-- “Are you okay?” the person says, and Remus has to squint to make him out against the tears in his eyes. At first glance Remus thinks he looks like someone important, someone familiar: a teacher he had once, a youth pastor from a church that his family only went to on holidays, someone in the community that all the other kids flocked too, except that they had to be the same age, so Remus’s marks that as his brain spewing nonsense again. He’s got glasses with smudges on the lenses, freckles that dance across his cheeks like a dot-to-dot for adults, and a smile that looks increasingly stupid compared to the background setting.

“You’re going to be okay, sir!” the man chirps right as another round of gunshots go off to their left as the armed guard fires one someone in the crowd and the winds shrivel up and die in response. “We’re going to be okay!”--

--“Are you okay?” the person says, and Remus has to squint to make him out as his eyes ache and burn and he can’t scrub them. At second glance Remus thinks he looks like someone inconsequential, someone familiar: a college student who came here to follow the rules and trust his government, a guy who is in over his head, a kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing, and Remus hasn’t seen any sign of a power at all. He’s got a blue polo on speckled with dust, and bruises and scratches up his arms, a solid footprint on his abdomen that Remus doesn’t need two guesses to figure out where he got it from.

“You’re going to be okay, sir!” the man chirps, but Remus is busy spinning around just in time to see the armed guard fire at a civilian in the crowd and the winds overhead shrivel up and die because they lose whoever was telling them to move in the first place. “We’re going to be okay!”--

-- “Are you--OOP!” the person says as Remus throws himself up and bonelessly tackles that guard before he can fire his weapon. His throat is ragged and strangled and the noise that comes out of his is not even remotely human. His eyes are flashing with the futures he doesn’t want to see and he thinks for a moment if he stops moving he’ll forget which future is the present.

Dee should not have attacked. But he did, and every death that happens now is going to be pinned on him, on them, on anyone who isn’t the government and every plan Dee made will settle into ashes and fall through his fingertips.

Remus is twenty one and knows all too well that he can’t change the past. But he’s going to save the future, their future. His and Dee’s future.

The gun goes skidding across the ground and under the crowd barrier out of reach and out of touch and Remus’s head spins trying to orientate himself. Blood drips down his chin and spatters on the visor shield of the man under him, the would-be murderer, the all-to-willing homicidal maniac. Remus’s heart pounds in his throat, making its way to his mouth, until he’s not sure if he’s biting down on his tongue or the pulsating mass that keeps him alive and the tang of vinegar won’t leave him alone.

People stumble around the both of them, tripping over Remus’s legs, and someone stomps on his captive police guard's wrist so hard Remus feels it snap more than he hears it. The man lets out a yowl, as his eyes roll back and he gives in to the pain of it.

The guy who does not look familiar in any way that Remus cares about is just a step behind them, grabbing Remus’s armpit as if to pick him up, but his focus is on the person in the crowd controlling the winds. Confetti screws through the air, a sign slams into the face of someone who gets too close to them and the two kids crouching behind them. They’re making a barrier. It’s for protection. They saved everyone who hadn’t been able to to get away from the teargas.

((They’re beautiful, Remus thinks, almost deliriously. The power and control and the fierceness. It’s like watching dancing, like watching pure strength, like seeing a miracle in first person. Remus never thought about other people with powers before, never thought about powers being a good thing when his ruined his life, but now he’s staring at this stranger with burning eyes and one foot in the grave, this stranger who is half wind and all power, this stranger who makes him think he might understand why Dee is so passionate about mutants like them.))

Remus is twenty one years old when he sees out of the corner of his eye, the man in the blue polo’s face screws up in concentration as he throws an arm out at the person controlling the winds and pale white light flickers from his fingers right next to Remus’s face.

There’s a moment between Remus’s heartbeats where the sound disappears and Remus doesn’t need to breathe and time doesn’t pass at all. There’s a moment where Remus is frozen in place, half standing, half on the ground with his blood making him want to vomit. There’s a moment where he’s staring at the man right next to him and he thinks don’t you fucking dare--

But then the moment is over and Remus is watching the winds drop everything they’re carrying: the accessories, confetti, all of it that had been between them and the armed guard, falls to the ground and Remus watches the surrounding crowd descend on them like a pack of wild animals. His head rings with words that don’t make sense and he thinks that the smile the man gives him has a cold edge to it when he turns back to Remus like he’s expecting a thank you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Remus jerks the man’s hand down, rasping where the words grate on his sandpaper throat and shoving him away. “What is wrong with you?”

He blinks and tilts his head at Remus like he’s not sure where the question is coming from, why Remus is asking, like he didn’t see what just happened right there at all. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, okay? I think you might have hit your head a little hard.” He says, “Wait… Do I know you fr--?”

Something soars overhead, and Remus rolls to the side and hunkers down as Dee’s draconic form sweeps over the crowd and nearly decapitates everyone still standing. Piercing screams echo in the crowd so loud Remus doesn’t hear whatever else the man says.

The man who helped him up, the man who looks like no one to remember, the man who just did something to that other person that made them not use their power, that man shoves both his hands into the air toward where--

--Dee is and Remus watches in horror as Dee’s fierce expression flips to a confused one. His glorious golden wings flap, once, twice, and then they vanish without a trace.

He’s been confused before, he’s been terrified before, he’s been scared. He’s seen Dee get shot, get run over, get hit until he bleeds. He’s seen Dee laugh at broken bones, seen him choke on his own body fluids, seen his eyes good dark and empty and lifeless. Remus has been scared, but that’s nothing compared to his feelings when he watches Dee drop like a stone through the air.

Remus knows what that fall feels like, he knows how his stomach swoops at the sudden empty air, how the air feels like daggers, how dreadterrorregret fills his lungs until he can’t even take that last breath. He doesn’t want Dee to know. Please, he can’t know, please Remus needs to stop this, fix it, please pleasepleaseplease--

--Dee is and Remus moves before he even knows what he’s doing. His blood is pumping so hard he thinks it's amazing that all his blood vessels don’t pop on him. He swings his elbow back with everything that he has in him, everything he can spare and then the stuff he can’t, because that was Dee and Remus would do anything for him. The man’s glasses shatter under Remus’s attack and he stumbles backwards several steps in shock. Remus follows him with a kick to his stomach that throws the stranger who can take away the only thing protecting Dee at the moment to the ground.

“DEE!” Remus shouts, glancing up because he has to make sure that he’s still in the air.

“You!” The man chokes on his own breath, looking up at Remus with something that might have been betrayal. “You’re with him!”

And then--

--from behind him something sticks into his back, barbed enough to go right into his jacket and pinches there touching his skin. Remus inhales just as he realizes what it could be and then there’s white hot electricity coursing through his flesh. Remus feels every joint he has lock up, feels pain wrack through his body and ricochet around his bones like the worst game of pingpong, feels the tortured scream carve out of his lungs as he falls forward and his skin bubbles and melts around the prongs of the taser that does not have a safety setting engaged.

He head hits the asphalt and his vision fades and Janus is screaming his name in the worst way possible--

--from behind him something sticks into his back, barbed enough to go right into his jacket and pinches, hooking on his skin, and Remus lunges away, but he’s not fast enough. There’s white hot electricity coursing through his flesh. Remus hears the crackling of violent arcs break through his skin, hears the way that his scream terrorizes the air far worse than that time he dropped a toaster into the bathtub with himself, hears the way that Dee screams his name and lands on the ground next to them.

He head hits the asphalt and his vision fades and Dee wrapping his arms around him in the last embrace he’s going to get--

--from behind him and Remus twists to the side before something sticks into his back, barbed enough to go right into his jacket and stick there. He wants to vomit, but he’s more focused on throwing his body forward and tackling the police officer who just killed him twice and will not get the satisfaction of doing it again. Remus snarls as the man tries to bat him away.

Remus might not have any intensive training, but he spent four years homeless, learning about the world from the streets of it. He spent more than his fair share of nights sleeping in alleys before he realized that he could use his power to find an empty hotel room for the night, a sucker that would give him money, an odd job that would get him off the street.

He’s been in fights. This is nothing compared to those fights.

He feels woozy, flighty: like his bones were replaced with helium and lead at the same time. He doesn’t dare let that stop him. He survived a 3 AM that never ended and he’ll survive this too. He didn’t need to see the future for that.

His knuckles hit the bullet proof padding, hard enough to send jolts through both of them. The officer swings an arm out, but Remus ducks under it and kicks his foot around the man’s ankle. There’s blood on his chin, screaming in his ears, the scent of burning flesh in his nose, and Remus grins as he shoves his palm into the officer’s face. Before the guy knows what is happening he’s on the ground again and Remus is slamming his heel into that visor so hard it shatters.

He thinks he might be laughing, wheezing, as the blood welds up over the man’s nose and his eyes roll back. Remus brings a shaking palm up to his mouth and smears away his blood as much as he can, because it feels like he’s choking on it again. His eyes are searing and he’s almost surprised he’s not bleeding from them too.

Dee uses a brick wall of a building as a launch board to throw himself back at The Prince in the middle of the blocked off area. He flips mid flight, and whips his tail out of nowhere to land a blow that Remus can’t see if it hits or not.

“Motherfuck--” Dee’s shouts through that earpiece Remus forgot he’d been wearing. He hisses, with a stinging edge that matches pitch to the ringing in Remus’s head. “Do you know what this suit cost, you ingrate!”

Remus can’t breathe and is breathing too fast at the same time. He spins around searching through the chaos for something, someone, he doesn’t know-- what does Dee need from him? What is he supposed to do here? The man in the blue polo is gone and Remus can’t find him which means that he can’t see, not that he can see regularly, not that people aren’t still running around, screaming, the water pipes in a building didn’t burst and the metal of a few lamp posts isn’t warping, there aren’t trampled bodies everywhere he looks.

“Dee,” Remus coughs, choking on ragged words. “Hold on a moment. Let me get somewhere…. where I can... fucking see. Fuck!”

“That would be lovely dear,” Dee says although it sounds like he just ate asphalt and didn’t really hear what Remus said. “The Prince is being disagreeable.”

“I can’t...imagine why,” Remus says. “Personally, I love getting my... throat torn out.”

“We’re going to have a lovely conversation about your masochism, darling,” Dee says, and spits out whatever else is in his mouth and then grunts and swears again. There’s the startling sound of metal on asphalt and Remus’s brain tries and fails to configure the scene playing out where they are.

“It might be a pain kink at this point,” Remus says as he dodges between unfamiliar and panicking strangers he can barely see. He’s afraid if he wipes the tears from his eyes he’ll get whatever of the gas that’s in his jacket in them again. He can’t let that happen, not now, not when Dee needs him, and he knows that he can’t stifle the panic if he does. He sends a kick to the back of another armed policeman in the middle of aiming a taser at someone else.

Dee growls something at The Prince. Distantly, Remus hears what sounds like someone or something slamming into a car, and he thinks he sees the roof of the news van jostle along with the new round of screaming.

“I would love to know all your kinks,” Dee manages after another second. “Fuck-- how is he doing this?”

Remus ducks out of the way of a blue post office mail box sailing through the air, missing him by inches, but taking out a police officer he hadn’t noticed before. He doesn’t get to see who threw it, but he thanks them, whoever they are.

He needs to be closer to the fight again, closer to that eye of the hurricane that’s blocked off with crowd controlling barriers, closer than he is now so that he can do something. He jumps over a body, nearly tripping on an abandoned purse. A large shadow sweeps the area again, and Remus catches sight of Dee in the air, with his arm at a terrible unnatural angle. Remus thinks he feels his blood catch in his body freezing all at once despite the rapid pace of his throat bound heart.

Dee doesn’t seem to see him at all, his gaze is stuck solely on where Remus assumes The Perfect Punchable Prince is. There’s a shattering sound of gunshots from somewhere that echoes off of the walls of the surrounding buildings, but Dee remains in the air alright and fine and holding his shattered arm carefully.

His expression is contorted into something awful, something bad enough that even from the ground Remus can make it out perfectly and hates the sight of it-- the amount of pain he must be in, the pain that he never should have felt, the pain that Remus would take on wholeheartedly without a hesitation if he had the ability to sap it away from Dee. But before he can say anything Dee’s arm warps, twists, snaps back into place, and Dee snarls as he rolls his neck and flexes his fingers again.

“Did you just heal yourself?” Remus asks breathlessly, almost certain that his itching eyes are playing a trick on him.

“Surely this came up in one of your futures before, darling,” Dee says without taking his gaze off his opponent.

Remus doesn’t say that in all of his futures Dee is too dead to show off, dead before Remus can get to him, dead before there’s even a hope for him to think about healing himself, dead, dead, dead. He doesn’t think it matters. There’s a feeling in his chest that blossoms and blooms and fills him like helium in a balloon threatening to take off with him. Dee’s wings flap powerfully to keep him in the air and Remus wonders how they would feel under his fingertips. Leathery, maybe? Somewhere between vinyl and bare skin maybe-- Remus doesn’t know enough about birds, bats, wings in general to know the answer.

“Serpent!” The Prince shouts from somewhere on the ground. Remus thinks for a moment he can see the man through the crowd, but it's too much of a blur. There’s smoke in the air now, a fire from a nearby building, and Remus feels it burn acridly in his throat, heavy flumes of it sweeping through the crowd and obscuring the ground around them. Remus can almost hear the sirens in the background.

“I hope you aren’t referring to me, Prince,” Dee says with a bit of a hiss.

“Don’t you see what your actions have caused?” The Prince yells and Remus thinks the sound of his voice is grating. His knuckles crave to jam themselves down the superhero’s throat and rip out his voice box, just to make sure he stops talking forever.

“Me?” Dee says. “You are the one who wanted a crowd and a ceremony and a fight. I shouldn’t be surprised. One can’t pretend to be a hero without making someone else the villain!”

“You started this fight, Wyvern,” The Prince shouts back. “Crashing onto the stage and then attempting to kill me.”

“If you’re going to call names like a child, use my actual name,” Dee says, “Basilisk.”

The name sends shivers down Remus’s spine, and he isn’t sure if it's the good kind or the bad kind. His blood is pumping so heavily he thinks it should have drowned out all the other noise.

Basilisk. Like the Casino where they had met. Like the mythical animal that could kill with a glance. Like a warning and a threat and a challenge. Remus swells with an emotion that’s so bright he’s not sure he can put a name to it, he just knows that he’s never felt it before: so proud, so happy, so thrilled. Dee chose his name and the rest of the world will know it.

((Part of Remus wonders how long he’s had it picked out, how long had he whispered it under his breath when Remus wasn’t there to hear it, how long Dee had thought about having his name up there in the lights outshining The Prince’s.))

“Basilisk,” The Prince snarls. “What type of person answers to the call of a monster’s name?!”

“The King of Serpents,” Dee shoots back. “The killer of foolish knights, and even stupider princes.”

“Now who’s name-calling like a child?!” The Prince yells.

It would have been comedic really, if it weren’t for the smoke and the screams and the gunfire. If it weren’t for Remus’s heart beating out of his chest and his mouth tasting like vinegarcopperasphalt and his ankle crying in a pain he can’t afford to actually think about. He thinks about leaving, about running away, about escaping alone but Dee’s life is on the line and Remus needs to make sure he makes it through this because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Dee dies.

((That’s a lie. Remus does know what he’ll do if Dee dies because he’s seen it a million times before, in a million other places, with a million other feelings and still no one there to mourn whoever he was and whatever he could have been. Remus is twenty one and he knows that if Dee dies there will be no more reasons not to break that promise to his seventeen year old self. He knows, he knows, he knows.))

He’s closer to the fight now, back to where he had been before the riot chaos. Most of the crowd is gone, leaving smokey forms that Remus only semi recognizes from his nightmares. The crowd barriers have been shoved, there are bodies on the ground, the news van is jostled and the crew abandoned it in favor of maybe not ending up with their blood all over the place.

All of them except that techie in purple with the headphones and the face mask.

“Hey,” Remus says, slamming against the van next to him. The techie stares at him like he’s lost his mind-- and to be honest, that’s fair. He’s got more blood outside of him than inside, and he’s pretty sure the imprint of him is plastered on the side of the car now: a red silhouette to go with the station logo. His eyes are red rimmed, his smile twisted and pained, and it’s only his own inertia that was holding him up. “Don’t mind me.”

The guy is holding a phone peaking, around the corner of the van, dutifully filming Dee barely dodging getting shish kabobbed by The Prince’s rapier and he looks very much like he minds Remus’s presence within 10,000 feet of him, but is too terrified to move.

Remus doesn’t blame him; where would he go anyway? Into the disassembled crowd where the horror movie screams come with real blood and tear gas was just used on hoards of innocent people for no reason with no warning? Into the arena where The Prince and Dee were taking turns causing massive destruction to public property without a care in the world? Remus doesn’t blame him from hunkering down behind the cover of his news van and praying for this hell to end.

He is a bit curious as to who’s watching this video he’s taking, though.

Dee twists in the air dodging The Prince’s attacks on his wings, by a hair's breadth. Remus swears for a second that the silver shining rapier slices through Dee entirely, but Dee’s back in the air the next moment, fluttering back out of reach and catching his breath for both of them.

“You fight like a coward!” The Prince yells from the ground, swiping his sword in a motion that is illegal in Fencing. His red mask gleams like blood, but Remus can’t see a speck of it anywhere else on him, not even a scuff from where he fell off the stage moments ago.

((Was it moments? Remus’s head rings with the question. Was it moments? An hour? Days? Lifetimes? He died, Dee died, the strangers in the street died-- how long ago was it that none of that ever happened?))

Dee looks scratched and scarred to high hell by comparison: his suit is in tatters, slices through his left side and his right shoulder, tears in both sleeves where he gave up human hands for scaled claws and sharpened talons, and he was missing a pant leg at the knee, as well as both his shoes that he loved so dearly. Despite his apparent healing abilities blood was trailing from scratches not fully closed up around his elbow, his shoulder, one cheek.

The two of them had to have been fighting this whole time but Remus gets the sinking, sickening, drowning feeling that Dee hasn’t landed a single blow at all.

Which considering the bodies of unconscious police officers piled around them all like lifeless dolls, seems incredibly unreal. Remus saw Dee fight. There’s no way. It’s not possible.

“It’s not fighting like a coward to use your own advantages over your enemies,” Dee says, to The Prince. He steadies himself in the air, his wings and scales glowing gold. “Surely you’re familiar with that idea? You have all the marks of her other training.”

The Prince steadies his stance, shifting his weight around on the toes of his feet like he’s considering the pros and cons of launching himself into the air. Remus hopes he does it just to see Dee catch him by the throat and send him hurling back to the ground hard enough to create a crater he can’t dig his mortal bones out of.

“If you are trying to suggest something,” The Prince says, “your cryptic theatrics are getting in the way, villain.”

“You think you’re the first Hero she ever trained?” Dee asks. “Think your something special? Going to make all the difference in the world? She’s playing you like a fiddle!”

“You’re one to talk, Janus,” a voice says and Remus swears it comes from everywhere around him. His lungs seize so hard he chokes on the air, the shearing pain in his throat tearing at his vocal chords. The voice sounds like thunder, like a foghorn, like a car alarm at 3AM waking everyone who was previously enjoying their evening.

But Dee doesn’t shift like he heard it at all, and the The Prince doesn’t even look around. Remus’s heart hammers in his chest, stretching his skin, his muscles, his insides as far as they’ll go and the only thing he gets from it is the techie twisting glance at him with a semi raised eyebrow, before he turns back to the standoff in front of them.

Janus. Remus knows that name, doesn’t he? It’s on the tip of his tongue, the edges of his mind, the fog of futures he’s seen and hasn’t seen. He knows that name, he knows who that is, he knows--

--but he doesn’t have a chance to figure it out because Dee is lunging downwards at The Prince, so fast that Remus thinks if he had blinked he might have missed the movement entirely. One moment Dee is in the air, the next his heel is slamming into The Prince’s sword arm shoulder, and from the way that the superhero’s body crumples Remus can bet that his whole foot had shifted into something that was probably lethal.

The Prince hits the ground with a satisfying smack, letting Dee bounce off him and land another five feet away with a self satisfied, deeply relieved smirk. The Prince cradles his arm, his white outfit soaking with red, his face gnarled with painangerfear as Dee turns around methodically. The hero fruitlessly claws the ground for his rapier but Dee snaps his tail and knocks it out of reach.

“Give up, Prince,” Dee tells him. “Unlike you, I don’t want a fight. That shoulder needs medical attention and there are people other there that need you.”

“A hero never gives up!” The Prince says and Remus swears that he’s heard that voice before, that tone before, those words before in a way that’s beyond time. They ring in his head, hollow and cold and empty: ghosts made of memories that Remus hated and couldn’t get rid of and that taste like a brother whom Remus once killed.

“She is using you,” Dee says stepping forward until he’s towering over the hero. “Don’t you see that, my prince? You’re worth more than being her puppet.”

“She saved me when I was at my lowest,” The Prince spits back.

“She probably put you there, too,” Dee says, clinically. “Dragana Witchall is not your friend. She’s not a savoir. She’s not a good person, no matter what she’s told you. She doesn’t want what's best for anyone other than herself and the moment you realize that she will do everything in her power to silence you. I’ve seen it happen before.”

There’s a twisted look on The Prince’s face, and Remus’s heart thumps in his chest, near to bursting, his tongue tastes like blood, and his eyes burn with the need to close them and never open them again, but he doesn’t want to miss a second of this.

“She…”

Dee shakes his head. “Come with us, my Prince,” Dee says oh-so-softly, offering a hand to the Prince. “Shake off her lies and let us save the world before anyone gets hurt anymore. We can do it… together.”

The Prince stares at the hand and Remus, for all that he wants to punch the guy in his teeth, wants to rip out his vocal chords, wants to bury him alive, exhales giddily with Dee when the superhero takes Dee’s hand.--

--but he doesn’t have a chance to figure it out because Dee is lunging downwards at The Prince, so fast that Remus thinks if he hadn’t known it would happen he might have missed the movement entirely. One moment Dee is in the air, the next there’s a flicker of green light and Dee’s fist is--

What the fuck.

Remus hits the side of the news van, choking on blood that’s pouring from his nose and puddling in his throat where oxygen should be. His vision dances with static, buzzing in and out of focus, but he knows what’s going on: Dee’s fist came down on The Prince swinging with a velocity that might have killed a lesser man, but there was a flash of green, a slight side step, and suddenly Dee was on the ground grunting through the pain of a broken hand.

The Prince raises his rapier to Dee’s neck, millimeters from his skin, and Remus’s breathing shallows so sharply it gets clotted up with the blood as well. The Techie inches forward, his hands shaking as he tries to catch every moment of this nightmare.

“Surrender, villain,” He says. “You cannot continue to heal yourself at this rate.”

Remus feels the scream trapped in his lungs, crushing against his ribs until he’s certain it will shatter outwards. He doesn’t… this isn’t… He didn’t see this. Why didn’t he see this? Why did Dee attack with his fist? How did the Prince know to side step?

He can’t… It doesn’t make any sense. His palms tingle with the memories of futures that didn’t happen four years ago: shoving a body down the stairs, shattering a snowglobe against a temple, wrapping around a neck and squeezing for so long that his hand print follows Roman to the afterlife. Futures that didn’t happen based on a conversation that had but shouldn’t have.

Remus’s head pounds, shooting pain from right behind his eyes, that mixes in with the ache from the tear gas. What happened? Why did it… why didn’t it...

“She is using you,” Dee spits up at the hero. “Don’t you see that?”

“You are blinded by your hatred and jealousy--”

“Oh please,” Dee hisses out. “As if I would deign myself to a motivation so cliché.”

“Snake,” The Prince says, but whatever else is drowned out by a strangled yelp when Dee shoves his injured hand up and catches the blade of the sword with enough force to knock it away from his neck. There’s a clattering of scales against metal that Remus thinks he heard once in a movie about slaying a dragon and Dee hisses out in pain as he vaults away to put distance between the two of them again, getting rid of his wings in favor of sharper claws.

“Darling,” Dee says, and it takes Remus a moment to realize he’s the one being addressed. “Enjoying the show?”

“If you aren’t careful... MARVEL is going to be stealing rights for this action sequence from under us,” Remus says, bringing a hand up to clutch at his chest and wondering for a second if it would make sense to tear open his ribcage so that his lungs would have better access to oxygen.

“Disney is a greed based cooperation that’s next on my list to take down, right after the FBE,” Dee says.

The Prince inhales sharply, angrily, offendly. “You would destroy Disney, you monster? I was going to have mercy on you but that’s too far!”

Dee spreads a hand towards the streets around them. “There are people in trouble, possibly dying out there and the thing that makes you upset is Disney?”

The Prince, at least, looks uncomfortable about that.

“Re,” Dee says, “Lead me.”

The Prince steadies his blade, “I don’t know who you’re talking to but--”

--Remus doesn’t wait for him to finish. “Rush him while he’s talking, go low, and strong arm his legs from under him.”

Dee is moving almost before the words are out of Remus’s mouth and, god, does Remus never get tired of that. Of Dee trusting him, of Dee not hesitating, of Dee believing in Remus. Dee soars across the road, taking The Prince in a razor sharp slice: Dee’s left arm laid out and sweeping under The Prince’s sword to take out his feet.

The Prince slams forward and hits the ground so hard that Remus thinks his face imprints on the asphalt.

Dee picks up the rapier and lowers it at the hero’s neck just as he rolls over bleeding from every orifice on his face. “It’s over, my Prince. Give up.”--

--Remus doesn’t wait for him to finish. “Rush him while he’s talking, go low, and strong arm his legs from under him.”

Dee is moving almost before the words are out of Remus’s mouth and Remus is so caught up in the jubilee of being heard that he almost misses the flash of green that flickers around The Prince.

“WAIT--!” Remus yells, but The Prince is jumping in the air doing a perfect flip over Dee’s attack that he shouldn’t have ever seen coming and definitely shouldn’t have been able to dodge.

Dee lands with a roll that brings him back to his feet. “Re, what was that?”

“I don’t know,” Remus says, spitting blood from his mouth. “Shit.”

The techie swivels to look at him again, at the blood trailing down Remus’s chin, at the unsteadiness of Remus’s stance. If it weren’t for the headphones the guy would have been able to hear everything already, and Remus isn’t sure if he’d run away screaming, or drop into a dead faint. He wasn’t even thinking about what the guy’s recording was picking up.

That’s a problem for another day. Assuming they make it through this one.

Dee lunges backwards out of the way of The Prince’s next attack, avoiding it without Remus’s help, and part of Remus is grateful for that. He can’t tell which is the terror of Dee being in a fight with The Prince still or the panic of not being able to see what’s happening anymore but he knows he’s drowning in both in a way that’s unhelpful.

Dee rolls under--

--The Prince’s swipe, millimeters away from an unwanted haircut. Remus can hear the heavy huffing of his breath, of the ache of Dee’s bones, the shake in his limbs from exertion. He kicks a foot to force the hero back, but the reprieve is short. The Prince’s charismatic stupid smile is gone replaced with a determination that makes Remus’s teeth grind together.

The Prince lunges forward, blocking Dee from escaping with a motion that swings upwards and across and reminds Remus of how he drew 7’s before his kindergarten teacher verbally humiliated it out of him. Dee’s face snaps to the side glistening with a new cut that digs through his scales and leaves him hissing in pain.--

--The Prince’s swipe and Remus’s mouth is moving as fast as he can: “He’s leaving his right side wide open. If you duck you can get the back of his calf and decrease his range of motion.”

Dee makes a noise that Remus thinks is grateful, hopes is grateful, prays-to-gods-he-doesn’t-believe-in is grateful. Dee is slower than Remus would have wanted him to be, but when The Prince drags his rapier through the air, it sails over Dee’s head and Dee’s claws slice through his calf muscle as Dee slips away.

“Mother of Pearls!” The Prince shouts, stumbling. “How did you…?”

Dee heaves several breaths, flexing his claws dripping with patches of scarlet. “Finally.”

“Villain!” The Prince snarls.

“We’ve been over this, honey. It’s Basilisk,” Dee shows off his fangs. Remus thinks the relief is hysterical, a gulp of fresh air after he’s been underwater for so long.

The Prince snarls, something animalistic and Remus wishes he could show the whole world it: this is your Prince, this is your fake hero, this is the idiot in charge of everything and look how angry he is over a little cut. Remus has had worse than him and he’s never complained about it!

“ZEAL!” The Prince yells to the open air, “A hand, please!”

“Just one?” A voice responds from across the area, and Remus feels his blood go cold, his knees go weak, his mind go silent in a way it’s definitely not supposed to.

Remus doesn’t know how the man in the blue cardigan who looks like no one at all got all the way over there, but there he is crouching next to a fallen police guard checking for a pulse. He stands up at the call, looking vastly out of place in the scenery.

“Well, if my prince requests it!” He says with his voice drifting like a dream in the chaos. “I’ll give you both of them!”

“Dee, move. Move, NOW!” Remus yells just as the character raises their hands and white lights begin to flicker on the fingertips. They look like stars, like spheres of sunlight, like little harmless rays that probably would feel nice, but Remus can still hear the sound of Dee’s body hitting the ground in a future that he stopped, a future he prevented, a future he does not ever want to see happen again.

Dee throws himself into a back handspring and twists himself over the beams of light, and Remus can’t catch his breath anyway.

“Do I want to know what those did, dearest?” Dee puffs out.

“Bad,” Remus says.

“Delightful,” Dee says, taking another step back, except that he’s sandwiched between the Prince and that guy-- god the partner. Remus can’t believe they forgot about them, the mysterious person only alluded to, and never seen, except that now Remus is seeing him and can’t look away. Of course it would be someone who can take away powers. Of course it would.

Remus is going to vomit.

If Dee turns his back to the Prince he won’t see the sword, if he turns his back to the partner, he won’t see the angle of the rays; Remus has a sinking feeling in his… everything all of a sudden.

“I’m running out of patience, Dragon,” The Prince says.

“How hard is it to remember the term Basilisk?” Dee prods.

The Prince sets himself for another attack. “You’re trapped. There’s no way out. Come quietly and we can get you medical attention and discuss whatever it is that you deemed necessary to harm hundreds for.”

“Will that be before or after Dragana Witchall has my head removed from my body?” Dee asks.

“If you just talk to her--”

“Heh.”

Remus feels the inside of his ears pop from pressure he didn’t know he was experiencing. That voice-- coming from everywhere and nowhere and why doesn’t anyone else hear it?

“--most of my life actually,” Janus is… no that’s Dee. Remus knows that’s Dee talking. Who is Janus? The pain in his head is sharp, like a nail driving directly into his cranium, like brain surgery without putting him under, like dying but without the death part. He doesn’t know Janus.

Does he?

“She’s not who she says she is,” Dee finishes. “She’s--”

“I’m growing tired of your stubbornness,” The Prince says in an astounding moment of pure irony that twists Remus’s intestines into knots and loops them around his neck like a noose. “Surrender with dignity, snake.”

“We don’t want to hurt you,” the partner, Zeal, adds.

Dee doesn’t say anything to them. Remus focuses on the sound of his breaths, on the movement of his chest, on the phantom feel of Dee’s lips on his own from so long ago. Remus’s brain whispers about rain on a balcony, about fire in a mall, about gunshots in a casino, but he reaches past that, past everything, past the past itself.

His domain is the future.

“Are you at your limit?” Dee asks him. “I can do this by myself if I must.”

“What’s a limit?” Remus says. “How much blood is a human supposed to have again?”

“More than that, dumbass,” that voice says, and Remus blinks because Dee’s head tilts and he looks like he heard it too.

“Virgil,” Dee says in a tone Remus can’t describe. “Come to play?”

Remus is vaguely aware of the techie in purple shifting forward, leaning towards the fight, still shaking from every limb. For a moment, he thinks that maybe this mysterious voice is coming from him, but it’s too clear, too loud, too calm to be from someone wearing a face mask and shaking the way this guy is so far away from where Dee is having his standoff.

“You made a friend,” Virgil, whoever he is, from wherever he is, says.

“I got lonely,” Dee says. “And bored.”

“Bored enough to become public enemy number one?”

“Enough, Basilisk!” The Prince yells, “Give yourself up! You’re surrounded and you have all of this carnage to take responsibility for! Your partner may continue to hide in the shadows, but you can tell him we will find him and bring him to justice as well!”

“Or her! Or them!” Zeal tacks on. “Or xem-- we’re all inclusive here.”

“Right!” The Prince says, self righteously. He looks a lot like he does on TV and Remus’s fists itch to punch the screen all over again. “Surrender and end this.”

“You know what will happen if you do,” Virgil’s voice says.

“If the peanut gallery could please keep out of this,” Dee hisses. “That would be nice. I’m thinking.”

“Thinking just like you were when you leapt across that stage?” Remus asks. “Or actually thinking this time?”

Dee makes a face that’s vaguely affronted, a dusting of pink over his ears that Remus might have thought was from exertion if he didn’t know better.

“Do you want an apology?” He asks and Remus is only semi thinking about saying yes you motherfucker, when we get out of this I’m going to strangle you myself because somehow you don’t know what you mean to me at all and you just keep dying and cannot handle watching that again, how did I ever do it the first several billion times?

“I think an apology is a good start,” The Prince says.

“I was not talking to you,” Dee snaps.

“I’m giving you fifteen more seconds, snake,” The Prince says, anyway. “Put your hands up and get on the ground or I will put you on the ground myself.”--

-- Dee doesn’t answer, still mulling one of his brilliant plans, or maybe waiting for stage directions from Remus who still hates the theater and everything that comes with it. The hero shifts as the seconds tick, inaudible and yet unmissable. Then The Prince sighs in disappointment and levels his rapier.

“You leave me no choice,” he says. “Zeal.”

The man in the blue polo grins again at the call and flicks his hands towards Dee, with balls of white light dancing on his fingertips. Dee launches into the air with his wings flicking out, but the Prince is behind him in the next instant jumping and plunging his blade through the thin skin layers between the bones.

Dee lets out a scream as the blade tears down and out of the wing, like a knife through a sail, like scissors through fabric, like an earring being ripped out of an ear. He flings downwards and hits the ground again and before he can think of moving a soft beam of white light hits him.

Dee convulses, he yelps, he tries to get up, but the Prince’s boot is on his chest pinning him down again and Dee’s out of tricks.--

--Dee doesn’t answer, still mulling one of his brilliant plans, or maybe waiting for stage directions from Remus who still hates the theater and everything that comes with it.

“Zeal is going to shoot a beam, if you take the sky the Prince gets your wing.” Remus says.

Dee nods, and then without giving anyone any warning he launches towards Zeal, who doesn’t loose his stupid smile at all. He raises a hand like he’s going to high five Dee, and those white lights come out and suck away Dee’s transformation immediately. He lands on the ground at Zeal’s feet, with the asphalt tearing through his human flesh like it’s butter. --

--Dee doesn’t answer, still mulling one of his brilliant plans, or maybe waiting for stage directions from Remus who still hates the theater and thinks he hates it even more now. If he ever has to see another theater he’s going to set it on fire.

“Zeal is going to shoot a beam, if you take the sky the Prince gets your wing. Don’t fucking get near Zeal, dumbass.”

Dee nods and then without any sort of warning he lunges at The Prince, who parries him with his blade. The scales meet metal again and Dee hisses like he might spit venom, but the superhero grunts and forces him back with brute strength and not even Remus screaming give him enough time to prevent The Prince from shifting them around so that Zeal’s white beams of light hit Dee’s back.--

-- Dee doesn’t answer the hero.

“Can’t you turn into a beetle or something? Fly out of this,” Remus says. “Please.”

“That hopeless?” Dee asks him. “Okay.” And then he takes a deep breath and his form ripples and waves and pulls in on himself, like the reverse magic trick of pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

“ZEAL!” The Prince shouts, and the white lights are flying towards him, even as Dee turns into a beetle and takes to the air. Remus screams as Dee is hit, even in such a small form, even at such a far distance, even against those impossible odds.--

--Dee doesn’t answer and Remus feels like throwing up. They need to win this, they need to get out of this, they need to escape, but Dee can’t and Remus can’t make him and… and...

And there’s a glint of metal in the corner of his vision.

“You leave me no choice,” The Prince says, and Remus barely hears him because he’s staring at a glock of some police guard long lost and long forgotten and long waiting with the safety off already.

This is a bad idea. Remus knows this is a bad idea. Its a bad idea, bad idea, bad ide--

-- Dee doesn’t answer and Remus is twenty-one years old with nothing to lose if Dee dies.

“Take The Prince, he’ll parry, but you’re stronger.” Remus says lunging for the gun on the ground because he’s insane and courting Death as much as he’s courting Dee. He's never held a gun before. It feels bad in his hands, feels weird, and strange and not at all like what he thought it was going to feel like.

Dee nods and lunges towards The Prince and Remus points his new glock at Zeal. The trigger practically pulls itself. Isn't that crazy?

The kickback is a shockwave that flies through Remus’s arm making it numb and the sound explodes just like his heart does in his chest. The shot goes wide, but it’s close enough to Zeal that he lets out a scream and his little rays of white light sail over both Dee and the Prince. Remus slams back into the side of the van out of sight of the heroes while his body shakes and his face pulls into a grin for a reason he can't explain. The techie is on the ground, covering the muffs of his headphones to press them tighter to his head.

“PAT!” The Prince shouts.

“Was that you?” Dee asks. “What the fuck, Re!”

Remus shoves his hands over his nose, stifling the blood flow as much as he can, teargas be damned. His head is thrumping with pain, and Remus wants to scream. His vision is blotchy and patchy like the world’s worst video game. He can barely breathe between the metallic taste in his mouth and the liquid flowing out his nostrils . It’s like throwing himself at a brick wall and expecting a different outcome; he’s at his limit, that limit that Dee told him not to cross, that limit that he’ll gladly ignore if it means that Dee will get out of this safe and sound and--

And he can see a flicker of green light and Dee gasps right before The Prince manages to get under his distracted guard and haul him up in the air. Then there’s green light flickering, dancing, flashing and fading and Dee’s body hits the ground so hard it forms a crater around him and--

-- The Prince steps forward gracefully, gallantly. He walks like he’s standing on the air, filled with an energy that Remus thought only came from drinking five Five Hour Energies and besting Death at hand to hand combat even with that torn up leg. His rapier sways through the air pointing down at Dee’s body.

“Tell your partner to surrender,” the hero commands. “Now.”

“I didn’t... expect him to do it either!” Dee says and it’s funny, Remus almost thinks that Dee is mad at him. That can’t be right!

“Give up, Basilisk.” The Prince says again, “Before someone gets hurt.”

Dee spits a mouthful of blood on the hero’s shoes. “People are already hurt! You are leading them to be hurt more, Prince! The FBE won’t help anyone!”

The Prince hesitates, maybe even uses that rusty brain in his head. “I…You truly believe that? Why can't you just trust me at my word?”

“What is the worth of your word?” Dee shoots back, scales glittering on the side of his face. “Anyone can go back on their words!”

Remus clings to the side of the van with white knuckles, tasting blood on his tongue and in the back of his mouth and on his lips. The hero is thinking, he’s thinking, and Remus thinks that maybe he can cross the distance quick enough to tackle the hero away from Dee and he’ll have a chance to escape.

“That is true,” the hero says. “Perhaps a sign of trust is then in order, then.”

Remus freezes.

The Prince reaches up slowly, plucking at the mask.

He should look away. Remus can’t look away.

Because he knows…he knows that face. He recognizes it. He’s seen that face a hundred million times before. He knows those lips, those brown eyes, that crinkle between his eyebrows and those unruly curls. He knows those cheekbones, and that jawline and the way that head tilts back when he laughs, and curls forward when he cries. Remus knows that face because he’s seen it every time he’s looked in a mirror, he’s been haunted by it for years now, been terrorized in the nights by that face. He’d seen that face covered in blood, that face gasping for air, that face crying and begging and anything to get him to stop, that face staring at him with a hateful vengeful ugly expression and saying “You can’t see the fut--”--

Remus leaves a bloody handprint on the hood of the news van as he vaults it and the techie in purple. His lungs scream in agony, but Remus can’t hear it at all. His heartbeat is thunderous, yet even that is nothing compared to the bloodlust washing over his mind.

Dee’s head whips up, his mouth moving in some type of exclamation, but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters other than the rage in his head, in his body, in his veins that floods his limbs with the need to move.

The Prince hears him coming and his rapier comes up in an offensive attack, that Remus blocks with his left forearm. The blade sinks into his flesh and blood pours down Remus’s elbow and on the asphalt and the only thing he can think is that falling off the balcony, that getting run over on highways, that falling asleep in a motel bathtub with bloody keys in his hands, all hurt a hundred times worse than this itty, bitty little scratch.

He laughs.

"Hey Roman!" Remus says in a parody of a delighted tone, and The Prince stumbles back. "It’s been a while!"

[Chapter Eight]

#deja vu au #good god what happened here #Janus? Who's Janus?#the author asks thinking she's funny af #sanders sides #remus sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #We have the full cast now guys!#:)#I gave Remus a gun because its what he deserves #i'm so sorry #I hope you like that cliff hanger #I've been waiting to write it for a long time #god so much happened in this one

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moonbeambucky · 5 years ago

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Hey Neighbor (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3997 Warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of death/loss

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 1 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

A soft knock at pulls you away from the computer. Twisting your stiff head towards the door you smile, seeing Steve Rogers standing with a tray of coffee and a paper bag in hand marked with the logo of your favorite nearby restaurant.

“You’re a lifesaver!” you chuckled, though you meant every word as you invited Steve to sit at your desk for lunch.

Steve worked security for Stark Industries and you developed a close friendship in the years since you’ve been there. Though he was undeniably good looking, with the build of a Greek God and long lashes you were incredibly jealous of, you never saw Steve as anything other than the brother you never had.

At the time you met he was dating a girl from the building, Lillian Nguyen from accounting. You hadn’t seen much of her in person, just through the photos Steve showed you with adoration on his phone. When he began talking about looking for engagement rings you were thrilled but that excitement was replaced with anger and confusion when Steve found out Lillian was cheating on him.

He was extremely hurt and became guarded afterwards, not wanting to put himself out there again. His lack of socializing worked with your lack of a social life and on the rare occasion you had a moment free from school work Steve would often come over and hang out to binge watch shows you needed to catch up to on Netflix while you ate pizza.

The paper bag rustled as he pulled out a large sandwich, cup of soup and a salad, distributing napkins across the desk as he knows how much of a messy eater you can be. You grabbed the sandwich, tearing open the paper wrapping and sinking your teeth into it with a bite full of food too large for your mouth.

Steve laughed, as he stirred the broth of his soup. He’s witnessed you eating before, unapologetically shoveling food into your face especially when you were starving.

“You know the sandwich isn’t goin’ anywhere, right?” he joked.

Chewing a large mouthful, you grabbed a napkin to wipe the corner of your lips that you felt had a piece of food sticking to it.

“Steve,” you paused to take a sip of coffee, “I’m fucking starving. I ran out this morning and all I had here was a package of almonds that are not filling despite what you say.”

He asked the reason for your tardiness and you explained how you stayed at the cafe until closing to finish up your work, all because of your stupid neighbor.

“Have you tried talkin’ to him?”

You stared at Steve incredulously. “Haven’t gotten a chance. I gotta wait for the right moment. There’s no way I’m knocking on his door, not when he’s banging all of New York, who knows what I’d end up seeing.”

“D’ya want me to do it?”

It was in Steve’s nature to help and though you appreciated his offer you wanted to handle this yourself. You were the one that had to live next to the Music Man, it would be better to confront him alone.

“I understand,” he said, taking a swig from his water bottle. “You down to hang tonight?”

“Wish I could but before my time is sucked away by the next paper I really need to research where I could do my internship. I’m all registered for school but I need to submit the paperwork for where I’ll be doing my hours and I’m running out of time.”

“You should talk to my buddy Sam. Maybe he could get you in at the hospital.”

Sam was Steve’s friend from the gym. They’d work out together, turning everything into a friendly competition to see who could run faster or lift more. Sam was also a doctor in the emergency department of Metro-General so he might have connections. It was worth a shot so you asked Steve to text him. Still you planned on searching for more backups to be safe.

Before the hour was over Steve left to head back downstairs to the security desk and you continued your work for Ms. Hill. You had evolved to working closer with Ms. Hill, becoming more like an executive assistant to her and when necessary Ms. Potts.

In between coordinating a meeting your phone goes off with a text from Wanda, asking if she could see you over the weekend for brunch. Ironically, she ended up moving to the city after all. There was only so far she could go with her degree at home and with her mother’s blessing she came to New York to work for The Jewish Museum.

She lived in a trendy loft on Bleecker Street, decorated with her signature eclectic style. Woven rugs hung like tapestries on the wall, plants hanging down from macramé holders in front of the large windows. Her furniture was an odd mix of plush velvet tufted cushions and smooth leather arm chairs that somehow worked with the mid-century touches and industrial shelving.

Her apartment had more space which you envied, although you loved everything else about where you lived. The neighborhood was amazing, with great shops and a lot of different food options right at your doorstep. Everything was perfect, except your neighbor.

Responding to Wanda you let her know you could most likely make it depending on the workload you’d be getting from your Saturday class. You could not wait until that was over. Spending all day in a small, windowless room instead of enjoying the summer weekend made you miserable but you were close to the end, so, so close.

When the work day was over you went to meet Steve downstairs, walking over to the desk to say goodnight to the elderly security guard who’s been with the company since its inception.

“Any plans for the weekend Mr. Lee?”

The wiry white hairs that made up his mustache moved as he grinned. “Well, Joanie thinks my hair’s getting a bit long,” he smiled, running his fingers through his greyish-white strands. “She’ll have it trimmed before supper, I'm sure,” he laughed.

A smile graced your face whenever you listened to Mr. Lee, admiring the adoration he had for his wife. Steve has heard all of his stories more than once but he never tires of them either. Everyone loved Mr. Lee, especially Tony Stark, who continued to pay him a full time salary for the part time hours he worked.

The job was easy enough as he greeted visitors to Stark Industries, and signing them in to the building while Steve and some other employees did most of the security checks.

You and Steve bid Mr. Lee goodbye as you made your way to the subway. Steve didn’t live far from you and though he could have gotten off at a further stop he always walked with you to your building, partially to make sure you got home safely but also because he needed a distraction to get out of his head.

There were many times when you suggested he go out, not with the purpose of meeting someone but just to break up the monotony of his routine, but Steve lost his confidence after the breakup. For now, he didn’t want to be told what to do, he simply needed a friend and so you were there for him.

Wanda sat back against the chair beside the bistro table covered in shade. Her always changing hair color was light brown today, parting the silky strands perfectly down the middle. She was the definition of cool, despite the heat, wearing a loose scoop-necked tank top, slim ripped jeans and topped things off with a pair of motorcycle boots. Her neck was adorned with a few necklaces of varying lengths, one of which she never took off, a silver lightning bolt in honor of her late brother.

She and Pietro were twins with distinctly different personalities. Wanda was laid back, even as a child. She would actually stop to smell the roses that lined the garden of their backyard, whereas Pietro was always moving. He was an extraordinary multitasker that could not sit still.

Pietro had so many dreams, a full list of things he wanted to do in life but he was taken from the world too soon. Wanda wears the necklace as a reminder to live life to the fullest, knowing how quickly things can change.

Squeezing through the other tables to get to Wanda, you huff as you sit down and catch your breath, apologizing for being late.

“Wanda, I swear I’m going to kill him.”

“Who?”

“The fucking Music Man! I had to leave my own damn apartment again because of his stupid playing. Like, dude, could you not? You live in an apartment. Everyone hears you, everyone!”

Grabbing the glass of ice water you quickly drink most of it to soothe the dehydration of your mouth.

“And another thing, like does he not realize that we can all hear the girls he’s banging? Wanda, they’re so fucking loud. If they were still there right now I bet you could hear them from here.”

Wanda laughed at your accusation. “Oh, so they don’t stay the night? He’s a ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ kinda guy?”

“I guess! I hear them leave, whining at his door as they’re begging to stay over. It’s so pathetic. What’s so great about this guy anyway?” you scoffed. “I wish he never moved here!”

With a final humph you opened the menu, your anger dissipating as you read the descriptions for everything you wanted, mouth salivating as you tried to decide what to choose. Wanda opted for the frittata while you decided to take out your frustrations on yourself with delicious Challah French Toast.

Wanda’s eyes widened as she watched you drown your meal in syrup. You hummed in satisfaction as you took a bite.

“Hmm, it’s not as good as the kind your mom makes,” you said.

Wanda laughed, “Uh, yeah, because she never used a whole bottle of syrup. Geez Y/N can you taste anything other than sugar?”

“Shush Wan, let me enjoy myself here.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head at you. “Well, anyway, I wanted to tell you something exciting...” she sang, grinning widely. “Director Coulson asked me to curate an exhibit on prejudice told through Romani-Jewish art!”

“Wanda this is perfect! I’m so happy for you!” you beamed, getting up from your chair to wrap your arms around her in a proud hug.

“I know! I’m so excited. Mom’s gonna come up for the opening. I mean that’s a long time from now but fuck, I can’t wait!”

After finishing brunch you went back home to begin working on your final. It was a research paper that was worth half of your grade so you really needed to concentrate. And yet the moment the elevator doors opened to your floor you heard it, the sound of music flooding the halls coming from none other than the apartment next to yours.

Jamming your keys into the door with frustration you grunted, grabbing all the things you needed to do your work at the cafe. Your foot tapped impatiently as you waited for the elevator again. With your arms crossed over your chest you could feel your blood boiling beneath your skin, beating to the stupid rhythm of the stupid song that your stupid, inconsiderate neighbor wouldn’t stop playing.

The elevator dinged before the doors opened and you were like a bull, grunting and blowing puffs of air from your flaring nostrils as you were ready to charge into it. As the doors opened you stopped yourself from barreling into your neighbors that were inside.

“Whoa, Y/N!” Clint said, raising his hands up defensively, “Easy there.”

Clint lived on the floor above you along with his fiancée Natasha, whose arms were looped through his.

“Sorry guys,” you apologized. “Oh, wait.” Making your right hand into a fist you ran it across your chest in a few circular motions.

“Someone’s been practicing,” Natasha chimed in, signing her words along as she spoke to you.

Clint was partially deaf and though he used hearing aids he often signed, especially when he didn’t feel like talking to people, although you were one of the lucky ones he considered a friend. Still, you wanted to be able to communicate with him, even if he didn’t want to actually speak.

Clint was a history teacher who already tried to get you into his school for your internship but doubted you would be brought on board. There were apparently a lot of issues going on with the principal and Natasha surmised there was a big lawsuit in the works.

Natasha was an attorney, hoping to make partner at her current firm Nelson & Murdock. Clint never failed to praise her, nicknaming Natasha the Black Widow as he claimed watching her dismantle a witness was like watching a spider sink its venomous fangs into its prey.

“Where’re you guys off to?” you asked.

“Just going out for some ice cream,” she replied.

Clint laughed. “Some ice cream? No, I’m going out to eat a lot of ice cream,” he chuckled, rubbing his eager stomach.

Natasha poked the small protrusion of his belly through his shirt. “Listen buddy, we’ve got a wedding to plan. Easy on the ice cream.” Natasha brought her full lips to his for a kiss they both smiled through, knowing she was teasing him.

“What about you Y/N?” Clint asked.

The elevator doors opened and you walked out with them, explaining how frustrating it’s been that you’ve had to leave for the cafe to do your work all because of the new neighbor.

“Oh the Guitar Hero?” Clint joked. “Yeah, we can hear him too. Well, actually…” he drifted off smirking.

“Clint takes his hearing aids out so no, he doesn’t hear him,” Natasha filled in the information that had you bursting out with laughter.

“Can you hear the women too?” you wondered, considering their apartment was right above his.

“Yeah, kind of, that’s more muffled though. It’s probably a lot worse for you.” Natasha grimaced, catching the way she didn’t mean the words to come out.

It was true though, sharing a wall with the man that made your string lights bounce with every thrust. The sound was bad enough and thankfully your headphones helped with that but every night you had to shut your eyes, hoping you would fall asleep before he was through with them.

You had to give it to the guy though, the man had stamina. Still, you wanted to kill him. At least you were friends with a lawyer...

The next few days have the same result, with you coming home dead tired from work, hoping you’d be able to stay home to work on your final to no avail. You tried using the headphones in your apartment but it didn’t help. The sound was mostly blocked out but your mind couldn’t focus on anything but the anger you held towards the neighbor, knowing he was playing that same song over and over again.

You might as well live in the cafe since you’ve practically paid them your rent in coffee and pastries over the last month. You were burning out quickly and Steve decided you needed a break, bringing over pizza and beer.

Opening up the box, you smiled, staring at the bubbling cheese.

“Ahh, pizza, my one true love,” you said, plating slices for you and Steve.

Your small table was always covered in textbooks, mail and other paperwork you needed to tend to, so you and Steve took your usual spots on the couch.

After working at Stark Industries for a few months you made enough money that allowed you to finally buy much needed furniture. You adored your light grey couch, adorned with blush colored throw pillows. You threw the fuzzy white blanket over the side of the couch, not serving much purpose during the summer months other than to look like it was naturally left on the cushion in a perfectly styled manner for display.

Pushing aside the candlesticks that sat on your coffee table, you set down actual coasters for the bottles Steve opened, not wanting to ruin the veneer of the grey wood top of your rustic coffee table. A small accent rug helped define the space you declared as the living room, despite having your bed within arm’s reach beside you.

Against the brick wall is your TV, sitting atop a modern white stand with shelves for storage you’ve packed to the brim. Beside it, a large antique floor mirror leans against the brick. It was as tall as Steve who helped bring it to your apartment after you found it at a flea market. However, the thing you cherished most was the artwork of the Brooklyn Bridge that hung above your couch, painted by Steve as a gift to you.

“So,” he said, chewing quickly to swallow the food in his mouth. “I talked to Sam. He said it would be cool for you to call him about the internship.”

“Oh yeah. You really think he could help or is this just a rouse to give him my number?” you half-joked.

Steve laughed deeply, wiping away a bit of oil the pizza leaked onto his chin. “Nah, it’s definitely about the internship but I wouldn’t put it past Sam if he tried to take you out. Lord knows he’s been on my case about it with you since I met ‘im.”

“Does he not think guys and girls can have a friendship without romance involved?”

“I can’t speak for him… probably not though.”

You laughed before getting up for another slice. You hoped Sam would be able to help with the internship, no strings attached. He didn’t seem like that type of guy anyway, and all of Steve’s friends were good people so you weren’t worried.

As the Music Man began his one man band you had to gradually increase the volume of your television; your anger rising with every click of the remote. It was no longer enjoyable to watch the action movie you and Steve put on, having to raise the volume for higher to hear the dialogue and scramble to lower the blasting noise of car screeching and explosions. When you couldn’t take it anymore you called it a night.

“Guess you haven’t spoken to him?” Steve asked the question he clearly knew the answer to.

“Soon,” you said hopefully, not knowing when the day might come.

As the sun began to rise on the early Saturday morning you were getting ready for class. With your closet open you debated on what to wear when you heard a voice from the other side of the wall.

“Hi ma… Things are good… and Dad…”

He must have been walking around the apartment as you heard most of the words.

“I know…Leaving now…”

You heard the undoing of his locks and the front door creaking open. Shit! Your first moment to speak to the Music Man alone and you’re standing in your underwear. There’s definitely no way you would approach him now. Instead you raced to the door to try and catch a glimpse of what he looked like but it was too late.

Huffing in frustration you continued to get dressed and within fifteen minutes you were ready to leave. The elevator dinged as you shut your door, inserting your key to turn the deadbolt, unaware of the form that was moving closer towards you, not until you heard the whistling of a familiar tune.

Your heart pounded furiously in your chest, as if that tune was part of a psychological experiment, like Pavlov’s dog but instead of salivating you wanted to punch something.

“Hey neighbor.”

The soft voice of the Music Man broke you from your vision of punching through your shared wall and destroying his instruments. With a calming inhale you turned around to face him.

“I’m Bucky.”

You didn’t respond, you couldn’t. The breath was stolen from your lungs as you stared directly into the kindest, bluest eyes you had ever seen. All the anger left your body, replaced by the softness of his pink lips that reminded you of flowers in full bloom.

He was tall and lean, but your eyes did not miss the bulge of his biceps that showed through his cotton t-shirt. In his hand was a coffee cup, gripped under his long fingers. His hair was dark and pulled back into a low sloppy bun, with a loose piece falling beside his smile.

His hand was extended towards you and you weren’t sure how long it had been. It felt like you were staring at him for hours, or was it only seconds. Did time really stop moving the moment you finally saw him? You broke yourself out of your trance to shake his hand and introduce yourself.

“It’s nice to meet you Y/N. I just moved in. Well not just, but not long ago,” Bucky said.

Yeah I know. I hear you every night. You remembered your frustration and tried to assemble the sentence in your head of how to confront him.

“You ever get coffee from the place on the corner?” he asked, gesturing to the cup in his hand. “The line was crazy long but worth it, it’s delicious.”

“Yeah, once or twice but I’m usually at the Grind House. They’re open late and that’s where I have to go to study because… uh…” you stammered for a moment, “...your guitar playing is too distracting.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, wondering why you felt uncomfortable when he was the one who was being a bad neighbor.

Bucky’s face dropped with guilt. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“It’s alright,” you lied, not knowing why you said that. Pulling more confidence out of midair you continued, “It’s just that the walls are so thin and I’m in school, well I work full time too, but I’ve just got a lot on my plate and honestly I’m not sure how much longer I can afford the coffee shop every night.”

You chuckled to lighten up the conversation, continuing to ramble before giving him a chance to speak. “So, um, if you wouldn’t mind, maybe you could practice during the day instead or weekends are mostly fine. I’m actually heading to class now so I’ll be gone all day.” Great, give him your whole schedule why don’t you.

With nerves getting the better of you, you turned on your heel quickly saying it was nice to meet him. Briskly making your way towards the elevator you pressed the button furiously in hopes it would get to your floor faster.

Once inside you let out a big sigh and waved your hand in front of your slightly sweaty, heated face. Bucky seemed like he genuinely wasn’t aware of the noise he was making, and the way you passive aggressively called him out on it made you feel like shit.

But what was worse was knowing there was a face, a drop dead gorgeous face that is responsible for making the women of New York scream in ecstasy every night. It was going to be very difficult to concentrate in class today.

Getting home later that afternoon you were anxious to make something to eat, but more anxious about Bucky, hoping you wouldn’t run into him again. As you opened your door your foot slid on something and as you looked down you saw a small envelope with your name written on it.

Inside was a $50 gift card to The Grind House with a little note. I’m truly sorry about the noise. –Bucky

Your mouth opened in shock at the realization that Bucky did this nice gesture for you, and worse, you were going to have to thank him.

PART 3

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

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halfpintofanxiety · 4 years ago

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AC Prompts

“Fear not the darkness but welcome its embrace” Ezio Auditore da Firenze

When you literally read most of the AC fanfics so now you have to write ur own Rip

I have never posted anything on any fanfiction site, nor anything worthwhile on Tumblr because procrastination and social anxiety is a bitch. For some reason though I have felt the powerful urge to jump right in and I have written various prompts that most likely will never actually get written because I doubt my motivation or memory will live long enough but here we go.

Spoilers for Valhalla and most of the other games but you should’ve played them by now

A Desmond Miles fic where he got he woke in the same simulation that Aletheia made for Kassandra (because in the DLC we saw other characters that have died so now i am using it as the AC universe’s afterlife) only he was too much of a loose cannon for Minerva who was salty that he let Juno out so she had him imprisoned. So after discovering that his entire life was planned out for him only to die, lied to about it for months, watched his ancestors suffer for this plan, and died painfully despite being told it would be instant only afterwards told he was now being punished for doing his job....Yeah no he decided to be a problem.

FemEivor/Basim where Loki didn’t have absolute control and so they were tag teaming in the same body. So Basim returns with Sigurd to Ravensthorpe and is reeling from Sigurd’s behaviour Teehee because Loki was almost positive that Sigurd was kind Tyr and Eivor was arrogent Havi, but this newly acquired attitude says otherwise. Possibly a trauma response or true colors coming to light so Basim keeps an eye out. Eyes wide enough that he also could see the new furry wolf member of the village, Mouse and his wolf mom and Basim do be like...O///O.

Valhalla AU where Eivor pulled a Rosta and ran towards her fallen parents before Sigurd could get a hold of her and so she was captured and going to be sold as a thrall in Ireland but there was a storm where they settled in England first, Wessex to be specific, to recuperate and restore their longship. Possibly escapes she does, run into Zealot she does, impressed by stamina and strength he is, trains small traumatized girl maybe, becomes well known to get an audience with a king who could use an assassin to wipe out order members?...who knows? I don’t.

Hearing about Harold’s growing forces, Halfdan is pushed by Faravid to seek an allience to possibly gain support in England with another army. To prove good tidings the siege on Kjotve’s land is earlier than expected as well as Harold’s plan to unite Norway with him as king. Eivor who was struggling to find a purpose after killing her enemy (I like making characters more realistic, there’s no way she was not depressed and with Sigurd gone and Styrbjorn’s displeasure with her, she had no support other than Randvi) requested to offer her axe to Halfdan’s army. (Maybe a few months before Sigurd’s return)

Something with Leofrith because that man was too pretty to not have a reappearance or longer than 5mins worth of screentime. The first time I saw him I made this chocking sound that greatly concerned my mother who was in another room. Gave off wonderful Jaime Lanister vibes without the incest which was poggers and there is literally only 2 pieces on AO3 with Leofrith/FemEivor.

Unity AU, I’m aware that the french templars didn’t know that Shay was there but i only recently read the book so for a few years now I headcannoned this idea and I have too much of a hatred for Elise (i’m trying to get over it but nothing is working) to let it go. Elise was in the know for years and technically her first “assignment” was to distract a little boy so that Shay could retrieve the Precursor box. So it was either grief or guilt that led to De la Serre taking him in. Not implying but heavily implying that Charles and Ballec were a thing but they totally were.

I feel like I got this idea from @esamastation a couple months ago where they made a list of maybe prompts and I thought to myself at the time ‘Oh i could never because then I’d feel guilty about not writing them’ so now i am here guilt tripping myself into getting these works done.

aNd WhY DO wE dO THiS because I attend college and everything else has priority when I have papers to write.

#Assassin's Creed #fanfiction ideas #eivor varinsdóttir #basim ibn ishaq #leofrith #probably more ships #maybe might also destroy some characters dynamics #we love angst #desmond miles #he is baby #soft boy #but not really #murder he commits #but thats okay #it happens #ac unity #arno dorian #ezio auditore

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years ago

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Helping Hand

Fandom: The Originals / The Vampire Diaries

Characters: Reader, Elijah,

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 4,171

Request: Hi! Can I get an imagine where the reader is a teenager (about 16) who has powers and she learns that Elijah Mikaelson has a necklace that belonged to her ancestor that will allow her to keep her powers under control and asking him for help?

hey ,can u write something with elijah???? love your blog

Summary: The reader moves to New Orleans with her family after her grandmother dies, leaving them with a large property and inheritance. But the reader also starts to develop powers, powers she cannot control, not without the help of Elijah Mikaelson.

Note: I’ve had this first request buried in my drafts for a very long time, I don’t even still have the actual request anymore so idk who sent it but here it is

Your magic was... volatile, to say the least. They’d started to show themselves last year, around the time your family had moved to New Orleans, but despite your best efforts, you were still unable to keep them under much control. It felt like there was a well of power deep inside of you, but no matter how far you reached, you’d yet to find the end.

You longed to reach the end of your power, to finally know your limits. By understanding what you were capable of, maybe you could begin to learn to control barely contained power within. It was a miracle your family hadn’t found out yet, especially given the whole you’d accidentally made in the back wall of the house, but as much as you wanted to tell them, you didn’t know how they would react.

The timing of your powers couldn’t have been a coincidence, at first you’d thought it was related to your age maybe, did 15 mean something magical? You obviously had no idea, but the longer you were in New Orleans, you started to realise that that wasn’t the case. Your estranged grandmother had died last year, you’d only met her once as a baby and your mother never talked about her, but she’d left behind a massive estate and inheritance in New Orleans, and following the divorce from your father, your mother had decided maybe it was a good chance for a fresh start. So she’d packed you and your younger twin brothers up, ripping you away from your lives, friends, everything you’d ever known, and taken you to the Crescent City.

It had been an adjustment, especially with the added problems of your powers. Needless-to-say, discovering you had magic was a shock, a big one. At first you thought you were dreaming, or seeing things, but eventually you’d accepted that this was real... and you should really plant a few trees to make up for the damage you’d accidentally done to the ones on the edge of your property line.

That’s where you were now, headphones on, beads of sweat on your brow as you tried to concentrate your magic at a single tree stump about ten metres away from you. Taking slow breaths you listened to the beat of the music pumping in your ears, letting all else slip away as you felt that familiar opening inside of you, leading to the well of magic you could feel stirring in anticipation. It always gave you a bit of a rush when you started, but you had to be careful you didn’t dive in too quickly.

Too much too fast was your problem, and you’d spent many, many... many, frustrating days trying to master it. You were sure there was a better way, maybe an instruction manual? But who could you ask, New Orleans may have been full of stores and stalls promising knowledge of the occult and the supernatural, but nothing had seemed to do you any good. Parlour tricks mostly, so you were alone.

Feeling that familiar build up of power, you yet again tried to steady it, tried to send a concentrated blast only. You felt your hands tingle, then warm, focusing intently as you felt sweat drip down the side of your face. Almost there...

A bird landed on the tree stump, catching you off guard as it cawed, stretching its wings but refusing to move. At the last second you threw your hands to the side, a blast of power flying into a nearby tree as you tried to reign it back in.

“Damn it!” You swore, clenching your hands into fists and pulling them to your sides as you stared wide eyes at the giant smouldering hole in the tall tree, the creaking and groaning sound it was making as it began to splinter at the break.

You took a slight step back, casting a dirty look at the black bird still perched on the stump as it watched you, regarding you with a more curious look than you were comfortable with. A loud snapping sound caused you to look back to the tree, now unable to support the weight on top as it began to topple.

“Crap...” you mumbled, pulling your headphones down to your neck as you watched it start to fall slowly. Not again, you thought as it fell, crashing into another tree before falling back and slamming into the ground.

You stared at it in stunned silence for a minute, glad you were too far out for anyone to have heard. The bird let out a small noise, still watching you, seemingly unaffected by the sound of the toppling tree. “What are you looking at?” You demanded, the bird cocking its head like it was listening, “this is your fault,” you told it, pointing to the mess behind it.

The black bird actually turned its head, looking to the tree before turning back to you, cawing and flying off over your head. You ducked as it flew past you, wind blowing your hair. Well... that was weird, but honestly, talking to a bird was probably the least strange thing that had happened to you recently.

So with a shrug you turned on your heels, grabbing your school bag and heading back down the overgrown path you always followed back to your house, checking your watch to make sure you wouldn’t miss the bus. Your 16th birthday had been a few days ago, and the balloons your mother had insisted on putting up on the railings of your front porch were still flying as you appeared out of the clearing in the woods.

Your brother’s were waiting by the road as you picked up your pace, noticing the school bus turning down the end of your road and heading to where the boys were stood. “Cutting it close,” one of your brothers, JJ, commented as you rolled your eyes, ignoring him and Nick as you rifled in your bag for your pass, finding it just as the bus pulled up and the doors opened.

You sat away from your brothers once you got on, headphones back on as you thought about how you were ever going to get a hang of your powers.

The rest of your school day when like it usually did, you went to class, did your work, ate lunch alone, and researched magic whenever you had some free time. You’d had losts of friends back home, but being the new girl struggling to control dangerous powers didn’t leave you with much opportunity to be anything other than the loner who talked to the librarian more than any of the other kids.

Your brothers fit in just fine, and the party your mother had been expecting to throw you over the weekend had been embarrassingly empty, so now she was worried about you. Great, another thing you had to worry about.

Thankfully, your magic hadn’t really ever acted up at school, expect in gym once or twice, but nothing too noticeable. Heightened emotions seemed to make it worse, and the boredom you felt at school seemed to subdue it the most.

After school you debated getting the bus home with JJ and Nick, but your mom was working until late so you decided to walk into the city instead, trying your luck again at one of the supposedly magic stores or stalls, you never knew, maybe someone might actually be able to help you.

It was a warm day, even into the afternoon as you strolled along the crowded streets. Okay, you actually liked New Orleans, the people, the buildings, the atmosphere, you felt like you could disappear here. If you hadn’t come into uncontrollable powers when you’d moved here... well, things would be very different.

You ended up walking through the French Quarter, definitely lost but not caring too much, you’d just use your phone to find the best way home when it got a little later. You were so lost in your music and surroundings that it took you a while to realise you were being followed.

It felt like a cold breeze on the back of your neck, like your magic warning you of danger. But there was so many people arround that you wouldn’t have been able to tell who was following you even if you saw them, so you picked up your pace.

That feeling didn’t leave, cold going down your spine as you weaved your way through the crowds of people milling about the square. You probably would have thought you were paranoid, but you’d learned enough to not doubt your magic right now.

Spotting a side street you slipped down it, only realising once you were half way down that it was a dead end. You quickly tried to double back, heart pounding as you turned to see a man at the end of the way, blocking your exit.

He was a sharp dressed man, black suit crisp as he leaned against the cool shaded bricks on the wall, hands in his pockets, regarding you with a cool but intrigued gaze. There was something... off about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on as your magic buzzed in you with warning.

“Hello there,” he said casually, pushing himself up off the wall and strolling towards you, hands still in his pockets. He didn’t look threatening, but there was something in his eyes that made you want to run, but where?

“H-Hello,” you got out, not doing well to pretend you weren’t scared as the man smirked at you. There was a lot of times over the past year where you wished you didn’t have magic, this however, wasn’t one of them. You’d never used your power on another person before, but the more scared you got, the more you could feel it burning in your core, ready to burst out to defend you if needed.

“I’m Elijah,” he introduced himself, British accent clear as he slowly spoke the words. Was he expecting you to introduce yourself? Stranger Danger 101, you were not giving this man your name. He seemed to realise that when you didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem offended. “Very well, I apologise for startling you, but you looked like somebody I knew once.”

“We’ve never met,” you replied, you were sure you would have remembered this well dressed individual.

“No...” Elijah mused outloud, “no I suppose we haven’t, a relative maybe?” The only relative you knew in the city was your late grandmother, you supposed your mother had lived here, but not for the better part of 20 years.

“I don’t think so,” you answered, itching to get away. He seemed to register this, but he still seemed curious about you. What was this guys deal? You scrunched your fists at your side, palms warm with power, your fight or flight response sounding alarm bells in your head as your power threatened to spill out.

He took another step towards you, glancing down at your hands like he knew what was going on inside of you. Was that possible? You knew that you couldn’t be the only one in the world with power like this, but still...

“I have to go now,” you told him quickly, trying to simply quickly walk past him back to the crowded street, determined to get home as you regretted not just getting the bus with your siblings.

“On second,” he said, just as you passed him, hand reaching out to grab your arm. As you as he touched you, you exploded.

It happened so fast, one second you were trying to twist out of his grasp, the next a blast of energy had sent him down the street. Breathing heavily, your heart pounding in chest, you didn’t look back to see what you had just done, instead all but running out on the street and making your way back home.

What had you just done?

You made it home before your mom, ignoring your brothers questions about where you had been as you ran up the stairs two at a time and into your bedroom, slamming your door shut and locking it. Only when you heard your lock click into place did you let out a shaky breath and try to relax, leaning against the back of the door and sinking to the floor. Your mind was racing as you tried to process what had just happened.

Had you killed him? You didn’t think so, you hoped not, but he had provoked you, scared you, it had been out of your control the second he’d put his hand on your arm. What were you going to do now?

You groaned and wiped your hands over your face, exhausted and drained. You just needed to think. Reluctantly pulling yourself up you went into your bathroom to take a shower. Every bedroom in this house seemed to have it’s own bathroom, what your grandmother did alone in this place was beyond you.

The water was scolding as you slipped in, but you didn’t care, standing there for a long time as it poured down your face and body, eyes glued to your hands as you thought about the power they contained, the power you possessed.

Your eyes drifted to the pale blue wall tiles, you grandmother had had most of the house redecorated before she died, she’d been sick for a while apparently, but your mom had never told you any of that. This was the room she’d decorated for you, the one she’d instructed you to take in the will, and you had to admit, she’d done a damn good job of decorating it to your taste. Eerily good, considering you weren’t exactly doing much talking the one time you’d met her.

She’d left you a note too, on the bed when you’d entered. Old people rambling about how you had more potential than you realised, you were special and important and she wished she was there with you... You hadn’t thought much about it at first, but a part of you kept going back to those words in your mind, had she meant this? Had she known?

It seemed crazy, but there had been something not right about that man, Elijah, something cold and... not human? If he had known your grandmother, maybe he would have had more answers about what was going on with you?

With a sigh you finally turned off the water, drying yourself off as you thought about your grandmother alone in this big old house. As you did you walked over the creaky floorboard outside the bathroom door and paused, leaning back on your heel and making it squeek again. You shook your head, thinking you must be reading too much into everything that had happened to you. But as you stepped off of it and listened to it creak again you let out a defeated breath, what the hell, why not? You thought, kneeling down and prying at the sides of the board.

To your slight surprise it budged, were you really looking for hidden compartments in your room? But your grandmother had left it to you, if your suspicions about her were correct, maybe she’d left you more than you realised. She did, you realised as you got the board free, a dusty box beneath it. This was crazy.

Taking it out you set it on your dresser and got dressed, eyes barely leaving to box until you tentatively tried the latch, it didn’t have a lock on it so you carefully lifted up the old lid, revealing a leather bound book within. It looked like an old-timey journal as you slowly pulled it out, your magic buzzing at the touch. What was this?

You went to sit on your bed, book on your lap as you opened the first page, careful not to tear the pages as you did, it felt fragile but it was definitely well worn, the spine was basically coming apart. The language inside looked like it was mostly... Latin? Maybe, you hadn’t exactly studied it in school, but there were annotations in the margins in English, fresher than the original text, the handwriting appearing to match the writing in your grandmother’s letter.

The more you flipped through the pages, skimming passages and trying to understand illustrations, the more you thought this was a spellbook of some kind. You assumed that was a thing anyway, especially with your grandmother’s notes.

“Y/N!” A knock on your door had you slamming the book shut probably a little too hard and rushing to put it away, your mother calling you from the otherside.

“Yeah?” You called back, frantically trying to replace the floor board, barely managing to as she entered, uniform on as she look at you, on your knees n the floor. “Dropped by earring,” you lied with ease and she believed you, it’s not like she’d have believed the truth anyway.

“I’ll have dinner ready in 20, okay?” She smiled and you nodded, standing back up, “how was school?”

“Eh same old,” you told her, deliberately not mentioning your strange encounter with Elijah, she’d freak out if she knew, and you didn’t want her involved in any of this.

“Okay, could you set the table when you come down?” She asked and you nodded again, more than eager for her to leave your room.

She did after that and you breathed a sigh of relief, you couldn’t be doing any of this in the house, you’d go out into the woods again with the book tomorrow, maybe it was time for a new approach to your magical problem. You just hoped the answers you were looking for had been right under your nose, or feet, the entire time.

It was a quiet morning as you made your way down the familiar walkway into the woods, switching into autopilot as you stepped over the roots and stones you had been avoiding nearly everyday for the better part of a year.

You’d tried to sleep last night, but your mind was wide awake, thoughts of that book swirling around in your mind until you finally caved and switched on your lamp, reading through the pages until you’d eventually fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, book in hand.

It had been eye opening. Vampires, werewolves, witches... well, you were a witch then, but the fact that the others existed too was nearly too much, your brain becoming so overloaded with new information you barely thought was possible. You’d fallen asleep at a chapter on New Orleans, the different factions there and information on the ‘Original Family’ that had once ruled, the name Elijah Mikaelson had caught your eye, was it the same Elijah you’d met yesterday? It would explain a few things, but it didn’t exactly make you feel any better.

You made it to the area you had been the previous morning, the fallen tree a reminder that you really needed to get your powers under control. You sat on the stump you’d been trying to blast yesterday and pulled the book out of your bag, a torn piece of homework bookmarking a page with a spell you’d decided to test out. It seemed simple enough, and this far into the woods you only had to worry about the damage to the trees, which was nothing new when it came to your magic.

Leaving the book open on the correct page you stood back up, focusing your breathing as you held out your hands, facing the fallen tree as you reached down into that familiar well of power. But instead of firing blindly like you usually did, you now had a spell that you hoped would at least concentrate the energy.

“Motus,” you said when you were ready, feeling your power blast out of your hands, absolutely shattering the tree you had previously felled... along with a handfull of others in the vacinity.

“No, no, no,” you muttered. It hadn’t worked, you’d just wanted to hit the one tree, now what were you supposed to do?

You were so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed that you weren’t alone, jumping and whirling around when you heard a twig snap behind you. Suddenly you found yourself face to face with Elijah.

“Impressive, uncontrolled and reckless, but impressive nonetheless,” he commented, standing there in a suit as crisp as he had worn yesterday, seemingly unaffected by the blast you’d sent into his chest at your previous encounter.

“How...?” You stammered, looking around to see where he had come from all of a sudden, what your grandmother’s book had said about Elijah the Original ringing in your mind as you faced him.

“I’m a vampire,” he told you, waiting for your reaction, “so you know what I am then?” He asked when you didn’t flinch.

“I did some reading last night,” you said honestly and he glanced down at where you’d left the book open on the tree stump, recognition flashing in his eyes.

“I can see that,” he noted, wandering over to the book. You wanted to stop him as he reached it, but your feet were firmly planted. What did he want now? “My apologies for yesterday by the way, you just looked so much like your grandmother that I let my curiosity get the better of me, I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“How did you know her?” You asked and he smiled, like he was thinking of fond memories.

“She was one of the oldest witches in New Orleans, most went to her for guidance, she had a gift of sight you see, I went to her from time to time as well, her passing was tragic,” he explained, “how long have you known?”

“Well I found the book yesterday so since then really,” you admitted.

He looked at you in confusion, “but you powers...?”

“Yeah I’ve had those since I moved here, but I never really knew what they were, or how to use them,” you elaborated.

“I can see that,” he said with a nod to the destruction behind you. You looked down sheepishly, embarrassed by your lack of control after so long.

“You know, your grandmother had the same problem,” he began, your head shooting back up to face him, finding that very hard to believe after what he’d just told you about her. “It’s true,” he insisted, noting your hesitation to believe him, “the witches in your family are born with an immense amount of power, more than most could handle, which is why she wore this, to channel that energy and take control,” as he finished he held out his hand, an amulet dropping from it.

“What is that?” You asked him, drawn closer by the power radiating from the small half moon hanging from his index finger. It looked old, but it also felt oddly familiar in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“It belonged to your ancestors, passed down from generation to generation since before my family even reached these shores in the early 18th century, your grandmother gave it to me for safe keeping, so it could be given to you,” he told you and you shelved the comment about the 18th century away for another time, your eyes unable to leave the amulet as Elijah held out his hand, offering it to you.

“Can I?” You reached out for it slowly and he nodded, letting you take it. It felt cold in your palm, so different from the heat you always felt when you were using your power. Elijah offered to fasten it for you and he did, a sense of calm and clarity washing over you as soon as he fastened the clasp and stepped back.

“Try it now,” he suggested and it took you a second to realise he meant the spell. You swallowed, here went nothing.

Turning until you found a target you held out your hand, your well of magic seemingly contained by the amulet, a smaller opening available to you now as you whispered, “motus,” and sent a beam of energy into a nearby tree branch.

Usually, the whole tree would have been blown apart at least, but you your surprise and delight, only the branch was sent flying off. You’d done it.

Smiling you turned back to Elijah, “thank you,” you breathed, hand going to the amulet around your throat.

“Of course, I gave your grandmother my word that I’d help you when the time came, but I’ll admit, family matters kept me from even checking to see if you’d arrived in the city,” he admitted, “for that I’m sorry, but if you’d let me, I’d like to help you now, it’s the least I could do for your grandmother.”

Although you barely knew this strange man, this vampire, he seemed genuine and it’s not like you really had many other options. So you straighten up and nodded. “Where do we begin?”

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felicia-cat-hardy · 3 years ago

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20 TV Shows & Movies That Are Almost Too Dirty To Be On Netflix

One of the wonders of Netflix is its expansive content offering. It's a place you can go to relive the joys of your youth, and to find some seriously sexy content (probably not in the same movie or TV show, but you get it). If you’re looking for the latter, sifting through the mass of titles can be a challenge; it’s sometimes easy to get lost in the silly or serious pieces of content without ever discovering the many raunchy movies and shows available — and what a pity that is, because there are plenty of shows and movies that are almost too dirty to be on Netflix out there for you to watch.

The site's dirtier fare ranges from art house foreign films to Netflix-produced shows, and they definitely give a new meaning to "Netflix and chill." Netflix obviously isn't a porn site, but there are a number of movies and shows that will make you wonder how — and why — they passed the site's censors. Actually, on second thought, you probably won't be questioning why so much because, as the old adage goes, it's best to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

Whether you're watching these shows and movies to turn up the heat with your partner, or just to broaden your streaming horizons, these are bound to make you think, "I wonder what this is doing to my algorithm preferences..."

‘Duck Butter’

Two women meet and decide to condense a relationship into 24 hours — by having sex every 60 minutes. The movie creators wanted to show a funny and tender film with “lesbians as far as the eye could see,” and the chemistry between the two women is also on fire.

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‘Altered Carbon’

In the future, human consciousness can be transferred to available human bodies, called “sleeves.” And boy do we see a lot of those (very naked) sleeves, as well as a bunch of sex.

Watch On Netflix

'Orange Is The New Black'

The popular Netflix original goes where most network TV's explicitness-parameters cannot. Naturally, if you lock a bunch of people up in an enclosed space with not much to do, naughtiness is gonna ensue.

Watch On Netflix

'Y Tu Mamá También'

This movie has everything. Sex in cars, sex in beds, sex in twos, sex in threes. Everything else in between is pretty great, too. Subtitles optional.

Watch On Netflix

‘Sense8’

The tragically cancelled Sense8 from the Wachowski sisters (The Matrix) introduced a plethora of beautiful, complex LGBTQ characters, and a ton of very sexy sex. Yes, this is the series with that orgy scene you’ve heard so much about.

Watch On Netflix

'Amar'

Amar is a Spanish dramedy all about sex and relationships. Literally everyone is doing it (or talking about it) all the time. And the creators aren’t shy about showing all this sexiness onscreen — a very, very good thing.

Watch On Netflix

‘Ride Or Die’

This edgy Japanese film is about two childhood BFFs: one of them (Rei) is in love with the other (Nanae), who’s stuck in an abusive marriage. Nanae asks Rei to kill her husband — and violence (and sexiness) ensues.

Watch On Netflix

'Newness'

Newness is a serious movie about Tinder and dating apps — which also happens to be quite steamy. Two people meet through a hookup app, and despite the odds, start to fall for one another. But can it last?

Watch On Netflix

‘365 Days’

Caveat: this movie has been widely criticized for depicting what starts out as a non-consensual relationship (a woman is kidnapped and given 365 days to fall in love with her abductor). But it’s still managed to gain notoriety for its sex scenes, which are insanely hot — so if you’re curious about the buzz and haven’t watched yet, consider tuning in for those scenes alone.

Watch On Netflix

‘Outlander’

Before Bridgerton, there was this sex-filled period piece. Still going strong and entering its sixth season, this (sometimes literally) bodice-ripping drama sees a woman on her honeymoon accidentally time travel from 1945 to 1743 — and subsequently meet the love of her life.

Watch On Netflix

‘Bridgerton’

But, while we’re on the subject, why haven’t you watched Bridgerton? Or, if you have, why haven’t you watched it again? This is Jane Austen romance, plus glorious mansions, plus a mountain of sex — and it’s sure to have your television exploding from the hotness.

Watch On Netflix

‘Sex Education’

I mean...the title says it all, doesn’t it? Otis is a shy teenager who just so happens to know a ton about sex (the theory at least, less so the practice), thanks to his sex therapist mom. His crush Maeve uses Otis’ skillset for a brilliant concept: a sex therapy consulting business for high schoolers. Oh, and because they’re all teens, lots of sex is happening.

Watch On Netflix

'Elisa & Marcela'

This drama about forbidden love is set in 1885, making it ideal for those who like corsets with their steamy love scenes. It's about two women who fall in love with each other but have to keep it secret — until one of them poses as a man in order to get married. It's also based on a true story, which makes it educational and hot.

Watch On Netflix

‘MILF’

Again, this one’s pretty self-explanatory: three French women in their 40s are dealing with life and heartbreak. The trio of friends go after — and land — much, much younger guys on vacation. Age-related hilarity (and tons more sex) ensues.

Watch On Netflix

‘Riverdale’

Who knew that a redux of the Archie comic books could be so dark and twisty? Also, so adult: the series is known for its (many) sex scenes involving the characters in a wide variety of couplings. The genius of the show is you’ll end up rooting for certain pairs, but cheering for a lot of the sex.

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'Easy'

Easy features a series of vignettes about various people's sex lives. It's voyeurism at its finest — and it also offers honest insights about how people navigate intimacy.

Watch On Netflix

'Shameless'

Shameless is very NSFW. If you're going to watch TV at work (perhaps not advisable in any scenario, but no judgement), you should probably steer away from Shameless in case a co-worker happens to sneak a peek during one of its many sex scenes. It could cost you a trip to HR.

Watch On Netflix

'Blue Is The Warmest Color'

Its sex scenes have been deemed unrealistic by many LGBTQ viewers, but Blue is the Warmest Color is still pretty steamy, and it also features a sweet story of a woman coming out into the world.

Watch On Netflix

'Weeds'

I could rave about Weeds for many reasons — its writing, its acting, and its soundtrack — but we're here to talk dirty, so I'll just say this: Weeds has some of the hottest sex scenes ever to grace Netflix. The fact that so much of its plot revolves around taboos and scandals makes for a great deal of naughtiness.

Watch On Netflix

'Concussion'

This is as hot as it gets. Concussion tells the story of a bored suburban housewife who starts seeing female sex workers for pleasure. Eventually, she decides to become one herself.

Watch On Netflix

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ksgeekgirl · 4 years ago

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Back to the House that Love Built - Chapter 1: Bucket List

Title: Bucket List Word Count: 2800k Warnings: None in this chapter...but they are coming! Pairing: Francisco Morales (Pedro Pascal, Triple Frontier) x Kaylah Riley OFC Chapter Summary: Takes place about 18 months before the happenings in Triple Frontier. Your standard grumpy pilot boy meets girl :) Author’s note: After watching Triple Frontier I couldn’t believe how they did my boy Frankie, so I decided to give him the back story he so richly deserved. Big thanks to @heather-lynn for helping me with story structure, being a kick ass beta and encouraging the shit out of me. If you like it, please let me know!

Kaylah stretched her arms over her head, rolling her neck slowly in a circle. She’d been ma’am’d to death, had her heart blessed and had way more people than she was comfortable with knowing a little bit of her personal details. She’d even had one man, who sounded old enough to be her grandpa tell her “you sound real pretty, i’m sure we can work something out.” Hard pass.

Despite that, every call ended the same way -- way out of her price range or unwilling to help. So now, she was down to the last name. Her final shot.

She picked up her phone and tapped in the number, a little too aggressively, as she got psyched for one last call.

“Okay Francisco Morales,” she said to herself as she popped her airpods back in and hit send, “ I dare you to tell me no.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie had been working at the airport for eight months and it was a good fit. He was flying copters, getting in the air daily and keeping him close to the team. His brothers. They had been to hell and back in the nearly 20 years they were together in the Army -- then it all ended about 18 months ago.

That first 10 months had been rough, he’d never really thought about what he’d do when he got out because he didn’t think he’d live to see the day. And he wasn’t alone. All of the guys were a little afloat after leaving the Army, except for Pope who was doing the same work, just without the flag. But, things had settled and while it wasn’t exciting it was so much better than he deserved, in his opinion.

He was working four days on and three days off lately running workers out to oil rigs and various other projects. This was the end of a four day shift and he was running the post trip checks to make sure the bird was ready when he came back.

The beginning notes of Go Away by Godsmack began blaring from his phone, which only meant an unknown number. Frankie contemplated ignoring the call, but he was still on the clock and he was nothing if not responsible.

“Morales…” there was a pause before Frankie heard a very determined Southern drawl.

“Mr. Morales, my name is Kaylah Riley. Johnny Rowland over at Channel 9 said that you were the man who would be able to help me.” Kaylah didn’t even slow down before launching into her ask, not wanting to give him a chance to tell her no.

“I’m looking for someone to take my mom and me up on a private tour. I know it’s a big ask, but i’ll be happy to pay for your expenses…” she heard him start to ma’am her on the other end and barrelled on “..and an additional fee for your time, we can make any time work to fit your schedule,” another soft ma’am on the other end “...we’d just really…”

“MA’AM” Frankie almost yelled to get her attention. “I’m sorry, but we’re not a charter service. I’d be happy to give you the name…”

“Mr. Morales, you don’t understand, I…”

“No, Miss. Riley was it? I do understand. I’m sure one of the charter groups would be a much better experience. Like I said I'd be happy to recommend someone.” Frankie was not in the habit of giving Southern belles helicopter tours. He was about ready to give her a name when he heard her voice crack.

“Mr. Morales, I’m going to be honest with you.” Kaylah could hear the defeat in her own voice as she laid it out. “I’ve called every charter and pilot in a 100 mile radius. You’re my last chance.”

“Miss Riley, I…” Kaylah barreled on.

“You see, my mom is dying. She has taken care of me my entire life and I’m trying to help her knock off her bucket list before she is ripped from me. Unfortunately the crazy woman’s list includes a helicopter ride.” a laugh bordering on panic bubbled out of Kaylah’s chest. “Please Mr. Morales, you really are my last hope.”

Silence stretched on the line as Frankie took off his baseball cap and laid it on the workbench, running his free hand through his shaggy hair as he dropped onto a stool. He should tell her no. It wasn’t his problem. He could feel in his bones that this wouldn’t be a simple job.

“Mr. Morales, please?” her voice was pleading. The edge from earlier gone and replaced with anguish.

Shaking his head, Frankie pulled his cap back on. “Yeah. I’ll do it.” Frankie couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face as he heard her clap on the other end. He swore he could feel her smile through the phone.

Frankie looked at the reports, “Weather is shit this weekend, pardon my language, but next Saturday should work. Can you be here at 10?” His hand rubbing the back of his neck as he talked.

“We’ll make it work. And Mr. Morales,” Kaylah took a big breath, a tear escaping her eye, “thank you.”

“Yeah. Next weekend.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaylah was excited to get home that night and tell her mom the good news. Dropping her backpack by the door and kicking off the shoes, she didn’t bother yelling for her mom. She knew the tiny woman would be planted on the back patio, ice tea in one hand and book in the other.

She grabbed a beer on the way through the kitchen, leaning against the frame of the french door watching her mom a bit before breaking the silence. She’d nodded off, her chin resting on her chest and snoring lightly. Kaylah pushed off and walked over to the wicker loveseat, shaking her lightly.

“Momma..” She jerks awake, looking around until Kaylah comes into focus.

“Kaylah-girl. How long have you been home?” Her mom’s accent sounded so weird to others, but it was comforting to Kaylah. Born in Dublin and married to a Texas native, Maureen Riley had the odd combination of twang and lilt that could make her almost impossible to understand. Even after forty years in America.

“Just got here,” She sat and slid an arm around her mom. “I have some good news.”

Maureen’s eyes sparkled as she took in her daughter, “Good news? Let me guess...you have a date?”

“Sort of,” Kaylah smiled as she saw her mom’s mouth drop open, “WE have a date to go up in a helicopter next Saturday.”

Honest to god her mom squealed like a six year old, causing Kaylah to break out laughing, but that was followed by a very serious expression.

“Momma, what’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing baby...i’m just trying to figure out what you wear to fly in a helicopter!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His little corner of the airport was dead on Saturday. Frankie got there early that morning, one to get the bird ready and two, because he wouldn’t put it past Kaylah Riley -- because she always used both names -- to be there early.

He had grabbed a couple of blankets on the way out this morning. It got cold up there and he’s not sure that his suggestion to dress warm really got through to her when she called on Thursday. It may be the South, but it was still January and the combination of altitude and wind could make it brisk to say the least.

Frankie had just gotten the headsets tested and ready to go when he saw a beige SUV pull up. He checked his watch, 9:30, just as he’d expected. He was walking out to tell her she’d have to move to the parking lot as she rounded the front of the car.

He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he could say without a doubt it wasn’t the pretty redhead that was headed his way. Frankie didn’t know if you could be fearless and fragile at the same time, but that was what popped in his mind seeing Kaylah Riley for the first time. Shit.

“Mr. Morales,” the wind whipping her ponytail as she walked up to Frankie, hand extended, “Kay…”

“Kaylah Riley. Got it.” Frankie gripped her hand in a strong shake, trying not to get distracted by her bright red lips. “You’ll need to move your car, you can’t leave it there.”

“Good morning to you to Mr. Morales…” Kaylah was glad she had on her sunglasses so he couldn’t see her eye roll. “I’d planned on moving it, I simply wanted to drop my mom off first...walking really wears her out,”

Kaylah pulled her hand back, realizing that she was still holding his long after the shake, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I mean, If that’s okay with you…”

“Yeah. That’s fine,” Frankie nodded his head at the tiny woman headed their way “but I think she got tired of waiting for you.”

Kaylah turned to see her mom strolling their direction. She couldn’t tell what made Maureen look more silly, the mirrored aviator sunglasses, her dad’s old leather bomber jacket or the long white scarf that was roughly the same color as her hair.

“Ma’am,” Kaylah turned to look at a smirking Frankie, one hand on his hip, “is she dressed like the Red Baron?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “Mr. Morales, my mom is not what you’d call understated.”

To his credit, Frankie didn’t laugh, but the way his eyes crinkled showed how amused he was. Before she knew what he was doing, Frankie stepped around her, jogging towards her mom and offering his arm like a proper gentleman. Kaylah watched them walk towards her, Maureen’s charm in full effect, but her eyes were on the man next to her. Baseball cap pulled down, jacket stretched across his broad shoulders. Dear lord, she was staring like a teenager.

“A Stór, Francisco was just delightful to help me over here wasn’t he?” Maureen smiled up at Frankie. “Now go park the car and hurry back so we can get up in the air!”

Kaylah smiled and gave her mom a small salute. “I’ll be right back” and headed back to the car. When Maureen turned to watch her go, Frankie followed her gaze. Kaylah’s black moto jacket ending at her waist and drawing Frankie’s eyes down her slim frame. Biting the inside of his jaw, he pulls his hat down a little lower, definitely not what he’d expected.

Maureen was watching Frankie watch Kaylah, a glint in her eye as a smile spread across her face before she squeezed his arm. “Francisco, do you have somewhere I can sit down?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaylah looked back at the retreating figures as she started the car and pulled towards the parking lot. She was a little embarrassed at what she had expected with Francisco Morales. Johnny had told her that he was a vet, the best pilot he knew and a man of few words. What she had constructed in her mind in no way matched the man that was chatting up her mother. He wasn’t what passed for handsome these days. She’s seen handsome up close and that was surface level at best. He was something else.

She parked and turned off the car, checking her reflection in the mirror, searching for the right word to describe him. Shoving her wallet and phone into her jacket pocket she jumped out of the car as the word came to her.

Masculine.

Francisco Morales was inherently masculine. Not macho, but just so comfortable in who he was there was no need to try and convince others. Like the Marlboro Man...with a helicopter. The only other man she’d known like that was her dad.

Kaylah shook off that thought as she walked, looking up to see her mom already strapped into the front seat of the bird, headset in place and blanket tucked around her.

“Momma?” Kaylah shielded her eyes as she looked up at her mom. “You two leaving without me?”

“If you don’t hurry up we will,” Maureen shouted. “Now hurry up so Francisco can get you strapped in. I want to fly!”

“Yes Ma’am!” Kaylah hurried around the copter where Frankie was waiting. She was trying to get in when she felt warm hands on her waist lifting her up drawing a little gasp out of her.

“Sorry.” Frankie mumbled as he strapped her into the seat, tightening the belt around her soft hips, his eyes catching on the glimpse of freckled thigh through the stylish tear in her jeans. He bit his lip as he handed her the headset, using the bill of his cap to keep from looking at her. “You’ll be able to talk to us without doing anything. Just say something if you have a problem.”

Kaylah nodded her head, at a loss for words...a condition that seldom plagued her. She watched as Frankie went through his process to get the helicopter running and then, they were in the air.

While she took in the sites from 1,000 feet up, Frankie was the perfect tour guide. He and Maureen talked non-stop. No, that wasn’t accurate. Maureen talked non-stop and Frankie added the well timed “hum” or “really” that kept her in peak storytelling mode. In fact, she could have stayed on the ground and neither of them would have known. It was glorious.

With their conversation as the soundtrack of the trip, the tour had passed quicker than expected as Kaylah saw the airport below. Coming to an end as Frankie sat the helicopter down as gentle as putting a baby to sleep. Kaylah was impressed as she heard his deep voice through the headset.

“Wait until the blades stop before you unbuckle, then I'll come help you out.”

Kaylah couldn’t help herself, her smart ass comeback slipping out before she even thought about it. “Aye, aye Captain.”

“I was never a Captain,” the scratchy voice caused her to snap her head up to see Frankie looking at her over his shoulder. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or if she’d offended him. Kaylah was fairly sure that Francisco Morales didn’t have a funny bone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was about 30 minutes from when they landed until Kaylah headed back across the apron towards her car, leaving her mom in Frankie’s capable hands until she could return.

Frankie watched Maureen get misty watching her daughter, seeing that as his cue to distract her and keep her focused on the great day. “Mrs. Riley…”

“Francisco...please call me Maureen” she patted him on the leg, dabbing at her eyes.

“Maureen then, you remind me so much of my mamá. Not just your personality and, um...stature,” Frankie smiled remembering the feisty little woman “but I don’t think anyone outside of Uncle Sam has referred to me as Francisco since she passed. Visiting with you today has given me a little piece of her back. Thank you.”

Maureen smiled as she watched the years fall away from Frankie’s face as he thought of his mom. “What a lovely compliment Francisco. How old were you when you lost your mother?”

“I was 20,” Frankie stopped, the muscle in his jaw working as he thought of that time. “In fact, I've been without her longer than I had her.”

Maureen stood, and without saying a word, wrapped him in the kind of hug that only can come from a mom. “I know I can’t replace her, and lord knows you’ve had time to learn to live without her, but you don’t hesitate to call me if you need a stand-in mom.”

She pulled back as she heard the car approach, patting him softly on the chest before turning to wave at Kaylah. Frankie moved to help her toward the car, walking in companionable silence as Kaylah came around to open the door.

As they reached the car, Maureen turned and looked up to Frankie, patting him on the cheek, “I meant what I said Francisco.” Frankie smiled and took her hand, kissing the back of it...the same sign of affection he used to bestow on his mom.

“Yes ma’am.”

Frankie stepped back as Kaylah got Maureen situated in the car and shut the door. She turned, pushing her sunglasses on her head, as she looked up at Frankie, extending her hand.

“Mr. Moral…” Frankie interrupted her as he enveloped her small hand in his, “Please, call me Frankie.”

“Okay. Well, thank you for everything,” Kaylah smiled up at him, pushing her sunglasses back down as she broke the handshake. “Frankie.”

Kaylah made her way back to her side of the car. Getting in with a quick wave and driving off, leaving Frankie standing on the apron as her taillights disappeared. He scuffed his boot against the seam in the asphalt, shaking his head as he looked down. He knew this wasn’t going to be a simple trip.

Shit.

#frankie morales #catfish morales #pedro pascal #please read this #just the beginning

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xxdragonwriterxx · 4 years ago

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I was tagged by the amazing @nefelimalfoy, thank you for the tag! I hope I’m doing this right, I’m still pretty new to the mechanics of Tumblr so we’re just gonna roll with it and hope this is how it works 😂. I made this on a new one to save space but I decided to do this tag because I figured it’d be a good way for you guys to get to know me since I don’t have an About Me page. Either way, thanks again, and here are my answers!

Named after someone? Yes actually! My name is Morgan and I was named after my mother’s maiden name because they wanted to give me a unisex name so I could be whoever I wanted to be, and that name just happened to work really well. It’s still my grandmother’s name so we always have fun calling each other by my name for fun. My mom also just really loved that name, even when she was a teenager, and wanted to call her child that in the future anyway, so here I am!

Last time you cried? The last time I cried was about three weeks ago. We recently moved several states away from my friends and family and I’m having a hard time adjusting since I didn’t really want to live in this particular state in the first place, coupled with leaving everyone, it’s been a little tough for me. Nothing significant, sometimes I just miss my friends 😊.

Do you have any kids? Nope, I’m only 18 so not quite there yet, but I’m hoping to have some in the future! I’d love to have between 2 and 3 but that all depends on what country I live in and the state of the world at the time I’m ready for them. Raising kids is expensive and really hard so I wanna be ready for them. But hopefully they are in my future somewhere!

Do you use sarcasm a lot? I guess I’d say I use it moderately. I love to use it all the time for humor purposes, but in terms of using it for when I’m annoyed, I guess it just depends on how long I am in an annoying situation and who I’m with. It’s my favorite thing to use for jokes but I’d say I use it moderately in terms of genuine use.

Eye color? I have blue eyes! Although they tend to change based on the seasons. In the winter and spring they are more blue and in the spring and summer they are more green, so I guess it kinda depends on the season and temperature.

Favorite book genre? Definitely fantasy but I will honestly read almost anything just so long as the story is interesting. I don’t really have a “least favorite” genre or anything because I tend to judge a book based on it’s story rather than it’s genre. But most of my favorite books of all time come from fantasy, so I’d say that’s my favorite aside from horror and psychological thrillers which are also top tier genres in my book (can’t watch horror movies but could read horror novels any day).

Any special talent? Okay so actually, I do have one talent that would be considered special. I have no idea where it came from or how I learned it, but ever since I was a little kid, I’ve been able to perfectly replicate certain animal sounds (and a few extra ones that aren’t animals too). I can do a dog, cat (both meow and purr), horse, goat, zebra, pig, dove, Golum (from LOTR), Stitch, trumpet, engine from Cruella Devil’s car (I know this is really fucking specific but trust me on this one), dragon growl/purr (think from HTTYD), and Homer Simpson. Again, I have literally no idea how I started, I just know that when I was a kid, I used to bark like a dog and eventually got good at it (according to my mom). Now, I just practice different sounds I want to make until I can completely replicate them. I know it sounds far fetched, but that’s what it is. It’s really fun to shock people with tbh 😂. But I always have to be careful dogs aren’t around when I bark, because I have set off a barking frenzy before 😅.

What country were you born in? I was born in America but I hope to move to Europe shortly after college. I’m looking at somewhere like Scotland or New Zealand but honestly getting to explore Europe will be amazing in itself and I know I’ll find where I want to live as I go along.

What are your hobbies? Well, writing is the obvious one but I don’t just write fanfics. I also write original short stories and I am working on a fantasy novel currently. Aside from writing, I have been riding horses ever since I was 2 years old, riding my first pony on my grandma’s farm. Now I ride and show competitively, showing in the jumper ring with my 17 hand dark bay Thoroughbred, Moose! We jump about a meter 20 (if any of you know equestrian terms/measurements) but we are aiming for the Grand Prix at some point in my life. I also like to wake surf behind a boat on lakes, draw, read books, and listen to music. I also absolutely love classic cars more than anything. It’s my dream to have one one day and fix her up, so while it’s not technically a hobby since I haven’t done it yet and I don’t know much about the mechanics, I do a lot of research and reading up on them, which will hopefully lead to my dream coming true at some point!

Do you have any pets? Oh god, here comes the word vomit. I could talk about my pets for days 😂 but I’ll keep it short. I actually have three dogs currently, two french bulldogs and a street chihuahua (she does not look like a normal chihuahua at all. She is quite a bit larger and has the funkiest ears of any dog ever. She looks like if a weasel, a chihuahua, and a pine marten had a baby) we found abandoned and neglected when I was 9. I also have a horse and my mother has one as well so as a family we have two because both my mom and I ride competitively. My two frenchies are called Herschel and Humphrey, and then the chihuahua is called Ginger. My horse, as mentioned earlier, is named Moose and my mom’s horse (a 17.2 hand Warmblood) is called Rexy. Despite having all little dogs, we used to have two labs whom I loved with all of my heart, so I’m hoping to get big dogs again in the future when I get out of college. My dream dogs are German Shepherds, Pitt Bulls, and Labs, Collies, or Dobermans. Honestly, just any rescue dog will work, but those are the dogs I envision myself having in the future.

What sports do you play/have played? Like I said earlier, I am an equestrian and have been riding for 16 years but when I was younger I went through a bunch of other sports to see which one I liked the most. Obviously horseback riding ended up winning, but I did try soccer, gymnastics, dance, taekwondo, track, cross country, and wake surfing. Aside from horseback riding, wake surfing was a favorite of mine, and I only stopped when we sold the lake house and boat we had that we would use to surf. But I still love it and hope to try it again sometime! Other than that, I kinda just like exercising in general, so while I don’t do any of this competitively, I like to run occasionally and I ride my bike as much as I can when I have the time.

How tall are you? I am 5’4” or about 163 cm give or take. I am definitely the shortest aside from my mom in both my family in my friend group but I actually like being smaller sometimes. I can officially say I can fit in both a vacation suitcase and a medium sized dog kennel (like for corgis, beagles, etc.).

Favorite subject in school? In high school, my favorite class by far was Vet Med, but I also loved AP Literature. My teacher was the best and reading has always been my strength (rip math). As for my college classes, my favorites are Abnormal Psychology and Creative Writing.

Dream job? Okay realistically, my dream job is Forensic Psychology. Basically a detective with a psychology degree so that you can not only solve cases but also study the criminals behind them. That’s what I am currently going to uni for and what I hope will continue throughout the duration of my college years! I originally wanted to be a Veterinarian more than anything (hence why I took Vet Med in high school), but for a whole magnitude of reasons, I decided against it. I actually worked at a vet clinic for three years during high school and I fucking loved it, but there were just a lot of things that bothered me about the industry (it didn’t have anything to do with the vets themselves, those people are fucking awesome) so I decided it would be for the best if I changed my major. I still fucking love it and I even have an old textbook from when I was going to major in it that I read when I want so I can still stay refreshed on the major injuries and diseases and their cures. I also get some experience with Vet Med since with horses, the owner kinda has to do most of the healing unless it’s something specific like acupuncture, so I take care of all of Moose’s injuries and illnesses in the same way a vet would. If we are talking unrealistic, my dream job would be to train horses in Europe, writing short stories and novels as I travel around the world to train and compete. While I could never support myself with a job like this, horseback riding will always be in my life and I am hoping that my novel will be successful enough to allow me to be an author on the side of my Forensic Psych job!

Thanks again for tagging me, and thank you for reading through my word vomit about my life! In turn, I’m going to tag @mysteriousmagicx for this. Have a nice day!

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jmeelee · 5 years ago

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Derek’s not sure what’s more alarming: that he never heard footsteps on the rickety, rusted-out fire escape, or that Stiles Stilinski is lurking in his bedroom in the middle of the night.

His eyes snap open, focusing with pinpoint precision on the intruder, who reaches long, slender fingers toward the vase of drooping daffodils on his nightstand.

“What are you doing?” Derek croaks as Stiles’ hand grazes a soft yellow petal.

He whips the wandering appendage back like he’s been burned, locking startled, bloodshot brown eyes on Derek’s prone form.

“I…” Stiles stops, glances around, eyes falling back to the small, wilting bouquet, the only spot of cheery color in the dark, sparse room. “Really, dude? Flowers? You realize a few blooms won’t cover up the fact that this loft is a shithole?”

Derek sits up, cotton sheet pooling around his waist. Stiles’ eyes rake down his bare chest, a phantom caress leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Did you break in just to insult my apartment?”

“Whoa, rude. Pot, meet kettle.” Stiles shrugs one shoulder. “Besides, your window was wide open. You’re lucky it was only me.”

Derek scrubs a hand down his face. He may not know Stiles well, but he can tell when he’s stalling. “Stiles, what do you want?”

Stiles continues as if Derek never spoke. “I never pictured you as a flower guy. Did a girlfriend give you these? My mom loved daffodils. There used to be a flower sale when I was in elementary school, right around Mother’s Day, and my dad would give me money to buy her a few. I always used the spare change to buy an extra ice cream at lunch. Hate to break it to you man, but fresh air isn’t going to do these suckers any good. They’re past their prime.”

He flicks a cup-shaped corona, spraying a fine sheen of pollen into the balmy night air, and Derek lets loose a low, menacing growl. Stiles’ outstretched hand trembles slightly with his quickening heartbeat, but one deep breath pulls a blanket of composure over his fear. He turns toward the window, shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t… I… Screw this. I’m leaving.”

A hand snaps out, encircling Stiles’ wrist before he can take a step. “What’s wrong?”

The question Derek should ask is what isn’t wrong. In the past few months they’ve faced off against a darach and a nogitsune. And before that, it was a kanima and a homicidal rouge alpha. They’ve all stared hell in the face, but Derek wagers none more so than Stiles. Weakened after his split from the fox demon, Stiles is a shadow of his former frantic self. Dark circles stain the translucent skin under his eyes, and his already-skinny frame is emaciated.

Stiles’ gaze sticks fast to the vase, steady beat of his heart thumping against the pad of Derek’s thumb. “I can’t sleep. I haven’t been sleeping since…” He looks toward Derek, blinking fast. “Everytime I close my eyes, I see Allison’s face.”

Derek speaks many languages, but they all fail him in the face of Stiles’ pain. So he waits for Stiles to inevitably fill the silence, poorly attempting to convey empathy via his eyebrows. His sisters, both living and dead, always told him the expression made him look constipated, but it’s all he knows.

“I can’t go to Scott with this,” Stiles continues, as Derek knew he would. “I don’t want to hurt him—hurt anyone—more than I already have. Lydia is grieving for Aiden, Danny misses Ethan and Jackson, and Malia is… complicated. My father is worried sick and the last thing I want to do is burden him with a crazy son. Again. I don’t…” He shudders on an inhale. “It was stupid to come here, but I have nowhere else to go.”

Silence stretches between them, woeful and taut. Derek wishes, for the hundredth time in a span of seconds, that he’d inherited his mother’s soft, soothing solace, or his father’s confident gestures of comfort. At the rogue thought of his dad, Derek waves toward the sagging daffodils.

“My father was a florist.” Yeah, Derek sucks at this.

Stiles scrunches his nose. “Uh. Okay?”

He marches on. In for a penny, in for a pound. “It’s how he and my mother met. He was a human florist. Ran a shop outside of town. Floriography was his passion, and she’d heard about him, sought him out when her pack needed help with medicinal herbs. They fell in love and she turned him.”

Stiles is soaking up Derek’s tale like a dehydrated man in the desert, so he charges on. “My father had this book my mother gave him called Le Langage des Fleurs.” The French slides off Derek’s tongue like silk. “We used to read it together, but it burned up in the fire.” The with everything and everyone else remains loudly unspoken. “Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings.”

He slips from the bed, sheet falling to the floor. Thank goodness he wore boxers to bed. Gently, he moves aside the yellow flowers to reveal violet and crimson sweet pea. “These mean thankfulness. It’s a bouquet I arranged after Cora returned. There’s a bunch on her nightstand, too.”

Stiles delicately fingers the petals again. “Why are you telling me this?”

Growing up, his father had filled every room in the house with flowers. On the bad nights, when vivid nightmares rip him from sleep, he swears he can still smell petals burning. “Because, despite everything that’s happened, they help me,” Derek explains. “Flowers make me feel closer to my family, let me express what I’m feeling.”

“I have noticed you’re really bad at that, dude.”

Derek glares. “The point is, you’ve got to find what helps you.” Derek realizes he’s still loosely holding Stiles’ wrist, and quickly drops his hand. Luckily, the awkwardness is broken by the sudden loud complaint of Stiles’ empty stomach.

Stiles laughs, and Derek’s heart breaks a little when he realizes it’s been months since he’s heard the sound. He wraps it around himself like a garland. “Food would help,” Stiles declares.

Derek bends down, grabs a pair of sweatpants off the floor. Stiles mummers something about underwear models under his breath, and Derek flips him off over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s raid the fridge. Cora just went grocery shopping.”

----------

“Derek. Care to explain why I found Stilinski in our pantry this morning, eating Nutella straight from the jar?” Cora crosses her arms over her chest, menacing despite her striped pajamas and bed head.

Derek scowls, bracing for a fight. “He’s struggling, Cora. He didn’t want to be alone, so I told him he could crash on the couch last night. I’ll buy you a new jar next time I’m at Costco.”

She hums, crossing her ankles on top of the coffee table, painted toes almost touching a vase of stargazer lilies. “This is going to be a thing, isn’t it?”

“No.” Derek nips the insinuation in the bud.

It totally becomes a thing.

———-

Derek stills when he enters his room and finds Stiles sitting cross-legged on his bed. He can feel his hackles instinctively rise at the invasion of his personal space, Stiles’ scent already seeping into the mattress. His gym bag thumps to the hardwood floor.

“What do these mean?” Stiles questions, pointing to the fresh purple and white flowers.

“Lavender has lots of meanings, but it’s a healing plant. People have used it for centuries; it calms you down and helps you sleep.” Derek points first to the purple florets on the long, skinny stem, then to the white flowers on the thick green stalks. “And Heather is for luck, protection and making wishes come true.”

“Heather,” Stiles whispers, small smile quickly overtaken by a frown carving deep lines around his generous mouth. He shakes his head like a wet dog, dislodging whatever morose memories have tried to take hold. “So, want to watch a movie or something?”

Derek whips off his white tank top and tosses it in the general direction of the hamper. Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Sure, but I’ve got to shower first. Here,” he chucks his cellphone into Stiles’ lap. “Order us some pizzas, I’m starving.” He heads for the door, speaking over his shoulder. “Get me ham and pineapple.”

“Gross dude!” Stiles yells at his retreating back.

———-

Week three brings horehound and azalea, and a trial run of Claudia Stilinski’s chocolate chip cookie recipe. Derek, Stiles and Cora eat twenty-four cookies between them.

Week four is gardenia, morning glory and blue salvia, and Cora’s thoughtful, “He’s better, more rested. He’s thriving. Don’t you think?”

———

“What was that book called? The one your dad read to you?” Stiles is contemplating camellia, eyebrows drawn.

“Le Langage des Fleurs. The Language of Flowers. He had a first edition from 1819, and handled it like he was holding a newborn.” Derek chuckles, remembering his father’s gentle hands, the memory crisp and sweet as an apple blossom in his mind. “He was ridiculous.”

Two weeks later Derek comes home to hydrangeas, the fading scent of Stiles, and a copy of Le Langage des Fleurs lying on his desk. He picks it up, runs a finger down the spine, and his father bursts into technicolor life before his eyes. It’s not a first edition, but to Derek, it’s priceless.

———

A war rages between Derek’s head and heart, as Stiles peacefully sleeps, belting out an occasional snore and drooling on Derek’s favorite pillow.

It’s your own damn bed. Get in.

You can’t. Not without his permission. Wake him up and tell him to get his ass to the couch.

It’s only sleeping. He won’t mind.

His father might be wondering where he is. Don’t worry the Sheriff or you’ll end up arrested. Again.

“Damnit,” Derek whispers, and crawls into bed, lying down next to Stiles on top of the blankets. As far as truces go, it’s pretty weak.

The movement, though careful, wakes Stiles, and he rolls toward Derek, blinking. “You’re warm,” Stiles mumbles. “Stay.”

Derek does.

_______

“I’m planning on visiting the cemetery Saturday morning,” Derek broaches. “I usually bring some flowers for the graves.” A pregnant pause. “I could gather some for you to take, if you want to come along.”

———

They stop first at Derek’s family plot, and Stiles helps him tend to the zinnias Derek planted around the graves when he first returned to Beacon Hills.

“Ready?” Derek squints in the bright morning light at Stiles’ shadowed face.

A sigh. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Allison’s tombstone is shiny and summer-warm, and Stiles tenderly lays a spray of willow, asphodel lily and wormwood at the base. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. Tears track down Stiles’ cheeks, but he doesn’t swipe them away, letting them evaporate in the sun, leaving behind a tang of salt Derek can taste in the air. “I’m so sorry.”

An entirely different Stiles walks back to the Camaro, a familiar one. The effortless, supernatural confidence of the nogitsune and the quiet, sad stillness of grieving are shed with each step, a much-needed abscission. Rosy cheeks replace a pallid parlor, and fidgety fingers dance along the tops of headstones they pass. The return to normalcy rattles loose a content noise from Derek’s chest.

“What is it, big guy?”

“You’re kind of like a flower, ya know,” Derek replies, before he can internally talk himself out of the confession.

The corners of Stiles’ mouth gradually rise. “If you mean I’m beautiful and smell fantastic, yes, I did know.”

Derek punches him lightly in the arm, and Stiles reels away with a dramatic flailing of limbs. “Some flowers come back year after year, after being buried under snow and ice, and they’re stronger than ever. Take a lotus, for example. It grows in the darkness and mud, but when it reaches the light…” Derek finishes his statement in reverent hush. “It becomes something exquisite.”

“So you’re saying I’m resilient?” Stiles playfully rubs the spot where Derek hit him, but his gaze is shy and tender. Derek refuses to cultivate the seeds that look plants inside his heart, desperately pruning the roots already wrapping around his ribs. “A rose grown in a concrete garden?”

“I’m saying you’re a weed and I can’t get rid of you.”

In slow motion, Stiles reaches out, twines their fingers together like creeping vines, and squeezes once. “I don’t think you want to get rid of me, Derek Hale.”

His mother raised him not to lie, so Derek keeps his mouth shut.

———

He’s roused by the creaking of his bedroom door and Stiles’ shuffling feet. They’d given him a key three weeks ago, when the midnight visits petered off and Stiles started knocking on the front door—in the daylight—like a normal person.

“What time is it?” Derek slurs, fumbling for his phone.

“Three a.m.,” Stiles whispers.

The return to nocturnal visits can’t mean anything good. Derek sits up. “Nightmares?”

Stiles stands at the foot of the bed, worrying the hem of his Lacrosse sweatshirt. “No,” he answers, voice husky. “I haven’t had a nightmare in weeks.”

“Okay. Good.” Stiles shuffles from foot to foot. “Is something… What do you need?” Honeysuckle, wisteria and coriander tickle Derek’s nose.

“You.”

Derek doesn’t hesitate, lifting up the sheets in invitation. “Come on in.”

“Yeah, no.” Stiles shakes his head, eyes bambi-wide. “See, I’m not looking for comfort tonight.”

Derek’s heartbeat trips over itself. He clears his throat, never lowering the blankets. “Well, you’re in luck. I’m shit at comfort anyway.”

“Liar liar, pants on fire,” Stiles whispers, and climbs into bed. Then, “Oh! Look at that. You’re not wearing any pants.”

———-

The doorbell rings at dinnertime, and Derek yells for Stiles to enter, but he remains planted on the hallway doormat, galloping heartbeat beckoning Derek like a siren song.

Derek slides the loft door along the track. “You can come in. You have a key for god’s s—”

The bouquet is bigger than Stiles’ head, bursting with red tulips and yarrow, jonquil and plumeria. Smack in the center is a monstrous sunflower.

“I read the book—well, an English version—before I gave it to you. I hope I didn’t screw this up.” He holds the flowers out to Derek.

Derek accepts them, cradling them to his chest. He plucks out a butter-yellow jonquil, gently offering it back to Stiles with his right hand.

To an outsider, Stiles’ rampant ramblings and Derek’s severe allergy to words would render them incompatible, but Stiles’ smile is so bright it could sustain an entire garden, and Derek knows they’re finally speaking the same language.

“I’m just as much of a mess as you are, Stiles,” Derek warns. “You need healthy soil to grow, and we’re both still healing. Maybe we’ll always be healing. Trees don’t bear fruit on demand.”

Stiles rubs at the back of his neck. “True. But, think about it. All we can do is create the best possible conditions, feed and water the right seeds. I trust nature to take care of the rest. But the parts we have control over? We’ll work on those together.”

Derek grins, and the future unfurls before them, full of potential. He steps back, and Stiles crosses the threshold.

“Together,” Derek agrees. Together.

#sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #sterekbingo2019 #sbflowers #sterekbingo

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jefferoni-quotes · 5 years ago

Text

Love, Thomas - Hamilton Oneshot

Ship: Jeffmads

Based off Love, Simon

High School AU (obviously)

- - -

Dearest, Grey

July 18th, 2019, 00:03 am

The emails we share never fail to make me smile. I don’t know what it is, but there’s an air of mystery around our conversations. I crave something, more, a deeper connection than Wifi. But, I can settle for now. I speculate a lot, probably to much. I wonder day and night about who you are. Do you attend the very same school as me? Perhaps we happen to share a class, but I just don’t know it...

Sorry, I’m rambling.

What I’m trying to say, Grey, is I think I want to know who you are. I’m intrigued by this other gay kid in my school. Or maybe you’re not even in the same state as me. I don’t know, you never specified. You’re a lot more closed in these emails than me. Maybe I share to much, I do tend to go off in tangents. But I have lots to speak about! With endless possibilities, why stop talking?

Anyways, I eagerly await your reply,

Yours, Magenta

- - -

Magenta,

July 19th, 2019, 6:55 am

I can see where you’re coming from, but I don’t feel particularly comfortable disclosing my identity just yet. Maybe in the foreseeable future, we will be able to meet for real. Who knows?

However, I can say, that I’m in the grand state of West Virginia. Which just so happens to be the exact state that you live in. You told me that information, I promise, I’m not internet stalking you. I just have a good memory. I shall not say more than that at this point in time.

I apologise, I keep going back to the same point. haha...

How was your day? Have you “”came out”” yet?

I hate the term coming out. I don’t think I should have to come out. I should be able to go home and say to my dad, “I got a date.” And he be fine with me going off with a guy. Not that i’ll ever get a date of course.

What’s your opinion on this?

- Grey x

- - -

For Grey,

July 19th, 2019, 7:41 am

Oooooh, and x at the end! I do feel special!

I’m glad you remembered I told you, because I forgot I did. I probably would’ve told you 10,000 times before I finally noticed I’ve told you before.

Coming out? Yeah, haven’t done that. My parents are super conservative and would most likely not be overjoyed to have their son come out as a “gay”. I don’t know if I eve will “come out.” I like your point, but society is heteronormative. Everyone just assumes who we are, and it’s not fair.

You know what we should do? We should come out together! Both of us, come out to our parents. Rip the bandaid off, ya know?

Sincerely, Magenta x

- - -

My Dear, Magenta,

July 19th, 2019, 4:06 pm

Maybe... how and when do you propose we do this?

- Grey x

- - -

Dearest, Grey-Senpai,

July 19th, 2019, 5:28 pm

Tomorrow, as soon as we get home. Walk in the door, turn around, shout up the stairs, “IM GAY AND NOW IVE CAME OUT IM GOING OUT!” Then go hang with some buds or whatever.

Yours, Magenta xx

- - -

Darling, Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 4:21 am

1, kindly never refer to me as “Grey-Senpai” ever again.

2, that’s a very... forward way of coming out... but I like it! It’s a deal!

3, today marks seven months of emails! Happy seven months haha :)

Forever, Grey x

- - -

To, Grey-pai

July 20th, 2019, 4:29 am

1, suggestion noted and changed.

2, today is an important day then... scared? Cause I sure am... I’m fucking terrified... I can feel my heart in my throat.

3, Happy seven months is a very “coupley” thing to say, don’t you think? But despite that! Happy 7 months!

4, why are you up at 4 am?

Sincerely, Magenta xx

- - -

For my dear, Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 5:09 am

1. That’s not really any better, but I shall deal with it.

2. It really is, I’ll keep you updated.

3. I’m sorry, I apologise if I made you feel uncomfortable. I’m very sorry, just don’t be mad ha ha...

4. You were up too, little hypocritical. But if you must know, I was doing Biology homework. My teacher is very strict and she expects homework to be done in a day. I had sport practice so I had to do it at 3 am.

Are you ready? You said you had conservative parents, do you think they’ll be mad? I know my father is rather accepting, but I don’t really know...

Much love, Grey-pai x

- - -

Grey-pai,

July 20th, 2019, 12:47 pm

I’m glad you’ve decided to accept the nicknames. Don’t try to fight it, as you really won’t win.

My parents are kinda shitty, but I don’t think they’ll be mad. Most likely shocked into silence, to which I will storm upstairs, lay face down on my bed until my sister comes upstairs and says my mom wants to talk to me. They’ll be unsure, but accepting.

You play sports? What ones? I play too, but I’m intrigued by what you do. Sorry that I’m prying.

Homework at 3 am has been proven bad for the mind. And if your biology teacher is like mine, I can relate. She’s, quite frankly, and excuse my French, a bitch.

Good luck today!

Yours, Magenta x

- - -

My dearest, Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 1:39 pm

At least your family will respect you! I’m 99.99% sure that you’ll be perfectly fine!

I’m on the athletics team, but I’m honestly terrible at it. It’s not prying. I’ve realised that I don’t share much about myself. I don’t know why I was hiding so much, I want it to feel like you know my personality. Maybe not my face. I don’t want our relationship to change drastically. Over time... I don’t know... I’m horrifyingly bad at making decisions.

What do you play? I’m curious how sporty “Magenta” is. I don’t believe I’ve ever mentioned how much I like that both our names just so happen to be our favourite colours. Well, I assume magenta is your favourite colour. I know grey is the colour I love.

I realise its a horrible idea to try and learn in the middle of the night, but I don’t have any other choice. I don’t want to ruin my perfect score by receiving a detention.

Good luck to you too, Magenta!

Love, Grey xx

- - -

Darling, Grey-pai,

July 20th, 2019, 4:34 pm

I’m currently standing outside my house, and typing this email to distract myself from the bile rising in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m terrified. I’m not so sure why. I know they’ll be fine with it. Perhaps it’s the terror of sharing such a long kept secret. I don’t really know.

Looking in through the window, they’re all watching TV. This feels too... normal. I’ve been taught by society that this should be a big thing! A huge announcement. But no. It’s too... boring. I don’t know.

I’m going inside. Wish me luck,

- Magenta xx

- - -

Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 4:41 pm

Good luck.

I’ve told my dad. He’s cool with it! And I’m so happy!

PS: What sports do you play?

Love, Grey xx

- - -

Dearest, Grey,

July 21st, 2019, 1:34 am

I needed it. My exact prediction came true. They were silent then my ma hugged me and pops patted my back. He said he was proud. They’re accepting!

Congrats to you too!

Love, Magenta x

- - -

Lovely, Magenta,

July 21st, 2019, 1:54 am

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU GO!!

I’m so happy they’ve accepted you!

Sports??

Much love, Grey xx

- - -

Darling, Grey-pai,

July 21st, 2019, 8:33 pm

I’m so happy too!

Love, Magenta xx

- - -

My Dearest, Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:33 am

I’m so proud of you! I’m so impressed that both our families accepted us. I really wasn’t expecting it from the South to be perfectly honest.

All my love, Grey x

- - -

Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:34 am

Also, would it be weird if I said I think I know who you are?

- Grey xx

- - -

Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:41 am

What?

Yours, Magenta x

- - -

Dearest, Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:47 am

You’re on the running team and the volleyball, right? You won gold in the last sports event for both. Friends with that John Adams guy?

Love, Grey x

- - -

For, Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:52 am

how.

what if you’re wrong? what if you’re right? then i’d want to know who you are. but you’re not wanting me to know. that’s not fair, grey. it’s not fair.

- Magenta

- - -

Dear, Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:58 am

I’m sorry. If I’m right, we can set up a time and place to meet. If I’m wrong, I apologise.

Lots of love, Grey xx

- - -

Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 1:01 am

When and where?

Love, Thomas x

- - -

Thomas slammed his laptop shut and pushed it down to the edge of his bed. He ran a hand through his matted, mop of curly hair and exhaled slowly. He thought about if he’d made a horrible decision, but tried to shake it off. The light from his screen peaked through the cracks. He slowly dragged it up to him, the covers crumpling as he did. He pulled the top open.

- - -

Dearest, Thomas/Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 1:12 am

Carnival, 9 pm. Tonight. See you there.

- Grey x

- - -

Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 1:14 am

See you there.

Love, Magenta xx

- - -

He wiped the sleep from his eyes and turned his computer off. He placed it on his bedside table and flicked the bed sheets up to his chin. Thomas laid down, letting his hair fall over his face. He sunk into it, treating it like an ocean of emotion that he could drown in. A place where, once he reached the sea bed, he could lie in peace, without worries or feelings. And eventually, he lulled off to sleep.

Thomas woke up before his alarm and shut it off. It was a Saturday, and he still had 15 hours until he met his long term... lover? Crush? Love? What were they? Hell, he didn’t even know Grey’s name. What if he was some crazy, 50 year old stalker? Then again, he was fast and could either run away or fight.

No matter. He had 15 hours. 15 hours.

Breakfast.

14 hours.

Sitting inside.

13 hours.

Going outside.

12 hours.

Running practise.

11 hours.

Still running.

10 hours.

Lunch.

9 hours.

Panic starts.

8 hours.

Panic intensifies.

7 hours.

Panic calms.

6 hours.

Internet.

5 hours.

And a phone call with John Adams.

4 hours.

Phone call ends.

3 hours.

Argument with Alexander through Twitter.

2 hours.

Quick toast dinner. And then start changing.

1 hour.

More panic.

0 hours.

And he made it. Thomas looked down at his phone discreetly, sticking his hands in his pockets. The browned up grass pressed beneath his feet as he stepped. Someone tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, Thomas! What’s up!” John Adams grinned and leaned on his shoulder.

“Nothing. Just... waiting for someone.” Thomas smiled at his feet.

“Ooooh! Is it that Grey guy you told us about?” John nudged him with a cheeky wink, wriggling his eyebrows like caterpillars.

Thomas shoved him playfully. “Shut up. But yes, you’re right...” He sighed lovingly. “I’m scared.”

“That’s normal, dude.” John assured him, looking over. “When’s he supposed to be here?”

Thomas looked down at his phone again. “Ten minutes ago.”

“Huh.” John clicked his tongue with uncertainty, stepping forward so three girls could scatter past him. “Well, he doesn’t know where you are, for a start. Just give it a bit. He’ll turn up.”

And so they waited.

And they waited.

And then they waited some more.

In fact, it was around 10 pm when Thomas ushered into the big wheel. He hesitantly took a seat, weary of the fact that they were simple wooden benches with a metal bar to clutch onto.

He looked over at the two people that made him do this. Shortly after John had arrived, Maria had too. And she knew something. “Why are you making me do this?”

“Trust me, babe!” Maria yelled, rubbing her hands together with excitement.

“I swear to god...” Thomas mumbled. He was at his wits end, and very close to just giving up and going home.

“Ticket for one, please.” A voice called out of the silence, and the sound of change clanging against the ticket booth echoed.

A weight slid in next to him, and Thomas looked over as the bar was secured. “Grey?” Thomas questioned softly.

“Hi, Magenta.” He smiled graciously, looking straight on as the wheel started turning.

Thomas looked down, then at the boy. “James, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, Thomas.” James smiled, gingerly letting his arms hang by his sides. Thomas’ gaze fell to them, and he reached out, taking James’ hand in his own.

“So, it’s really you?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, but it’s a good thing I always thought you were cute.” Thomas confessed as the ride got higher, eventually stopping at the top, letting them see the view. The moon was rising in the dark sky, which was glowing with street laps and stars. Fireflies buzzed below them and James turned to glance at Thomas.

“I’m glad.” He said happily.

Thomas shifted in his seat to face James properly. “Hey, can I...” Thomas moved a little closer, giving James a chance to say no, or pull away.

James’ face broke out into a grin. “You may.”

He closed the gap, and let his hand cup one of Thomas’ cheeks, the other curving around his waist. Jefferson moved his hands to the same comfortable position, keeping his eyes fluttered closed.

And after ten seconds or so, they pulled back, the distant whooping of Maria, John, Peggy and Aaron rising up to meet them. It became clear that James had dragged his friends along for emotional support too.

“So, how does a movie sound, Grey?” Thomas asked with a beaming grin.

“That sounds wonderful, Magenta.”

- - -

Whoops I got carried away.

Oneshot requests are open too, drabbles are short and dumb, Oneshot take longer. Please please please, when requesting, specify if you want a drabble or oneshot! Thank you and I hope y’all enjoyed!

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missinnocentscarlet-archived2 · 5 years ago

Text

ABOUT THE MUSE

tagged by: @slxrpindust tagging: @thecrxmxnal @cheapboooze @viciousswag (Dave) @wrathaven (Autumn) and anyone else who would like to!

FULL NAME: Scarlet Lynn Swan. NICKNAME: Synonyms for “red”, freak, vampire, monster, etc. GENDER: F (questioning). HEIGHT: 5′1. AGE: verse dependent, default ~20. ZODIAC: Capricorn. SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Verse dependent, but always knows English, Gaeilge, some French, Latin, and a tiny bit of Spanish.

𝐩𝐡��𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬! HAIR COLOR: White EYE COLOR: Translucent SKIN TONE: As pale as one can possibly be. Melanin? I don’t know her. BODY TYPE: Thin, malnourished with some muscle. VOICE: Deep, monotone, with a subtle but odd mix of accents. DOMINANT HAND: Right POSTURE: Unusually straight and proper. SCARS: Mostly across her back and arms, some on her legs. TATTOOS: None BIRTHMARKS: None MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S): Her frightfully pale skin, how her eyes can shift from a nearly pigmentless blue to violet to red depending on the lighting, her long wavy white hair that reaches past her waist.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝! PLACE OF BIRTH: Asheville, NC. HOMETOWN: None. SIBLINGS: None by blood, considers Tristan her brother. PARENTS: Evelyn and Benjamin Swan.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞! OCCUPATION: Freelance artist. CURRENT RESIDENCE: Verse dependent. CLOSE FRIENDS: Verse dependent. Default: oh my fuckin’ god; he fuckin’ dead. Rip Tristan. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single. FINANCIAL STATUS: She does not make enough money to afford rent, but can afford things such as a small rentable storage unit, a gym membership, thrifted or hand-made clothes, food, etc. DRIVER’S LICENSE: Yes. CRIMINAL RECORD: Nothing official or on paper because she has yet to be caught. VICES: Wrath. Alcohol.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞! SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE: she would prefer No Emotions | submissive | dominant | switch. PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE: he wouldn’t care | submissive | dominant | switch. LIBIDO: Surprisingly high. Underneath that aloof mask she is pretty much always DTF. TURN ONS: sharp teeth, biting, marking, choking, knives, bondage, wax play, ear play?, blood play, eroguro, body worship, monsters, TURN OFF’S: bodily waste, branding, dadddy/mommy kinks will cause a visceral reaction just Don’t. LOVE LANGUAGE: She adores just being able to spend time with her loved ones. Quietly existing in the same room, either doing their own thing or doing something together, she just likes being There. She lives and dies for affirmation too please please tell her that you love her and that you are proud of her she never hears it enough and it means the world to her to actually hear it. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES: Takes her a hot min. to get used to actually being in a relationship, as such she tends to be quite distant or flaky in the beginning because that is simply how she is used to behaving with anyone. She is not used to having people there who want her around, so she always leaves quite easily - sometimes even accidentally. Once that road bump is cleared, though, get ready because now you have this freak glued to you by the hip and she is so damn stubborn that she will stick by your side even if it isn’t good for her health. Once she actually allows herself to be with someone, it is extremely difficult for her to leave. She tends to be very motherly, the Mom Friend Tendencies(tm) that largely remain repressed come out in full swing as she aggressively ensures you have eaten and are sleeping enough, despite her running on 3 hours of sleep and a raw package of ramen noodles for lunch herself.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬! CHARACTER’S THEME SONG: Hungover in the City of Dust - Autoheart HOBBIES TO PASS TIME: Drawing, painting, people watching, is overthinking a hobby because oh Boy Does She, dissociation? Yes. Reading. MENTAL ILLNESSES: Schizotypal Personality Disorder, Paranoia, Anxiety, Depression. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED: A bit of both. PHOBIAS: Hospitals. Emotional Intimacy. Being abandoned. SELF CONFIDENCE LEVELS: The only kind of ego she has is the kind to stay alive, and even then it is to live for other people, not because she herself actually wants to be alive. She is only confident in her academic and artistic capabilities. VULNERABILITIES: Her phobias, the deaths of her loved ones, Daddy Issues (tm).

#[ 🌹 | opening up means trusting others { HEADCANONS } ]#[ V you tagged me in this Forever Ago but i only just saw this sdfvfedgvbgfedf ]#smut //#child abuse //

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mooleche · 5 years ago

Text

A Story of Ink and Venom - Chap. 5

A/N - Someone wicked this way comes! Some new revelations revealed and Nina is tasked with an important request after some distressing news! There are some french translations in here that I’m not quite sure how to post on here so if you’re curious to know what they say I can make a separate post to explain what they translate to! As always I hope you enjoy and if you’d like to be tossed onto the notifications list lemme know!

Tagged - @leo-writer @master-sass-blast

Chapter 5: Preparation

I dreamt of blood.

Of tendons snapping and muscle being torn in two.

Heard the inescapable screams of terror in a void of nightmares that had me tossing and turning all night.

Then I saw them again. Those milky white eyes that narrowed as they set their sights on me, soon replaced by a gaping maw full of jagged teeth that were ready to tear into my skin like it was paper.

Then I woke with a small, terrified gasp.

It was just a nightmare. This is what I had to tell myself as I stared at the ceiling and tried to calm my racing thoughts. My heart continued to pound and my clothes were damp with sweat from my troubled sleep. But the longer I laid there the more aware I became of my surroundings. A soft melody weaved in and out of my hearing and the hues of blue and pink of our hanging lights danced in my blurred vision. It was noticing this that I was finally able to release a sigh of relief as I was able to remind myself of two important things:

I was home. And I was safe.

Beside me, the bed creaked and I turned my head to find Ava sitting cross-legged by my curtained window, hand over her mouth in serious concentration as she stared at her laptop screen. I made the effort to sit up and felt my entire body seize up with pain.

“Ah, she awakens,” her husky morning voice announced beside me as a groan of pain escaped me. I struggled to make the minimal effort to turn to her, only to be met with her hand that held my glasses and a bottle that she rattled at me.

“Drink up, Princesa. You’re gonna need these for the day ahead,”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I murmured as I accepted and downed them graciously. They could have been horse tranquilizers and I wouldn’t have cared, the pain that my body felt as I sat up had me almost wishing I was still facing those nightmares. Just the brief thought of reliving them made my stomach churn though, and I quickly tried to ignore it and press through the pain instead.

I slumped over on Ava’s shoulder and sighed, a small chuckle escaping her as she carefully moved a piece of hair away from my face.

“Surprised you’re even awake right now, you outdrank all of us,” she teased as I held my head, now fully feeling the effects of my terribly thought out decisions last night. That was right, we had drunk last night to calm our nerves. Despite being desperate to escape the conversation we spent almost all night talking about it. Ava and Benni assured me the news hadn’t caught wind of my participation that they were aware of, only that there had been no bodies at the scene.

That alone left me both relieved and terrified for Spiderman and whatever remains were of Deadpool.

If there were any at all.

I shook my head sluggishly to rid myself of the thought before looking to Bambi and Benni who were haphazardly sprawled along Bam’s bed, still very much unconscious.

“Why are you awake?” I asked Ava groggily, taking every motion delicately as the room continued to spin.

She raised a brow at me and smirked.

“You think a little booze is going to cause me to break schedule? Pfft, I’m Latina, bebita. But also,” she added, pointing to the floor and frowning, “You really need to answer that thing. It’s been going off since 7.”

I went to ask her what she meant but then I heard it. The low rumble of my phone vibrating against the carpet. At that moment my hangover was completely disregarded and pain tossed aside as I slid to the ground and fished for it desperately. Ava watched me, perched from above, curiosity now wrinkling her brows as I found the source to the buzzing and curled into a ball to suppress the pain.

All I could muster was a soft ‘oh no’ when I saw what was on the lock screen.

Ava inched closer to me to try and sneak a peek as I continued to stare, not daring to unlock it to see what fresh hell was waiting for me inside. "What's going on?"

A soft 'oh' left her lips as I showed her. A handful of messages and mixed calls littered the screen, the fear you only felt when you missed 10 calls from your mother when you were a teen hitting my core as I swiped it open.

Only this fear was brought by missing the calls of my mother, father, AND Renato.

I swallowed hard and scanned the messages. All worried, all sent at various times during the night and this morning:

‘Honey, we just saw the news. Are you alright?’ ‘You’re not picking up. Did something happen?’ ‘We’re very worried. Pls respond!’ - Mom

*‘Mon chéri? Nous sommes inquiets pour vous’ ‘Appelez s'il vous plaît’ - Dad

‘Are you home? -R’ ‘Nina? -R’ ‘Look. I know you’re still recovering from last night but something has happened. Come to the lab ASAP. -R’ ‘Again, it’s URGENT. -R’ ‘Also, call your parents. -R’ - Renato

My gut twisted further with guilt as I read various texts from them all, but the last few from Renato worried me the most. It was sent almost half an hour ago and my imagination was going in every direction it could with what could have happened.

He rarely sent texts out to people, even when it was an emergency. What if something happened to him? What if that thing came back for it’s missing piece? What if it pulled an Alien and created a Chest Burster inside of him??

I had to go and see what was going on.

I uncurled myself from my position before releasing a groan of discomfort, moving from one awkward position to another as I attempted to summon the strength to get up. It didn't work. Lying half off the bed beside me Bambi began to stir.

“Nina? What’s going on?” she yawned, rubbing her eyes as she unshifted from her own awkward position to sit up and watch my staggered efforts. Benni gave a soft snore next to her but remained still. I was fully convinced that we could have dropped a bomb on the city and she’d have stayed asleep during it.

“I have to go to the Professor’s office. Something's wrong,” I winced, finally finding my footing and attempting to poorly stretch to try and subdue the pain. While it didn't do much to help with it, it did help me understand where the source was. I tenderly touched my side only to recoil back as the shock of pain it sent. It was almost exactly where I had landed after the creature had flung me, bringing a series of uncomfortable pictures to my head before I could shake them away.

“What?!” Both Ava and Bambi asked in unison at my announcement, watching me shuffle awkwardly to my wardrobe that had seen better days. Bambi was now wide awake at this point and stood to meet me, a heavy frown set on her once pouty lips.

“Please tell me you’re not going, especially after last night-”

“Last night is just as much my issue as it is Renato’s, Bam. Who knows, maybe he just found out something interesting about that gunk,” I tried to reassure both her and myself as I began to rummage through my clothes. We were assigned two wardrobe closets to a dorm at the beginning of the year and expected to fit all of our belongings inside. While Bambi had somehow made hers always look presentable. Mine was everything but, and I now struggled as I attempted to rip a cute yellow hoodie with ‘Good Vibes’ written in a cute font across the front out of its clutches for the day ahead.

I succeeded, only to fall back and have a mess of clothes topple onto me in the aftermath. Both Ava and Bambi shared a look of worry before Bambi knelt down to help me.

“I just...think it’s kind of bullshit he’s calling you in after everything. Especially with that,” she added as she pointed to my midriff, shirt now raised some to reveal a nasty looking bruise that had formed overnight. Underneath lurked a nastier looking scar from past events that I quickly hid and looked away, suddenly very aware of my flaws.

“Bambi, *déjalo!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” I managed quickly, not wanting to mention it any more than it already had been. Like a monkey's paw suddenly sensing my wish to change the subject we all turned to my phone that had begun to vibrate again. Ava, the closest to it, studied the notification before her hazel eyes grew wide. “What is it?” I asked hesitantly as she stood and quickly closed the distance between us, holding my phone at arm's length like it was a bomb.

When I saw who was calling it might as well have been.

It was my father.

“Oh no, no. Can't you just like...I don’t know, tell him I’m sleeping??” I asked desperately, a snort erupting from her as she held it closer, holding me captive against the wall now.

“You really think I’m gonna pull off lying to your dad? Get real,” she hissed back while swiping over the green telephone emote to accept the call. I pursed my lips angrily in response, knowing she had me at a stalemate before I accepted the phone in defeat. "Ante up, bebita, you're on." she mouthed quietly as she and Bambi stood nearby quietly to listen. Even Benni's once peaceful snores were gone from the room as I prepared to completely BS my way through this conversation.

“Bonjour Papa!” I chimed into the receiver, knowing full well the I had just stepped into the lion’s den and had to be very careful about what was said. My father was as smart as he was strong, and the man had won a plethora of heavyweight titles before he retired. I had to be smart about where the conversation would go.

“Nina,” he started, dad tone already in full swing behind his heavy french accent. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you all morning, *est-ce que tu vas bien? We saw the news and-”

“Oh right, the news.” I interrupted, clicking my tongue with thought as Bambi and Ava watched with wide eyes. I ignored them as I continued to search for the rest of my outfit in the mess I had created. “Wild stuff, right?”

“You didn’t get involved, did you?” he asked point-blank, my insides squirming as I pretended to scoff at his words.

“Me? Get involved? C’mon dad, *Avoir une certaine foi!” I grunted while struggling into a pair of leggings. He grunted back in response.

“I just worry, mon petite. Because reports say that a small mystery hero came in at the last second,”

“You don’t say,” I asked softly, hoodie stopped half over my body at these words. I wanted to curse. Sure, the news hadn't been able to record anything of my failed attempt at heroism, but I hadn't even thought about bystanders that might have seen.

“Oui, and she seemed to be wielding a hammer. A big black hammer that fell apart right after using it,” he pressed, my nerves getting the best of me as I scrambled to find proper words to say. “You sure you weren’t there?”

“Of course not." I started, tugging at my hair nervously as I began to feel myself ramble. "I-I was studying with the girls during the lock-in! Do you know how many superheroes are in New York? In Brooklynn for that matter? Do you really think I’d be dumb enough to take on that thing? Hah! Hah! You’re so funny, papa. Oh? What’s that? My phone is dying and I need to leave? What a very strange coincidence!” I laughed a little too loud into the phone, walking nervous circles in the room as Ava and Bambi watched with embarrassed stares.

“Nina-”

“I really gotta go, I did nothing wrong, ever!” I answered hastily before hanging up, pulling my hood over my face to hide from the heavy looks the girls were giving me. “Please, no commentary.”

“Smooth,” Ava whispered dryly as I shrugged and tossed my hands up in the air, immediately racked with another bout of pain. I struggled to shrug it off, instead focusing my attention on gathering my belongings to leave for the day. As I went to grab my bag I stopped, sheets of my old weapon schematics poking through that brought me back to the day before. I shook my head of the invasive thoughts wanting to pry through and removed them, knowing I had no business trying to use any of them anymore.

Behind me, Bambi took a seat on my bed and tugged at her sleeves nervously.

“You’re really not going to tell them?” she asked softly. The question made me stop abruptly and turn to her, disbelief in my eyes.

“Do you want to explain to them how they almost lost their only child while she was out playing hero?” I shot back quickly. I knew she meant well, and I knew that this would most likely end up biting me in the ass at a later time. But I also had to keep this a secret from them until it was all figured out, there'd be no point otherwise.

Especially if it meant putting them in danger.

“That’s...fair,” she agreed quietly after a moment of silence, Ava joining her side on my bed as they watched me scramble to shove my clothes back in my wardrobe. “Do...you want some company with Renato?” she offered, but I could see the fear in her eyes of having to face that moment again. Of having to go back to the labs and seeing what could possibly be another nightmare waiting. She had suffered just as much as I did and I didn't want to force her through it again if she wasn't ready.

Instead, I shook my head and feigned a smile.

“It’s fine, I’m going to Renato’s and then straight to Drawing 2 after. I’ll pick up your SD card for you while I’m there though, yeah?”

She looked relieved at this and nodded. “You’re a lifesaver, Neeners.”

“I know it,” I teased before grabbing my helmet and sauntering out of the door. Before I could leave fully my phone went off. Inside a simple text from Benni read ‘Be careful!’, but when I looked to the bed she was still as motionless as ever and dead to the world.

How did she do that?

“Aye, keep us posted!” Ava shouted through the door as I left, a soft sigh of relief escaping my lips as I headed outside. Truth be told it was a bit of a relief to be away from them. All the worried looks, the fear we had all felt hanging like a miasma in the room. I needed to get away from it all, to escape briefly so I could think.

Outside storm clouds loomed above, threatening to release hell down on the city at any moment. I hurried to Queen and took off before I was the unlucky duckling to have to experience it and, to my surprise, the street that had once looked like a warzone the night before was now pristine. Even the dark stain I had been haunted by on the way home was nothing more than normal black asphalt now. As much as people complained about where our tax dollars were going I had to give it to the city restoration committee for always being on point. They made it look like nothing had ever happened and, for a brief moment, I believed that.

Before I could enjoy the momentary peace of mind I was given I was already at work. My hands gripped my key card tight as I hurried to the door, trying to brace myself for whatever might be waiting for me inside. Instead, the door opened as I went to swipe and Barry stared at me, eyes wide with surprise as he saw my face.

“Miss Knight? What in the world are you doing here?”

“I wish I knew. The professor called me in,” I explained shortly before scooting past him to sail down the stairs. I stopped abruptly at the last step, hearing the harsh tone of Renato’s ring through the air. I had never heard him so angry, not even when I once accidentally almost broke Levi's aquarium by playing with one of my ink balls in the lab.

Another voice, a strangely familiar voice this time, now spoke in a deep yet desperate tone.

“Darwin please, we may have had our differences before but this...this could very well save lives!”

“I’m not going to tell you again. This is a dangerous subject and it has no place in the medical field. Leave the premises or I will be calling the police. And don’t you ever, ever use that name again.” he growled. My surprise and curiosity were through the roof at this point. Who could strike so much anger in such a simple man that would lead him to talk like this?

I had to know.

“Knock, knock.” I chimed softly through the sliding doors, as if I hadn't just been eavesdropping just moments earlier. My eyes immediately fell on the stranger causing the ruckus and I couldn’t help but manage a small gasp at who I saw. It was the janitor from last night, the man that had sent chills down my spine with just a simple question. “A-am I interrupting something?” I stammered, trying to keep my composure as his gaunt appearance glared at me before looking back to Renato.

“I was just leaving. I hope you sleep well at night knowing you work for a monster,”

“Well, I’m in college, so your first mistake was thinking I sleep at all,” I responded a little too sarcastically, a small grim chuckle leaving the man’s throat as he knocked shoulders with me on his way out. His demeanor had changed completely from the man I had seen just moments ago, once slumped shoulders now broad, all frailty from him diminished as he turned to face Renato once more with a dark stare.

“It was nice seeing you again after all these years, Professor. Remember, I did try to play nice,” he called before exiting the lab, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. I blinked in surprise, unsure if I had just been tricked into seeing two different people or if that man was just that good at changing his personality.

I turned to Renato who's brows were furrowed and was staring angrily at nothing in particular before I attempted to break the ice.

“So, who’s your friend?” I asked carefully, watching his eyes flicker up to me and narrow at the assumption.

“Never friends. We were hardly even colleagues,” he muttered as he began pacing, running his hands through his once neatly ponytailed dreads. They now fell over his face and shoulders as he stood hunched over his desk, fuming. “I knew something was off about that man, why didn’t I see it sooner?” he whispered to himself, fully immersed in the conversation in his head.

“Uh, what?”

“How could I have so foolish? Of course, I was being watched...how could I have known he would go to this level though? Stupid..."

"Renato?"

"If he gets his hands on this...dammit!” he hissed before slamming his fist on the desk angrily. I flinched at the action before snapping my fingers at him.

“Hey! Earth to Renato, bring it back down to Earth!” I called, watching him snap from whatever stupor he had previously been in. Looking up close at him now he looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept at all. Under his lab coat, I saw now that he was wearing the same clothes he had worn when I left last night and it finally clicked. “Did you stay here all night?”

“I...well, yes,” he admitted sheepishly before he took to rubbing his chin, looking at nothing in particular like he was deep in thought. We stood in silence for a few moments before I touched his shoulder, confusion rapidly growing in my head that I was desperate to get explained.

“Hey, are you going to explain what’s going on or…?”

He seemed to slip back into the moment and sighed, pulling off his glasses to clean them anxiously. “Right. Sorry. I was hoping to give you a day to rest but...something happened.”

“So you said in the text. What is it?” I asked suspiciously, fear creeping into my voice before I could stop it. He took a large sigh before pressing his palms together and directing them at me with somber eyes.

“You have to promise that you’ll let me explain before you get upset,” he started, looking down at me with a gaze that turned serious within a few seconds. My stomach gave a quick twist of fear at this. It was suddenly very apparent that whatever that substance he had was no longer within sight, which made my thoughts run wild with worry.

“What did you do, Renato?” I asked gravely, watching him hesitate before starting towards the fish tank. My gaze hardened as I noticed it was now covered with a dark sheet, a sheet that he now removed to reveal a lazily wandering Leviathan in the water. I released a sigh of relief, a piece of me fearing the worst for the little crustacean.

That was before it turned its sights on me at least.

It was like I had been tossed into a sci-fi horror flick. Its skin went from its usual beautiful maroon to a horrific pitch black, it’s size growing into something grotesque before he began to slam against the glass. Renato steadied the tank before tossing the sheet over it once more and it's furious attempts to leave grew silent. I stood in terrified silence trying to process what I just saw, hands quivering at my sides as Renato turned back to me and managed a weak unsure shrug.

“What, pray tell, the everloving fuck was that?” I finally managed to whisper as he started back towards me, hands shoved deep in his lab pockets as he seemed to ponder what to say to me. I took a step back from him, my gut suddenly unsure of how I felt about being around him. His gaze looked hurt at this but he kept his distance as if nervous I would run if he got too close.

“I suppose I deserve that…” he whispered before I scoffed, tossing my arms up in the air with a sarcastic laugh.

“You suppose? That guy was right, you're a damn monster!"

“Nina please, your language-”

“Do not start with me over that,” I snapped, folding my arms, ready to hear what excuse he had ready for what I had just seen. "Explain. What the fuck happened when I left?”

He sighed and nodded softly, giving up on arguing.

“Right. So, you left, and I had been engrossed in researching this creature. It’s quite a find, Nina, it’s DNA is incredible. So incredible in fact that I found it had regenerating cells and I…” he trailed, taking his glasses to fiddle with them as he spoke. “I saw a window for experimentation and I took it.”

“On Levi? But why? You know what that thing can do!” I protested, his features dark with thought.

“I know, trust me, I know. I thought...maybe a smaller dose wouldn’t have the effects of its original host, that maybe it could reverse his health,” he admitted, a look of weariness taking over him. “It did do that but it also turned him into what you just witnessed.”

“And how does your friend tie into this?” I asked grimly, nodding towards the door. He scowled at my use of friend but sighed wearily.

“As I said, he’s an old colleague...from a different time. Back...when I worked for the government,” he explained quietly.

I blinked in shock.

“You did what for the who now?”

“I was a scientist for a special research program briefly after college with the close colleague of mine I've mentioned, along with the man you saw earlier. He went by Oliver Phobus, though I’m not sure if he still goes by that name…” he trailed as if thinking hard into the past.

I couldn't believe he wasn't sharing this information with me. I could barely get him to reveal what his favorite juice was on store runs half the time much less a look into his past like this. I decided to press my luck and prod further.

"Why is that?"

“Oliver was, well, is a desperate man. His forte used to be finding cures to uncommon diseases, often taking devious measures to get to his answers if it meant a breakthrough.”

“Such as?” I pressed, curiosity growing by the second. He pursed his lips before continuing, a look of discomfort falling over him as if not wanting to answer.

“He did many experiments on...people...terrible things,” he whispered, my mouth growing dry at his words. His eyes grew dark at the mention of it, like he was reliving the experience as he spoke. “As soon as we found out we made sure he was removed from the program, but soon after he and his family left without a trace on where to find him. And then today…” he sighed, fist resting on his chin as he recounted what happened. “Today I was trying to take a sample from Levi and he came in and saw. He saw what Leviathan had become and I know he’s going to come back for him.”

“You think he’s going to come back? You told him you were going to call the cops!” I reasoned, a grim chuckle erupting from him as he stood once more and started organizing things from his desk.

“You underestimate the level of desperation he’s at,” he answered shortly before hunching over his laptop, body stiff as he began to clack away at the keyboard. I shifted nervously, still trying to process all the new information given to me. Renato called him a desperate man but didn’t he just commit his own messed up experiment in the name of science? But also to hear he experimented on people, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. That strange smile he presented to me the night before now seemed all the more devious and caused a shiver to run down my spine at the thought of it. Renato at least seemed ashamed of what he did.

Phobus just seemed like a mad man on a mission.

“So...what will you do now?” I asked softly, my gaze traveling back to the tank that stood silent now despite the uproar that had just happened. Just remembering the glimpse of black tendrils slithering out and the sheer anger it seemed to have when it saw me...it made me not even want to be in the room.

Renato sighed as he turned back to me and folded his arms.

“This is where it gets tricky,” he began, frown settled deeply on his lips at what he was about to say. “My work, Levi specifically, can’t stay here any longer. I’ll be alerting the proper authorities of what’s transpired but I need to get him somewhere safe before I do so. Can't exactly have them seeing what he's become without it turning into a worse situation than it already is,"

“Fair enough,”

“What I need from you is just to stay here and keep guard while I travel home to get the proper equipment to take him to my colleague's residency. There we can do some proper testing, maybe see if we can reverse this-”

“You want me to do what?” I asked incredulously. Above us, a warning of thunder rolled past, a feeling of unease taking hold of my gut at his request. Here he was, dropping a complete bombshell on me and expected me to just roll with it like it was no big deal? I shook my head and held my hands up in disagreement. “Professor…”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t desperate, Nina. You're one of the only people I trust with this,” he admitted, placing a hand on my shoulder with a look of sheer exhaustion. “I know you’re unhappy with me right now. I know I made a bad decision, but I can’t let him have this. He’s a dangerous man and I don’t know what he’ll do with the information or what could happen if-,”

“If he gets ahold of this, right,” I sighed, not wanting him to finish the terrifying thought that Levi could very well transform into some terrible if given the chance. Or even something worse happening if someone was able to manipulate that DNA. Inside every fiber of my being protested this request, but deep down I also knew all too well that sometimes you had to make the hard decisions that you really didn’t want to. I just wished it wasn’t me in this scenario, especially after the first time had already gone so wrong.

Renato was desperate by his standards though, and he had stuck his neck out for me so many times in the past year that I lost count. It was only fair I repay him for it.

I just hoped it wouldn't bite me in the ass later.

“Alright, I will watch Levi until you can make it back. I have a class soon but I can skip if you need me to-”

“Not necessary. I’m already in enough hot water, I don’t need your parents blaming me for you missing class,” he joked softly before his demeanor changed. “You did talk to them last night, didn't you?”

“Define talk and last night,” I smiled sheepishly before laughing nervously at his sour appearance. “Relax, we spoke briefly this morning. They know nothing so I’d like to keep it that way,” I admitted before glancing at the clock and frowning. “Shoot. I’ve gotta head out but I’ll be back at around 6, is that too late?”

“6 is perfect. I’ll have everything ready for when you return so we can make this quick,” he added before pausing and looking at me with a soft frown. “Are you sure you’re up for this? You can say no, especially after everything that’s happened last night.”

“I’ve already made my decision, haven’t I? What’s the worst that can happen anyway? It’s just some science nerd that probably won’t even show up tonight, right?” I joked, trying to hide my own fear by making light of the situation. Renato gave me a weary smile before heading to his desk to get to work, brows creased with uncertainty at my words.

“I suppose you’re right, I'm probably just being careful about this. Just...be ready, we’ll discuss more when you return,” he concluded, setting us on our separate ways until the big night ahead.

Despite him trying to be reassuring about it a part of me knew that it wasn't going to be that easy.

Things were never that easy.

#long post #oc shit #marvelsona #venomsona #oc x colossus #slow burn #y'all grammarly decided not to work halfway through so #forgive ya boi

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veridium · 6 years ago

Text

heartbreak warfare

WELCOME TO MORE QUEER PAIN

Hope ya’ll are ready for some shit. Because I brought the shit. Heaping dose, because I have had a wonderful day and feel all mushy. Enjoy!

part one // last episode

-- The man was a no-good blond bastard with too much wool in his wardrobe and clumsy taste in flowers. White carnations represent pure love, and he had the audacity to come around with a fist of them. He should have crawled up the stairs on his knees if he wanted to present pure love. Yelling at him made Olivia feel close to the goddess Medusa in levels of vindicated fury, though she was inconvenienced by the lack of hair snakes.

Despite her almighty and supernatural ire, Ellinor granting him entry is something she disagrees with but ultimately respects: her best friend is tired, and deserves to feel loved, and maybe the one silver lining is that there isn’t much else Cullen Rutherfudger can mess up more. Maybe if they get it together she won’t have to peel her up off the floor next weekend. Damn, had their standards for a good Saturday crashed down below sea level.

But, she will be keeping a close eye on him. A very close, and scathing, eye. To be fair, the man shows up and tows the line when he has fucked up; which is more than she can say for who she once thought of as a potential suitor as Sunday passes with no word. Potential suitor. Ugh, that kind of working only happens when you’ve paid attention to someone who’s a rhetorical romantic. Too much attention.

Monday comes, and is mundane. She keeps a low profile, and attends classes with little fuss; her Professor asks how she is doing because of her silence in class discussion, and she gives an excuse about getting over a head cold. Yeah, right. Besides lecture and a short shift at the gym, she goes back home to continue being reclusive. She does not cross paths with Ellinor much, though she fields the almost hourly texts asking her how she is, where she is, and if she needs anything. Ellinor is doing that innocent thing all friends do when they find themselves luckier in personal exploits than their loved ones: sympathy that is all-too-easily swallowed as pity when you’ve been kicked down one-too-many times.

Tuesday also comes and goes. Classes and a midterm exam, one she completes with confidence; cold war history is interesting enough. It helped that she had someone, for a brief time, to rant about it and dissect things. During the free response portion she uses a word Cassandra did during one of their debates: “pejorative.” How the hell she knew that word was whatever.

Then, Wednesday. Even though it’s only been a few days, when she wakes up to Ellinor’s voice it feels like it’s been a century since the last time she’s heard it.

“Liv, release the hostage oreos.” Oh, great. Long time no see, and she’s come into her room just to attack her for her life choices.

Olivia growls and hides away, bastard red velvet oreos in her clutches. “Bite me.”

“Liv. Come on,” Ellinor’s standing by her bed, hands on her hips like a fed up soccer mom trying to get her kid up for school. “You haven’t been responding to my texts and you don’t answer the door. I worried you ate yourself into a coma. I keep hearing the Scientist on repeat through your door. I think I can play the piano part off of just memory alone.”

“Good, maybe Cullen would enjoy another concert.”

“Olivia!”

She gives in and rolls over, tossing the oreos to her without looking. “Fine! Have at ‘em.” Ellinor misses and they fall onto the floor with a sharp, plastic crack. The worst part though is the thought that comes immediately after they crash: Cassandra would have caught it.

She groans again and tosses her comforter over her head. “What time is it? My alarm hasn’t gone off.”

“I caught it as it went off, bitch,” Ellinor grumbles. The sound of her picking up the oreos and tossing them to the table. She cares. I shouldn’t be so mean. She cares.

“Oh. Hm.”

“Seriously, are you alright? You haven’t dropped off the radar with me since that time you shaved half your eyebrows off at the Homecoming after party, remember?”

Oh, Jesus. How could she forget. “Mm. I’m fine. I’ve just been swamped with homework.”

“You? Olivia Sinclair, swamped by homework?” Ellinor’s voice veers farther away, towards the door. “Shit, the rapture must be upon us.”

“Give me a break, please. What are you doing up so early anyway? You don’t have class until…” that was a silly question. There could only be one reason she would be up and about like this. A week ago, it would have been the promise of coffee by Olivia. Now, it’s the promise of someone else’s coffee. Blond roast. Bleh.

“...Uh,” Ellinor chuckles nervously, “Nothing. I’m just hanging out. If you’d rather be left alone, I can go back to--”

“Don’t lay an egg, Ellinor.” Olivia gripes, stretching her toes. “You can say you’re up for him. I’m not a widow. Have fun, whatever it is you heteros do at the crack of dawn besides milking cows and...I don’t know, watching TLC or something.”

Silence. Ellinor sighs, and opens the door. “Okay, Olivia.” Dammit, she feels bad. Ellinor shouldn’t be feeling bad. She deserves to be happy, and she deserves a best friend who would support her being happy. Olivia flips over to lay face down and continue loathing herself. Every bone in her body wants to snarl and hide from everything good and cheery. Soon, Cassandra won’t be the only one steering clear of her, if she keeps this up.

Just outside her shut door, she hears a deeper voice. A deeper, calmer voice. Then Ellinor’s more opinionated tone. She says something bossy -- sounding like ‘I’m gonna kill your roommate for this, I hope you know.’ A sigh immediately responds. Typical. Cullen better have prepared himself to be with a woman who didn’t pull any punches, who could fight her own fights...and sometimes, fights that belong to her friends who have grown too tired of it all.

All she can do is wonder what it’ll take to feel okay again. It is one thing to say you’re hard to love, and make people miserable. It’s another to have someone confirm it so unapologetically.

Wednesday is as repetitive in the first half as Monday was: the same lectures, and then eventually a couple hours in the TA office waiting for nothing and no one to show up for assistance while she grades Blackboard responses to the week’s study question.

She’s in the thick of it when an email notification pops up on her laptop. Her women’s history 305 Professor, saying they’re switching texts for next week’s discussions. They’re going to study Heloise, a 11th century French nun and scholar. Great, fantastic, except none of their texts are about her. The Professor kindly asks they search for the suggested reading online or in the library. Olivia would be completely okay with digging up the text online if her laptop hadn’t just been salvaged from a virus stemming for the last time she did so.

Besides, the library was a reliable source. Why not do something she’s good at, and dig?

With a half hour left in her office hours she takes the liberty to stroll down to the main campus library. The book in particular is old so it should be in the stocks. When she goes to a computer and checks the catalog, she finds one copy is still available; her class’s rush to obtain it free hasn’t nosed her out completely just yet.

The Dewey decimal number takes her to a shelf on the fourth floor, but after 20 minutes of searching she uncovers nothing. No book, no Heloise. Defeated, she stands alone in the aisle and looks around one last time. It should be here, there’s no reason it shouldn’t. It said so in the database.

Climbing down to the main floor, she takes the issue up with the work study student manning the checkout desk.

“I’m sorry,” she says after looking it up on her own computer, “it’s been incorrectly logged. It happens.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“We have a couple satellite locations in town where our reserves are loaned long-term; sometimes their books are kept under our organized log when it’s with them.”

“So...so it is here. In town, right?”

“Oh, yeah, it should be. It’s just at one of our outsourced places.”

She asks if she can check them out still, and to her relief, the answer is yes. The kind woman writes down the address and name of the place for her, so that she can find it for herself once and for all. Handing it to her with a nice-enough smile, she sees her off.

Olivia makes it through the metal detectors before checking the piece of paper with pencil writing.

‘203 Northeast Lillian Way.’ Why is that so familiar? Shit. No, no, no, no. She rips her phone out and starts scrolling feverishly with her thumb through the old and taboo messages between her and she-who-still-shall-not-be-named. Lo and behold, it’s the worst possible outcome: the Church library. Of course, they would demand premium on books about a French Nun. How poetic.

She stands outside the library for a few minutes and deliberates her choices. With any luck, Cassandra is elsewhere -- it’s mid-afternoon, she probably has practice, or volunteer hours, or class. She tries, but she can’t remember for sure what her Tues/Thurs routine is. It’s been that long, or it’s been that hard to have her in her life. Regardless, she needs the book, and if she can get a hold of it she can make a photocopy and give it back with no harm done. It takes her a while, but she convinces herself to make a break for it: pulling out her keys from her bag and heading straight for the blue parking lot where her trusty car is awaiting.

All the same, she can’t help but curse her luck.

The drive to the Church would make her emotional if she had any emotions left to give. Days of alternating between crying, eating junk food, denial, and good ol’-fashioned anger have jaded her. At this point, she would dare the fates that be to make her days. The point between her pulling into the parking lot, turning her car off, and walking inside is all a surreal blur. Once she would have rather walked on a chain-link fence edge barefoot than set foot in a House of God, and now it’s twice in one month’s time.

Walking down the center aisle of the hall isn’t the same without Cassandra there to burst open a door on the other side. The stained glass isn’t as colorful, and the bread bowls aren’t as interesting. Still, thankfully, she finds herself left alone like before: no one to pretend they care about her soul, or ask if she’s been saved. The whole place feels like a ghost town, actually -- an odd thing for 4:30 in the afternoon on a weekday. But who is she to judge? The Pope?

A right, then a left, then up stairs. She logs it all in her head. There’s so much more room in the hallway with just her. Too much room. Eventually, she finds the double-doors. One cocked open, with a wooden stopper wedged underneath it. She hesitates to show herself: she’s not as modest as she was when she first came around, black high-waisted shorts with tights on under, with a black short-sleeve v-neck tucked in. Heels, because, of course -- and they clank on the wood floor.

But she does go in. Brave enough, finally, after a couple breaths: and she’s vindicated for doing so. No one’s in. No school kids hiding out, no Missionary interns studying away. No Cassandra, either, skulking or pacing with a book in her hands contemplating the secrets of the universe. Fabulous, she can pull out the paper in her pocket with the decimal system number, find the damn book, and be out like a thief in the night. The mischievous fates have been thwarted, so it seems. If she ignores the sinking feeling in her stomach and feet, being back where Cassandra first surprised, she can be on with her day.

Coming towards the standalone shelves rowed together, she studies the note she made for herself. The first shelf is way too early in the alphabet, so she comes around to the middle and peeks down the first section. Nothing and no one, and still in the C’s-E’s. She needs J.

Then, the sound of paper rubbing against itself. Like a page being turned. She freezes, takes a breath, and approaches the corner of the second aisle.

God, please, no, anyone but--but it’s her.

Her shoes are hitting the ground too hard for her presence to be a secret, and she knows well enough. She stops, and a heel grades against the wood grain. Cassandra -- dressed in black leggings and a sweatshirt, over-sized, and the most casual she’s ever seen her styled -- is sitting cross-legged on the floor. Up against the stacks, with several books piled around her. One open in her hands, kept in her lap. At the noise of Olivia’s footfalls she looks up. Not expecting her, clearly, her eyes go wide and she jerks up to her feet in the blink of an eye. Agile enough to do so without stumbling all over herself, but not confident enough to stand all tall and proud. Not like she did in the gallery.

Olivia steps back, and she can feel her face sour. She crinkles the paper in her hand, and it bends beneath a fist. She doesn’t respond, only glares with steeled hopelessness.

Cassandra closes the book in her hands. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I came for a book.” Iced, and disdainful.

Her face strains a bit, and she adjusts. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she rolls her bottom lip and holds her ground. “That is all.” It’s crushing her slowly, the priorities: yell at her, say sorry again, cry, beg. Too many needs and too many wants. She takes a page out of Cassandra’s metaphorical book and holds it all in under a guise of self-sufficient introversion.

“I...okay. D-do you need--”

“No. I know how to work a library.”

“...Alright.” She accepts it, and nods. Olivia sucks on her teeth. They both try to get on with whatever it is they were up to before they were aware of each other’s presence: Cassandra, sitting back down on the ground, and Olivia investigating the far end of the shelf. She tracks down the J’s, but there’s no book in sight. Again. First, twice, and thrice she checks the row where it should be. A couple minutes have passed, and she’s left standing there with no reward to her risk.

She lets out a sigh through puckered lips.

“What are you looking for?” Cassandra’s voice, clear and calm.

She keeps her eyes on the shelf, clinging to the paper. “I don’t need your help.”

“Um…” she treads lightly, very lightly, “some of the shelves are disorganized, because of the students.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. She’ll never find this damn book, she’ll never do her homework, she’ll just drop out and call it good.

“I’m…” she starts, but stops when Cassandra suddenly shows up next to her, having risen to her feet without so much as a sound. She takes hold of the paper that is in a death grip in Olivia’s hands, one which she releases against her better judgement.

She raises a brow. “Hm.”

“It’s--it’s a book with copies of letters from--”

“Heloise and Abelard. I know this anthology, I had it for...um, hm. You won’t find it here, though.”

Olivia slouches, and frustration escapes her. “What? Again?!”

“No,” Cassandra shakes her head, and then turns around, “it’s over here.” Without a word, she walks away, with the presumption that Olivia will come along. An audacious presumption; if she had not come all the way across town to track down the damn thing she would have laughed and said ‘fat chance.’ Beggars can’t be choosers.

They go to the back corner, where there are rows of tall volume books that look like dictionaries. The shelf above them is where Cassandra slants onto her toes and searches. Olivia does her best to keep her eyes preoccupied elsewhere -- anywhere else, but her -- and waits patiently. Finally she falls back, pulling a book out that’s rather small and thin. But it’s weirdly pink, like the catalog image.

“Here,” she breaths, pivoting back to her and holding it out.

Olivia stares at the outstretched book, brow pressing low as she bites back more bitterness on her mind. She takes it, gripping onto the opposite diagonal corner to Cassandra’s grip.

“T-Thanks.” She spits out, holding it to her stomach. “Do you know if I have to….to do anything special to check it out from here? Or do I just take it to the main library?”

“You just take it there…” Cassandra confirms, reaching across her own stomach and clasping onto her elbow.

“Okay.” Olivia keeps her eyes to the ground, and her responses curt. “Thanks again. I’ll be going now.”

“Olivia, I’m sorry.” The words cut through the air like a chef’s knife. Eager, and quick, like it’s the last word she’ll ever get in edgewise. Olivia has turned to the side by the time she hears it, and she stops cold. The book to her belly now feels like armor she can’t live without. She can’t bare to look at her, at whatever face she’s making. It’ll be too sincere, too heartfelt.

“I really don’t want to hear it.”

“I know you don’t, but you deserve to.”

“You thought I deserved to hear a great deal of things.”

“I...I know. And…”

“What?”

“And it was unfair of me. I shouldn’t have cornered you, when you were already feeling uncomfortable. It wasn’t right.”

Olivia sucks in her gut; the words she is saying are too poignant to face with a chin tucked in shame. She looks, only to feel punished for it: Cassandra is frowning, and not the way she does by default. It is a sad one. It makes Olivia’s heart skip, and plummet at the same time.

“Y-you know, Cassandra,” she replies, her voice brittle as her throat gets thicker with tears she thought she had long run out of, “I...I just wish I knew what your secret was.”

Cassandra blinks a few times, beautiful black eyelashes fluttering. “My secret?”

“Yeah. Your secret. The one behind how you always look so undaunted and...and un-phased,” she closes her eyes to hold back tears, and cradles the book in both hands against her. “You know, Cullen talks to Ellinor, and Ellinor talks to me. I hear about how you are minding your own business, going about your day, while I cry myself to sleep or eat my body weight in Taco Bell. Every time. It hurts, but I tell myself, ‘oh, she’s just coping in her own way, she has to be as messed up as I am about this, just as torn up, just as…” she takes a shallow breath, but it does little to assuage her. “‘She has to be just as inexplicably messed up as I am.’ But even when I worried you didn’t care, or that you were indifferent, never did I think you would walk into the room and rip my heart out the way you did.”

Cassandra had become more and more engrossed in a painful kind of way, the more she talked. It wasn’t hard to understand -- it was probably the most brutally candid Olivia had ever been in her presence. Bearing her most cringe-worthy sides of her survival, for reasons she could not articulate half as well.

“So…” she sharply sniffled, “I just want to know what the secret is. What you do, what you...you tell yourself, that makes you so magically put-together. Maybe it’s the same shit you take that convinces you that I’m the one tormenting you when I…” she closes her eyes again, but a stray, small tear runs down the outside corner of her eye. That is enough for her. “You know, whatever. I’m...I’m not gonna…” she started to walk back, verbally and physically, expecting nothing else but her own shame.

A few steps, and then, the second twist of the knife.

“Liv, please.” Once again, she asks, and once again, Olivia stops. This time, her back is to her.

“I…” Cassandra takes a moment, collecting her breath by the sounds of it. “Cullen knows me, but he doesn’t know...me. He sees me coming and going, but he doesn’t know what happens while I’m getting by. If he did, he’d tell Ellinor--or, probably you, more like--that from the moment you first spoke to me I haven’t been able to get your voice out of my head. I’ve never been good with sentimentality, much as I appreciate it. But when I’m...when I’m around you it feels like I don’t have to worry. If anything’s been a secret, it’s been that.”

The sensation of hugging her in this room is still fresh. The way her arms wrapped around her waist, the way her breath felt against her neck. The briefness of it, and wishing it could last. But nothing lasts. Head high as much as she could pretend, she swallows stiff and keeps her eyes on the door for just a beat longer. Then, she faces her again. And Cassandra, she...her red eyes, her slightly red, tired eyes. It’s horrible.

“If you were so crazy about me, then why didn’t you kiss me? I was all yours, I was--”

“Because I didn’t want it to be like that.”

“...You…”

Cassandra sighs tersely, rubbing the side of her face. Exasperated. “I didn’t want the first time I ever kissed you to be during a fight about you being slut-shamed and me invading your privacy, alright? Is that...is that so much to ask? That if I was going to...to let myself be with a woman, a woman like you, that that kind of thing would be a little more special?!”

“I would have agreed, if you would have just talked to me! About anything!” Olivia shifted, now head-on with her. “You said you knew what you wanted, Cassandra, but that’s just it. You knew. I may have had my hopes and...and you may have been right about me having more of a clue than I admitted, but a clue is not consent. It isn’t a consensus. When you rejected me, I felt like an ass! Like I had taken advantage of you in some way.”

“Something you would have known wasn’t the case if you would have just stayed and listened to me! I was trying to tell you!”

“Trying?!”

“Yes! Or have you forgotten how hard it was to say out loud to the first girl you ever liked that you had feelings for her, and you were terrified she’d walk out?!”

“I did--!” She begins to hiss back, but stops. Forgiveness was an easier visitor when it came to certain suffering. She couldn’t swing the gavel when it came to that: it was like breaking ten different rules of queer code. Ugh, dammit. “Intimidated or not, we’re adults. This isn’t a recess, or homeroom, it’s...it’s life. I don’t get it, you’re always so...just...mature, with everything else but this.”

Cassandra half-nodded, and folded her arms. “The heart of man is a labyrinth, whose windings are very difficult to be discovered.”

Olivia delayed her retort, a bit off-guard. “...Um...yeah, that is...one way of putting it.”

Cassandra’s sweetly sore, peering down at the ground. “It’s an excerpt, from one of Heloise’s letters to Abelard. It’s...it’s after one where he implores her to revoke their union for the sake of God, but she refuses.”

Who even is this woman? Some thesaurus of mankind’s broken desires, reincarnated into one toned, statuesque, androgynous body? Is she even real?

“Yeah, well...Abelard was an elitist asshole who wasn’t worth it. And you’re still pompous, I take it.”

She smirks again, but not as sadly, as her eyes meet hers again. “Maybe so, on both counts. However, he still encouraged her in her work, and her learning.”

“Yes, as a means to punish her for behavior he deemed carnal even though he was a complicit beneficiary of if, not to mention--”

“Behavior he was punished for as well, rather grotesquely, if I can recall.”

Olivia’s hold on the book loosens, and she looks down at it, before back at her. “He...yeah. I mean, it was just a little...castration. It be like that sometimes.” They stare once again, and she clamps down on her tongue. They’re both fighting back something, some kind of expression, though Olivia denies the hope that Cassandra wishes to smile as she does. That is, until they both cough up a chuckle. The first in a long time; she can hardly remember the last occasion. That hurts.

After a moment, she gathers her wits. She slides the book into her shoulder back, and gets back to the unsavory topic.

“We’ve made a mess, haven’t we.” She can’t help but smile. Cassandra could run her heart through the mud and gravel, and then say something clever, and that’d be all it takes. She’d smile.

“I’m afraid so. They must think we’re devising to kill each other,” Cassandra says, coming forward. There’s no need of explanation as to who she’s referring to. In a flash, images of a very worried Ellinor and slightly scared Cullen come to mind.

“You would deserve it.”

A wry smirk. “Oh, would I?”

“Yes, you were a dick.”

“And you were an insensitive snob.”

Olivia chokes back another laugh. “Compared to the company you keep, Cassandra, I’m a down-home piece of apple pie.”

Cassandra scoffs. “Leliana? Ugh, God,” she grins, “she only pulls that act when she’s trying to pull something. She was being an ass, but, she was just...trying to protect me. I’m sure she’ll appear out of nowhere and explain herself, so, be prepared.”

“Oh, wonderful, I crave her company,” she mocks, eyes rolling gently as she looks back towards the door. “Why doesn’t she just show up now? I’m eager for more mortifying company.”

“She knew I wanted to be left alone. She does listen, you know.”

“...Oh. Well, damn.” That was a nice thing. Boundaries, huh, who knew. She can sympathize -- Olivia also has a friend who left her alone after one too many acidic quips. Oh, Ellinor. Though she wants to, she can’t crucify the woman for wanting to put up a fight for her friend. “Look, I know it makes me an asshole every time, but, I really should be going this time around. I have things to do tonight, and I really just needed to get this….this book.” She says it, but she hates it.

She hates it even more when Cassandra frowns, and blinks her eyes away. “I understand, no, it’s alright. You can’t just stay in every room I find you in.”

“No, I can’t, hah.” But I wish I could.

“Hey, Olivia?” she says one last time. Her full name. It’s nice, without all the malice.

“Yeah?”

Her eyes brighten a little. Bravery. “I...I hope that you’ll be happy. Whatever that means for you. You deserve it.”

It’s a stab to the side, clean and direct through her ribs and into her gut. Her voice saying ‘I think you knew what I wanted,’ rings loud and clear in her mind again. Wanted. Not want, wanted. And now this. Oh no, Cassandra, please, please don’t tell me you’ve really let go.

“...Thank you, Cassandra. I...I wish the same for you.” I wish it, and I wish it’d happen with me. Be with me. Ask me to stay. This time I’ll stay, I promise. Just ask it.

“Thanks. Um, drive safe, okay?” More of those polite, detached manners. Again. No, no, no.

“Yeah, um,” Olivia swallows, “I will. See you around, maybe?”

“Yeah. I think so.” A smile. She’s smiling. Oh God, she really has accepted it. That they aren’t meant for each other. Like Heloise and Abelard: Olivia as Heloise, ranting and raving in her letters about having been consumed by amorous affection. And then there’s Abelard, pointing her away towards higher callings, wishing her the best. Fuck Abelard, and fuck this.

Olivia tries her hardest to hide it, and she manages a wide grin and wave before leaving. She makes it out the hallway, down the side aisle of the Church pews, out the door, and into her car.

Slamming the car door behind her, she sinks into her compact leather seat and bangs her head against the headrest. Cassandra is letting her go. She did at the gallery, technically, but now it hurts in a different way. A way she feels no enraged pride in, no vanity. No need for spiteful indifference. She wants to take it all back, this time.

The one thing she couldn’t say, and perhaps will always regret, is that Cassandra was right. She is right. And now, she’s giving Olivia what she wants, what she clamors for, all the time. She’s giving it rather than trying to change her. So this is what respect feels like from someone who wants to love you.

The book stays in her lap as she drives home. When she stops at every red light, she clutches where Cassandra held it. If it were all a movie, this would be where she’d drive off into the sunset after her coming-of-age tale, leaving the reckless love behind. But she wants to do anything but that.

How long will it be until she finally stops? The answer is now.

She brakes hard and pulls into a street parking spot -- one of the luckiest moments of her life. Digging in her bag on the passenger’s seat, she finds her phone. Thumbing and thumbing, until she finds her name and the message thread she could never make herself delete.

--You know what’d make me happy? Because I have a couple ideas on the subject. The first is Friday night, at 11. Stay awake, or miss out.

#college au update #adventures of ellinor and olivia #modern!Olivia #ellinor trevelyan #day & age #WOOO AN UPDATE

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is-this-a-skam-account · 6 years ago

Text

Shelter Chapter 1 by shawnie1718 (me) on ao3

Drummer!Lucas/Model!Eliott

Omega!Lucas/Alpha!Eliott

It’s that fateful Instagram story which helps connect a certain Omega and a certain Alpha.

(Someone asked me if I posted it on my tumblr because they couldn’t see the photos so here we are!)

———

It was that fateful Instagram story that Lucas’s friend Yann had posted which would later change Lucas’s life. It was only fifteen seconds long. The video itself was jerky and fuzzy, so it didn’t do much in the viewing department. But there in the center of the frame was Lucas, jamming out in the street with bins scattered around him. The jamming session had been totally unprompted. Lucas and Yann had walked up to a street performer as he was playing on his “set of drums.” Lucas had commented something which prompted the performer to ask “would you like to play?” Lucas hesitated and it was Yann who actually pushed him to perform. So Lucas got up there and began to play a simple beat, pretty soon mixing it up and playing more advanced rhythms. Lucas thinks he looks stupid in the video, with his backpack slung around his back and hair flopping around as he jumped. But Yann argues that “that’s what gives it character!” And of course his friend claims that he brought on Lucas’s rise to fame.

Lucas’s following on Instagram blew up when the video went viral. Everyone began wondering who the sexy drummer was that could create awesome rhythms totally unprompted. So, Lucas decided to feed a growing fan base a video of him playing the drums upside down. What else was a man to do? The internet went wild. Lucas didn’t really understand why, but he took it. Lucas then did a follow up video as a thank you, and decided to share with his fans his love for playing guitar and singing.

Thus, he earned the title of the “French Cutie Who Can Do Anything.”

Then came the night Lucas and Yann had been chilling in Lucas’s apartment (which he shares with two other people. Yann always gets upset at him for not getting an apartment of his own “since you have enough money!” But Lucas likes sharing a space. Plus, living with another Alpha and Omega is comforting.) He had been on multiple press tours by this point, and had just finished with his USA tour which hit the main cities such as LA and New York. But it felt nice to be back in Paris, in his apartment, nursing a crappy beer with a French TV show on in the background.

He was mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, Yann doing the same but on the other side of the couch, when he suddenly got a notification. Lucas frowned, he thought he had his push notifications for Instagram turned off. He slid over to his messages and read the profile name. Srodulv? How do you even pronounce that? Sro-deulv? Shrodulvsjdn? Like what?

Lucas shoved his phone into his friends face, “do you recognize that name?”

Yann narrowed his eyes at the screen, “the ‘srodulv’ one?” Lucas gaped at him, how did he pronounce that so well? Yann continued, “nah, but you can click on the profile.”

Lucas was about to protest but Yann beat him to it, already tapping on the phone screen to pull up the account. Yann shoved Lucas’s phone back into his face before going back to continue mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. Lucas went immediately to the profile picture and ho- holy shit this guy was hot. His eyes trailed down to the bio where it read “elite model/actor 🇮🇹” Ah well that explains the hotness level.

Lucas continued scrolling to look through the photos. It was obvious the guy was an Alpha, from his air of confidence to his rather dominant features, like how tall he was or his sharp jawline. I bet that jawline could cut glass... Lucas shook himself out of his thoughts and decided to start from the bottom. It started off with some odd posts that didn’t seem to really fit together, some drawing and some videos of old animations. But slowly it turned into more headshots and posts of that sort, probably as he became more into his modeling career. Lucas clicked on one post which caught his eye. Lucas wasn’t sure if he was drooling as he looked into the steely gray eyes. Jesus, is he even real?

Lucas meant to click on the exit button, once, twice. You liked the picture! Lucas felt his heart stop. Nooooo. He looked down to see the date. Lucas wanted to chuck his phone at the wall. Three years ago. Fuck. No getting out of this one.

Lucas began panicking and hitting Yann on the shoulder “bro, mec, ow abuse!” Yann yelled. Lucas ignored his friends remark and shoved his phone back into his friends hands. Yann took a few moments to catch up through evaluating the phone. There was no way Lucas could voice what he had just done. He was too busy trying to fold in on himself. He heard Yann laugh and mumble a “duuude...”

“No, no!” Lucas said frantically and grabbed the phone from his friend, “don’t ‘duuude’ me! HELP me!”

Yann shrugged, “I mean, he’s a model right? He probably gets thousands of likes a day. He probably didn’t even notice.”

That helped calm Lucas a little. Yeah, maybe he didn’t notice. His hopes were crushed, however, when we got another notification. @srodulv sent you a message!

Lucas hovered over the message for a few minutes, really it felt like centuries, before deciding to open it. He first saw the photo @srodulv had sent him. It was a drawing of a small hedgehog sitting at a set of drums, spikes going everywhere. And another small sketch of the same hedgehog with a guitar in hand. Lucas smiled at the photo despite his efforts to repress his smile. He then looked down to see the next message

@srodulv: like what you see?

Lucas wanted to go run...somewhere. No, what he really wanted to do was to just crater in on himself until he was nonexistent.

“Shit, he just messaged me again.” Lucas finally mentioned to his friend.

Yann huffed and sat up from his position on the couch to look over at the phone.

“So? Message him back?”

“Are you crazy?” Lucas squeaked.

Yann laughed, “uh, no. I mean, he’s a model right? Maybe being his friend could help boost your career!” Lucas eyes his friend, “also not that I’d date him, but man those eyes...”

“Okay, okay, get off me.” Lucas said grumpily and shoved his friend off his shoulders.

Lucas hadn’t really been into anyone ever since his crush on Yann. He still wasn’t out to his friends, or the internet. (Though he will say the internet is onto him. They are much smarter than his friends. The internet has speculated that he’s actually an omega despite the fact that he uses suppressants. They help him appear more beta like, especially in person.) He’s come to terms with his sexuality and secondary gender himself, but taking the step into the public eye is a large step. Well, more like a large jump. Especially with how much his life is on display to the world.

When he first presented as an Omega at 15, he was scared. He saw what happened to his mom, who was also an Omega. He loves his mom, he really really does. But he just doesn’t want to end up like her. So, he started taking suppressants. Luckily, his dad wasn’t against getting the prescription, because he was ashamed of having a male Omega as a son. So they agreed to keep that secret between them. That is, until Lucas moved in with Mika. He had to tell him about his secondary gender mainly because of his heats. That would have been a rude awakening for Mika if he were to walk in on Lucas. Lucas usually forces himself into heat, which means he stops taking his suppressants every couple months and sets aside a week for it to happen. He hates his heats. He hates how he becomes so needy, but at the same time he wishes he had an Alpha who could actually satisfy that neediness. Braving heats alone is not an easy task. Every time, it feels like his inner Omega is trying to rip itself from his skin, clawing at it, whining constantly. But it’s better than having an Alpha to control his every move.

Lucas pulls himself out of his thoughts and glances at his friend who is back on his phone, watching...is that a compilation video of dogs catching frisbees?

Lucas takes a deep breath, opening up Instagram.

@lucallemant: well I like the drawing. I suppose the artist isn’t bad to look at either.

He sets his phone to the side, heart pounding. Suddenly, his phone bings. He wasn’t expecting a response so quickly.

@srodulv: I would hope not.

Lucas felt like punching himself in the face he was so anxious.

@lucallemant: so...why a hedgehog?

@srodulv: maybe because someone always has such unruly hair. And maybe because someones nose just looks so boop-able.

Lucas is glad @srodulv let’s the change of subject slip by. But did he just say his nose was...boop-able?

@lucallemant: excuse me, what did you just say?

@srodulv: I think you heard what I said.

@lucallemant: heard? I didn’t hear anything?

@srodulv: you know what I meant! You’re mean... :(

@lucallemant: haha I’m sorry I’m sorry.

@srodulv: so do you accept my compliment on your nose?

Lucas smiled to himself, pretending to rub at his lips to make it seem discreet.

@lucallemant: I suppose I have to. And may I have the honor of knowing the name of the person who gave me such a nice compliment?

@srodulv: where are my manners?! I’m Eliott

@lucallemant: Lucas. Though I suppose you already knew that.

@srodulv: at least I know now for sure that your name is really Lucas. Not just “French Cutie Who Can Do Anything.”

@lucallemant: oh god that is going to haunt me forever, isn’t it?

@srodulv: haha I’m afraid so.

Lucas pauses before saying: so you’re a model then? What’s a model doing drawing ME of all people in fan art.

@srodulv: cmon if anyone deserves fan art it’s you!

Lucas blushes and tries to swipe it away before Yann sees.

@srodulv: I suppose I draw because it’s an outlet of some kind.

@lucallemant: that’s awesome. Well, since my fursona is apparently a hedgehog, do I get to know yours?

@srodulv: haha you know I would like to think of them more as soul animals, but thanks for that thought. My “fursona” is a raccoon.

@lucallemant: a raccoon?

@srodulv: yeah! They wear masks. 🦝

“Dude, quit smiling at your phone like that. You’re freaking me out.” Yann mumbles from beside Lucas, pulling him out of his little Eliott and Instagram bubble.

“Sorry...” Lucas said before letting his gaze trail back on his phone. He saw Yann roll his eyes, but Lucas just brushed it off.

@lucallemant: so how did a model such as yourself stumble upon me?

@srodulv: I couldn’t let a pretty face like yours slip away, could I?

@lucallemant: try again, this time without flirting.

@srodulv: ouch getting called out lol. But I suppose I was in a rough patch and your video sort of helped pull me out.

@lucallemant: which video?

@srodulv: that’s a surprise ;)

Lucas lets a smile take up his lips. His eyes drifted up to the time. Holy- it’s already 1:30 am? He’s gotta go to bed. Classes tomorrow. Thanks college.

@lucallemant: I have to go :( classes early tomorrow.

@srodulv: aw man, you’re still in high school?

@lucallemant: college actually

@srodulv: oh! What are you studying? (Last question for the night and then I’ll have to come to terms with our conversation ending D: )

Lucas snorted a laugh: I’m a bio major. (And I’m sorryyy! I wish I could keep talking too)

@srodulv: then show me how sorry you are. Meet me in Paris when I get back from Japan?

Lucas chewed at his bottom lip. Should he trust this guy? He is an Alpha...

But what’s the worst that could happen...right? Eliott seems like a nice enough guy. Lucas lets his inner Omega instincts take over on deciding what to do.

@lucallemant: sounds like a plan. When do you get back?

@srodulv: it’s a date! I get back in a month!

@lucallemant: looking forward to it. Goodnight, E.

@srodulv: goodnight, Lulu.

Lucas hugs his phone to his chest.

It’s a date!

#skam france #if someone could tell me how to do the read more feature that would be 10/10 #skam #skamfr #eliott demaury #elu

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eleanor-writes-stuff · 6 years ago

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i just called to say [one-shot]

Rey's world comes crashing down on a Wednesday afternoon, and if Ben could just answer one of her twenty calls so that she knows the secret love of her life is not trapped in his burning office building, that'd be great.

This is the fic I was supposed to write and post today. This is the fic I wrote instead. What was meant to be a quick ficlet has somehow ballooned into 2600+ words of Rey freaking out, but if you enjoy the good old friends-to-lovers trope, here you go.

Also available on AO3.

“Rey!”

“What is it?” Rey hollers out her open door, craning her neck from her spot on the bed to see if she can catch a glimpse of Finn and pinpoint the cause of his summons.

The urgent call comes again, and this time Rey is able to determine that Finn is nowhere near her. He and Poe take turns calling out for her as she wanders into the living room, and a heavy knot of concern and fear begins to form low in her stomach as the two of them come into view, each more pale and stricken than Rey has ever seen them.

Finn is waiting for her, reaches out as soon as he spots her, but by then Rey has caught sight of the TV beyond Poe’s shoulder and the big, bold letters spelling out BREAKING NEWS! and fire, so much fire, consuming an all-too-familiar building.

“Oh god,” Rey whispers, knees buckling as the flashy breaking news banner gives way to Inferno in Downtown Coruscant and below that, in smaller letters as if it’s any less significant, as if her world hasn’t just come to a grinding halt: Amidala House consumed by sudden blaze.

“Shit!” Finn gasps, lunging forward to catch her before she can hit the ground, but Rey can’t find the words to thank him, can’t find the will to look away from the nightmare unfolding on the TV screen.

She vaguely registers him and Poe helping her to the couch, keeps her eyes glued to the sight of Amidala House being reduced to ash and rubble until Poe presses something into her hand.

“Call him,” he suggests gently, closing Rey’s fingers around her phone.

Ben. She needs to call Ben, because sometimes good things happen in this world and Ben was one of them and she needs another good thing now, she needs him to not be in that building and part of the 13 people trapped in rapidly destabilizing structure but oh god, what if he is? What if he’s somewhere inside that burning building on her screen and his lungs are filling up with smoke as Rey does nothing but watch on and he dies on live TV, right in front of her very eyes?

“Hey!”

Rey snaps out of it with a slight jump, turns to her left to find Finn’s nails digging crescents into her free palm and his wide, panicked eyes steady on hers. “Breathe, Rey. Just breathe. C’mon, with me. In, out, in–”

She follows his lead without further prompting, well used to this routine even if it takes her a while to connect it with her short, shallow breaths and panic attacks.

When she finally gets some air into her lungs and manages to keep it there for more than two seconds, Poe carefully plucks her phone from her hand, enters the passcode he’s not supposed to know, and brings up Ben’s number.

“Here we go,” he says softly, handing Rey the phone with shaking hands. “Call him, Rey. We need to know. You need to know.”

The corner of her screen tells her it’s 1:22 in the afternoon, just eighty-two minutes after Ben’s last message to her – Ben who brings lunch to work, Ben who once spent thirty straight minutes ranting about a shovel, Rey! Who the fuck serves food in a shovel, I’m not eating off fucking gardening tools–

Ben, who is almost definitely inside that building, the same way he always is at this time of the day, eating lunch in his office.

Before she can spiral back into a panic attack, Finn wraps an arm around her shoulder and holds her close while Poe takes her free hand and gives it a comforting squeeze.

“It’s going to be okay, Rey,” he promises her and she wants, so badly, to believe that it will.

So Rey hits the call button.

She leaves a message, begging him to call her back through a voice thick with tears.

Ten minutes pass while the fire rages on.

Twenty minutes, and a handful of people manage to make their way out of the building before all exits are completely blocked.

Thirty minutes, and firefighters announce that they’re well on their way to putting out the blaze.

Forty minutes, and they start heading into the building to see who’s left.

“We’ll be right back with more information for loved ones,” the on-site reporter tells the camera gravely, and Rey chokes on a sob as she jumps off the couch and runs into her room.

Finn gives her five minutes to cry her heart out before he tentatively pokes his head in and asks, “Anything yet?”

Rey wipes her tears away and doesn’t tell him that she’s called close to twenty times now, that Ben’s inbox filled up a while ago and there’s so much she didn’t say, so much she might never get to say–

“He’ll call back,” she declares with borrowed confidence, leaning heavily on his and Poe’s comforting support and endless assurances. “Any minute now, he’ll call back.”

“I’m sure he will, Peanut,” Finn tells her, because what else is there to say when the reality of the situation hangs heavy in the air, filling every silent second between spoken words with fear unlike anything she’s ever known before?

He gives her one last smile, turns to leave–

“Finn?” she whispers, half-expecting, half-hoping for him to miss it.

“Yeah?”

With her knees drawn to her chest, Rey squeezes her eyes shut as she asks, “Have they released any names yet?”

She can hear Finn cross the threshold into her room, but she can’t bring herself to open her eyes when he curls a heavy hand around her shoulder. “No,” Finn finally says. “No names yet.”

Rey lets out a shaky breath and acknowledges him with a nod, waits until Finn closes the door behind him to collapse back into bed.

No news is good news, she tells herself even as she holds her phone in a white-knuckled grip.

The funny thing is, three years ago this wouldn’t have bothered her at all.

Well, okay, it would have bothered her a little, hearing that the boy who lived down the street from her had passed away at such a young age. But that’s all Ben was to her, for the longest time: the boy from down the street, then the weird kid Maz’s friends brought to dinner sometimes, then the guy she’d sometimes catch a glimpse of in the hallways when she was a freshman and he was a senior.

They didn’t even have their first proper conversation until five years after their first meeting, when Rey unexpectedly ran into him in college and found out that he’d been going to the University of Theed for the past three years. Ben had changed by then, traded in the perpetual black cloud she remembered so well from high school and dinner parties for a teasing smile and a confident walk, and somewhere along the way they finally managed to form the kind of friendship everyone expected from two kids whose parents were close friends.

And now – now he’s one of her closest friends, her first good morning and last good night, the only person who knows her better than even Finn, better than herself. They speak nearly every day even when weeks go by without them meeting because of college and work commitments, and everyone else in her life knows that whenever she smiles at her phone he’s most likely the cause–

God, Rey can’t bear the thought of it: of never getting a random text from him again, of never hearing the smile in his voice while he listens to her rant about classes, of never getting the chance to tell him that… that she…

Her phone rings.

It’s been an hour. It’s been an hour, and Rey nearly falls off her bed as she dives for her phone, drops it twice before she finally picks up the call.

“Hey, is everything okay? I just saw your missed calls–”

A sob rips past her throat at the sound of his voice, and the immediate shift in his tone makes her heart feel like it’s going to burst.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Where are you, sweetheart, I’ll come get you right now–”

“Ben,” Rey manages to say despite her confusion. “Ben, the building burned down, I thought… I thought you…”

He’s still not making sense. “Which building? Are you hurt? Where are you, Rey, just tell me where you are–”

If he could stop worrying about her for one second and just realize– “Ben!” she finally snaps, interrupting his panicked stream of words. “Ben, your building. Amidala House. It burned down–”

“What?”

“It burned down and I thought… oh god, Ben, I thought… you always have lunch in your office, and I called and called but I didn’t hear back from you, and it’s been an hour and there are names, Ben, names on the news of people who didn’t… of people who…” She’s breathing hard, shaking so badly it feels like her lungs are rattling too much to catch her breath, and Rey can’t do anything about it, paralyzed all over again by the thought that he could have… that she almost…

“Fuck,” Ben mutters to himself. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It’s Wednesday. I have lunch with my mom on Wednesdays, remember? We go to the French place near her office and put our phones away?”

It’s Wednesday. Of course it’s Wednesday, how could she not have– “I didn’t… I couldn’t… God, Ben, I was so scared, I couldn’t think straight, I saw the building on TV and all that fire and I just…”

There are people dead. Four, at last count, and Ben could’ve been one of them, and she would’ve found out by seeing his name on the screen, by hearing it from a stranger putting on her best we’re so sorry for your loss voice. Rey whimpers at the thought.

“I’m coming over, okay?” Ben says, and in the background she hears the familiar beep of his car. His car over in North Coruscant where Leia’s office is, a twenty-minute drive from Amidala House, a world away from all that fire and destruction and loss.

Rey finally gets a grip, clears her throat and wipes away her tears as she tells him, “No, it’s okay, you don’t have to–” Her protests sound weak even to her own ears, but Ben has bigger things to worry about, better things to do than comfort his panicked mess of a friend while clouds of smoke still darken the sky over his office and his employees line the streets with tears on their faces and shock blankets wrapped around them.

“I’m on my way,” Ben insists. “If I just spent an hour thinking I’d lost you, the only thing I’d want would be to see you. Does that sound like it’ll help?”

Yes. Yes, it would, and she can’t help but tell him as much.

“Then sit tight, I’ll be there soon. I doubt anyone will have a problem with me taking the rest of the day off, anyway,” he says wryly, trying to lighten the mood. Rey appreciates the effort, she really does, but there’ll be no relief until he’s here, until the sight of him replaces the image of him dead and gone that’s still imprinted on the back of her eyelids like a nightmare–

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Soon, he’ll be here soon, she can tell him soon, but they’ve already wasted so much time and that’s what she always told herself anyway, that she’d tell him soon, and today she nearly lost that chance for good–

“Ben,” Rey whispers as her heart begins to pound.

“Yes?”

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. “I love you.”

There’s a terrible, awful pause after that, one that threatens to fill her eyes with tears once more. “I love you too, sweetheart,” Ben says probably just seconds later, even if it feels like a lifetime, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he does but that’s not it, that’s not what she means–

“No, Ben, listen. I love you,” Rey says again, and suddenly the words come pouring out of her. “I love-love you. The kind of love that makes me feel like all the books and movies talk about. The kind of love that makes you the most important person in my life. The kind of love that made me feel like a part of me died when I thought I’d lost you.”

Her heart is racing and her lungs are burning by the time she’s done, and it’s ridiculous, completely ridiculous, but she still can’t breathe until he says, “You’re not losing me that easily, sweetheart.”

And then: “I love-love you too,” Ben tells her, a slight chuckle in his voice, and she allows it to wash over her like the relief that fills her bones. “Have for a long time now,” he adds, and Rey falls back against her pillows, too surprised to hold it together.

“Really?”

“Really,” he assures her. “We can talk about it when I get there, okay? I’m about to start driving.”

“Okay,” Rey says. And then, just because she can now, she ends the call with, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Ben replies without pause, without thought, and Rey stares at her phone for the longest time after he hangs up until she realizes–

“Finn!” she calls out as she jumps up from her bed and tears out of her room. “Poe! He’s fine, Ben’s fine–”

Because Finn truly is the best friend a girl can ask for, he drags Poe out of the apartment under the guise of getting groceries for dinner just minutes later.

Rey splashes more cold water on her face than she probably needs to, and then busies herself with the dishes from lunch as she tries to process the last ten minutes. The last hour, really, because going from thinking she’d lost Ben for good to hearing him say he loves her back has been quite the whirlwind. She’s so caught up in processing it that she doesn’t even realize twenty minutes have passed until she hears a knock.

“Rey?” Ben calls out, voice muffled by the door, and she barely takes the time to dry her hands before she runs out of the kitchen.

There are a dozen ways she could greet him, a hundred ways their first conversation as two people openly in love with each other could go.

None of them involve Rey throwing the door open and promptly bursting into tears, but that’s how it unfolds anyway.

Ben holds her through it all, rubbing soothing circles into her back while she destroys his nice shirt with her blubbering. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it just… it didn’t really hit me until right now, I think, because I thought I’d never get to see you again and here you are–”

“Shh,” Ben comforts her as he guides her into the apartment and closes the door behind him. “I’m okay, sweetheart, I’m right here. Not going anywhere, I promise.”

When she finally gets her first good look at him, Rey wonders how the hell she could’ve been so blind. God, the way Ben looks at her.

“I love you,” she tells him, overcome by the need to say it again and see his reaction in person. His smile coaxes a matching expression out of her as her tears subside. “I love you so much, and I thought I’d never get to tell you–”

“But you did,” Ben reminds her before she can let her fears take hold of her again. “You did, and I love you too, Rey, more than you could possibly imagine–”

Rey pulls him down for a kiss, the first of many.

A lifetime’s worth, even.

This is not the fic I was meant to write and post today, but I was struggling with that one and thought a quick little ficlet might help me work through the block.

"Quick little ficlet," I said. Look at this monster. If you made it through the whole thing without just skimming large chunks of it, I am in awe of you. As always, thanks for reading, hope you guys liked at least some of it, and please don't hesitate to like/reblog/comment!

#reylo #rey x ben #kylo ren/rey #rey/ben solo #rey/kylo ren #star wars #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #ficlet: just called to say #series: ao3 reblog #my fics #fic archive

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