#put that time and money somewhere else let those modelers fucking sleep

[midnightwind]

having that thought of I want games that look worse with better stories, I want games that are short but succinct instead of sprawling, endless fetch quests and collect-a-thons, I want games where the people making them get to have lives and rest while making them instead of 200 hours of bare bone capitalist slop-

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Quiver (bbh)

Summary: You meet a man who seems to know nearly everything about you, save your name.

As with nearly every Baek fic I write, for @illneverrecover! Although she actually paid me for this one hahaha

Also thank you to my sister for betaing and making my gorgeous banner!

Warnings: angst, violence and death tw, unprotected sex, outdoors sex, oral sex (f. receiving), this is more soft and sad than horny tbh

Word Count: 10,219

Deja vu is something you don't feel very often, and so when it washes over you in a wave that leaves goosebumps on your flesh, you look around.

You're not sure what you're looking for, but you feel that when you find it, you'll know.

Your eyes fall on a man sitting at a table, looking down at a book. His hair is slicked back but with pieces falling into his face, and as if he knows you're staring, he looks up at you.

He has the warmest brown eyes, and something like a shock shoots through your heart. Your feet are moving before you realize it.

"Have we met before?"

He smiles, and your heart flutters.

"Maybe in another life."

His name, it turns out, is Baekhyun, and he works at some investment firm you've never heard of but it doesn't matter because he has the most endearing way of smiling at you while you're speaking to him.

You assume he has money because the car he leads you to is nice, not ridiculously so but expensive to upkeep, a foreign model that's sleek and your favorite color: red.

"Why red?" You ask, sliding into the leather seat of this stranger's car because you just know he's safe, somewhere in you.

He gives you that half smile again, the one that gives you something akin to deja vu.

"Reminds me of someone."

You wonder if you might fuck him on the first date, if coffee even counts as a first date, and it's the first time you've ever done that but when he makes you tea and you lean against his kitchen counter he gives you this look. It's like there's something dark and deep in his brown eyes, something both flirty and almost darkly lustful.

It makes your heart flip. It makes your body tingle. It makes you a little afraid.

But you've never been one to run from fear, especially when it's all wrapped up with excitement and lust.

When you're sitting on his couch and sipping tea he's swiveled his body toward you just slightly, open and inviting, but he doesn't make a move, just watches you, listens as you fill the silence, laughs when you make a face when you pick up his tea instead of yours, which is bitter and devoid of the sugar you love.

You make the first move, in fact, end up clutching at his shirt as you kiss his mouth over and over because it feels soft and his tongue is hot and it feels familiar.

His hands skate up your sides once, above your shirt, and then again, under it, and that feels familiar too, long fingers on your flesh.

"You haven't met your soulmate yet," the tarot reader said. You and a friend had visited her a few years ago, when you were half drunk at a carnival.

"At least," she'd continued, "not in this lifetime."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?" You ask, two weeks later when you've spent almost all

your free time with him, and most of it in his bed.

"Maybe in your dreams," he'd quipped, and you elbow him but he's already spooning you and you're too half asleep to do much damage.

"Always in mine," he says, softly, just as you're drifting to sleep, and you can't pry your eyes open long enough to ask what that means.

You start a fling of sorts with this mysterious man, and for the most part, you’re happy. But then you start having these dreams.

Sometimes, there’s fire on a wall in front of you and when you turn around it’s behind you, too.

You can feel your skin burning and you can barely breathe when you wake.

Sometimes there’s thunder booming all around you, lightning that streaks across the sky and you’re running and running toward someone, a man with warm brown eyes, but you can’t get there and when you look down you’re running in water up to your waist.

Always, he’s there. You suppose it’s because you and Baekhyun have been spending so much time together, that he’s in your head all the time as much as you hate to admit it.

Finally, he’s next to you in bed when you bolt upright, frightened by the thunder because it’s one of those fire dreams, one where you can feel the flesh on your arms crinkling, and it burns burns burns until it doesn’t, until you feel so cold you wake up shivering.

You’re afraid and disoriented and the dream all comes out in a rush — you tell him everything, small details about how you’re clutching a rosary in one hand, how the baubles on it popped n the flames, and he puts his arms around you, lets you bury your face in his chest as your heart rate slows down.

“Your name was Eva, then,” he murmurs, so quietly you’d think you were still dreaming.

Something about it rings true. You wonder if you’d heard that in the dream and told him still half asleep, so you nod against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your neck after pulling you into his lap and it’s so mournful it almost frightens you.

“You can’t help my dreams,” you say playfully, trying to forget it, and he gives you the saddest smile.

“No, not those.”

You keep having those dreams, and they get more and more detailed and sometimes your name is Eva and sometimes it’s Yui and sometimes it’s Sarabeth and they’re all different, you look different, but you always feel how it ends.

And Baekhyun is always there. He looks the same, unlike you, and sometimes he’s your enemy, sometimes he’s your friend but most of the time, he’s your lover.

The dream that finally makes you confront him goes like this.

Your name is Angelica and your father was royalty but you’re just a bastard, your mother a commoner, a servant of the crown.

Once you’re old enough to have his eyes, you have to stay hidden like some fairy tale princess. Except you’re no princess in your dusty cabin, and you learn to hunt small game so that your mother doesn’t have to steal so much from the castle. It’s good that you learn, because your mother stops coming to the cabin and you learn that the plague has taken her.

The plague has taken nearly everyone, and you haven’t seen another person in months when you happen upon a man.

You have your bow drawn before he ever sees you, the string (made of rabbit sinew because it’s all you had, the bow made of oak that you’d chopped yourself) and arrow pointed straight and true.

He shifts, turns around and you hesitate just a moment when you catch his gaze, something familiar in his deep brown eyes. It’s long enough for him to draw his own bow, and he’s quick, quicker than you are, so you let your arrow fly.

His arrow flies a second after yours and they meet in the space between you, shredding each other in two.

You’d thought, then, that it was an omen.

Good or bad, you didn’t know.

You’d run back to the cabin and locked yourself in, but he’d followed you.

A few hours later, he knocked on the door and your heart started to race. Your mother had warned you what men could do to an unattended woman.

There was nothing else, though, and you waited half an hour to open the door.

A basket is sitting on the doorstep, and it contains dried meat and fresh cherries and peaches.

You hadn’t had fruit in years. There’s also a small bouquet of flowers, filled with dandelion fluff and baby’s breath, a few blossoms of lavender. It smells lovely.

You take your time eating the peaches, they have the sweetest juice that you let run down your chin like a child.

It’s been so long since you’ve eaten well that you overdo it and your stomach feels tied in a knot, but you’re smiling when you fall asleep that night, for what feels like the first time.

There’s another basket at the end of the week but he’s standing on the doorstep with it, smiling.

“Maiden, I was wondering if you had any water?”

“Will you draw your bow again when I turn my back?” You ask, wary, and he shakes his head, laughing softly.

“You drew yours first, maiden. I was surprised. The plague has taken so many it seems like I’m the only one left in all the world.”

He doesn’t look intimidating, doesn’t look as if he’s about to rush you, but you’ll be damned if you’ll let a strange man into your home, so you sit on the doorstep with him and eat the peaches he’d brought.

He watches the juice drip down your fingers, how you lick it off, with something in his eyes you haven’t seen before.

You sit and chat for a while, still wary, but he keeps looking at you like that, and you wonder if this is what it feels like, if this is what is to be wanted.

Three days and three dinners of peaches and dried meat later, you let him inside for a glass of water drawn from the well out back.

He drinks it down like he’s been thirsty for days, and you feel guilty for not letting him in earlier.

The way he licks his lips when he’s done makes something flutter inside your stomach and you put a hand there, low, almost on your pubic bone.

He watches every move you make, this mystery man who doesn’t have a hint of facial hair despite living in the woods, watches where you place your hands and fingers, how you move your mouth. He watches you as if you’re something fascinating, like watching fire burn wood down to embers.

When you were young, your mother took you to the Maypole festival, and all the children had been given these long sticks to dip in the fire, to twirl them around and make shapes in the night sky. You’d done it over and over until the stick was burned down too far and even then, you tried to dip it and burned your wrist.

He looks at you like you’d looked at the shapes you’d made with the lit stick. With wonder.

The first time he touches you it feels like the first time you’d felt warm water on your skin as a child, warmed on the fire with an iron pot, your mother spooning it over you slowly.

He touches you that way, slowly, murmuring bits of your name and it slides off his tongue like honey.

“Angelica. Angel,” he murmurs, right at the shell of your ear, and your bones seem to turn to jelly as you melt into him, your back against his chest.

Your mother had told you that one day you’d have a lover.

“Not a king,” she’d said, “but something more.”

You’d asked her what’s more than a king and she’d only smiled, held a finger to her lips as if the two of you shared a secret.

You did, your secret was that you existed, that your father was who he was and that your mother wasn’t his queen, at least not in name.

You tremble underneath his hands and when he turns you around, presses his mouth to yours, he does it slowly. You’re the one who grabs the back of his head, threads your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck, wanting him closer, so close, wanting to burrow inside him and live there because you’re aching for him all over and you don’t know what it means.

“Let me call you by your name,” you plead when he’s kneeling before you, pulling down your underclothes, spreading the curls at your core where you’re hot and aching and wet.

He shakes his head. “I have too many names.”

“Tell me one of them,” you beg.

He doesn’t answer, presses his mouth to your cunt and you gasp, tugging his hair hard and he makes a low groan, throat exposed, that makes something come awake in your lower stomach, something somehow both like fire and honey, hot and slow and sweet.

“Give me your name,” you demand.

One corner of his mouth turns up.

“My name is Love,” he tells you, and presses his face back into your cunt, inhales like he loves the scent of you, his hands spreading apart your thighs so roughly that you brace your hands on the table behind you.

It isn’t a name you’d heard any man to have, but maybe he isn’t a man, maybe he’s one of the fae your Irish born mother told you stories about when you were a girl.

Maybe that’s the something more your mother told you about your future lover after reading your palm when you were sixteen.

You hunt together, and you’re in awe of how quick he is with his bow, how he shoots straight through the heart of even the smallest animals, voles and rabbits that you roast over the fire and feast on while he tells you wild tales about his brothers and sisters.

One rules the sea, he tells you, with a magic trident. One makes lightning bolts for his father deep underground where there’s fire so hot it melts rock and stone.

You’re fascinated, sit for hours just watching his mouth as he speaks and sometimes you vault into his lap mid sentence, silence him with your mouth on his because you want want want.

Your mother had told you many things about your future lover, about how you should be demure just like a man wants, but you can’t even try, not with him. Not with your mysterious, many named, no named lover, because he presses your nails deep into his chest when you straddle his hips, hisses when you leave bite marks along his throat and collarbone.

You pretend to be demure sometimes, if only to make him frown, to make him throw you down on your bedclothes roughly, to bite your lip bloody.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have talons, angel,” he growled, and you can’t help the way you laugh loud and open, even with your legs spread wantonly.

Physical love isn’t at all like your mother had described it, and you wonder if she’d only ever been with the king, with a man who cared so little for his paramours that he’d allowed your mother to die alone in the slums, locking her out from the castle so that his heirs might live.

It isn’t something that you lie down and take the way your mother must have, sometimes it’s animalistic, feral like you’d seen horses mate at the castle’s stables when you were young.

You present yourself on all fours and he slides his hands down your ass, grabs the flesh there to part you, presses his face into your cunt until your thighs are shaking. It’s not love that you feel during those times, not exactly, more like that want want want that you feel so often with him.

Your breath catches when he pulls your hair, wraps it around his fist so that your back arches, so that you twist to look at him. Later, when you’re both sweaty and sated, that’s when the love comes, loud and blooming in your chest as he kisses the fingerprint bruises he’s left on your hips, his fingers gentle on your sensitive skin until your breath slows.

Love is a thing that blooms, you would write if you’d ever been taught how. Love is my man’s name and it’s blooming in me like spring flowers.

You go for walks to gather berries because you’re too busy fucking to hunt and you can get by on a few more fruits and you don’t want to wake him. Once you’d brought home rose petals for tea and a piece of a honey comb that had made his eyes light up.

He’d spread the honey across your nipples, suckled and nipped there until you were sore, and one day, you want that again, especially the way his brown eyes sparkled when he’d seen it.

You have a way with the bees, after all, a way of singing high and sweet that makes them buzz around you slowly instead of angrily.

You’re halfway down the path before you realize you’ve left your quiver and bow. Love (both the man and the feeling) makes you feel stupid, heady and slow, and you pause for a moment, wondering if you should turn back.

Instead, you head forward because it’ll be sunset soon and you won’t be able to find that tree, the one with the beehive and honeycomb that your man loves so much.

It happens so quickly it feels like an instant. You step out from the bushes after gathering some blackberries, so juicy they’ve stained your fingers, and the next thing you know, you’re on the ground. When you try to stand, you can’t, a pain blooming (a lot like love) through your stomach and you’re sure there weren’t any raspberries so what’s this red spreading out onto the ground?

You see your man’s boots, barely laced, before you see his face and someone behind you is stuttering but you hear the swish of your lover’s arrow, a choked, gurgling sound and then he’s knelt down at your side.

“Angel, angel,” he whispers, and he’s crying and you want to tell him not to because it makes you afraid.

What’s happened? What’s wrong?

You don’t realize you’re not actually speaking until he cradles your face, lies down in the dirt to face you, and everything but his touch, his eyes, seems far away and unimportant.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I need you to remember. When next we meet, remember my name.”

You want to. You want to remember everything about him but you’re sure that you’re floating away now.

“Baekhyun,” he tells you. “My name will be Baekhyun.”

As an immortal, it's hard to remember every moment. Years and decades blur together. The only moments Baekhyun can call to mind in perfect recall are the first times he's seen you

For a while, he’d thought Rome might be the worst lifetime he’d ever have.

He knows what he’s supposed to do, knows it’s his job, but he can barely ever bring himself to do it.

In Rome, you’re excited, young, bouncing around with your hair braided. Fire red, always red, always as fiery as your personality. “Eros, right? God of love.”

He’d smiled, wondering if he looked as tired as he felt. “You think I’m a god? I’m flattered.”

You scoff, swirl your dress around as you turn, speaking with your hands as always and his heart aches with how familiar it all is. “Don’t think that means you’re special.”

Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes. Means that you’re here to help me fall in love.”

“Is that so?” He can’t stop smiling at you, despite knowing what will inevitably happen next.

“Mmhm.” You’d taken his hand, flipped your braid over to the other side of your shoulder. He always tries. He always tries, gods damn it, damn his father and his brothers and sisters, he tries.

But there’s always this moment, where you take his hand, or brush your knuckles against his lips just so, or you just look at him up under your lashes, and the arrow he’s supposed to be aiming feels like it goes straight through his heart.

“I have someone in mind.”

It’s like the arrow in his heart twists, and gods know his arrows have always been true and fatal.

Your smile is so bright, and his heart is so full but it hurts at the same time and what a curse this is, to be able to fall in love with you so easily but have you fall for someone else just as fast.

He tells himself that he won’t try to change your mind, that he won’t let himself get close to you as you go on this search for your true mate.

You’d been childhood sweethearts, you and your match, but he’s been called away to war and you’ve been in mourning ever since.

He’s a god, but he is the god of love, after all, and with all your heart you believed that you loved another. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing… for the third time.

The first time, when it had all started, he’d fallen in love with you and seduced you and you’d forgotten all about your true match and it had all ended in fire and blood.

In Rome, in your third lifetime, he tells himself he won’t let that happen again. So when you put your hand on his thigh when you crouch down to drink on your journey, he wills his skin not to heat and his heart not to skip.

Three weeks in and you’re exhausted, your feet are swollen and bleeding from all the walking and you slide into his furs instead of your own, press your face against his chest.

“Maybe he’s gone,” you say, quietly, and Baekhyun is as still as death, telling himself he doesn’t want to lean down to kiss you, to tell you that it doesn’t matter where your sweetheart is because he’s here and ready and he wants you more than anything.

“We’ll find him,” he promises, and it’s a promise he keeps, even when you press your mouth to his and he takes it, this small comfort, until you fall into a fitful sleep.

Greece was bittersweet, because you found your match in the end and Baekhyun shot his arrow hoping that he’d miss. But his arrow was true, shot straight into the heart of your paramore.

You found your true match, fell in love, had children, and Baekhyun could have gone. Could have sailed away at sea, gone anywhere in the world. But even in Greece he’d spent three lifetimes with you (in one way or another) and he can’t bring himself to be more than a few miles away from you.

Instead, he’d watch you playing with your daughter in the garden, watch you kiss your husband, laughing into his mouth when he picked you up.

He watched you grow old, have grandchildren, plant roses that still never bloomed. You were never a gardener, no matter how you tried. It’s odd, how happy he feels for you, and how his heart clenches in his chest, how hard he wishes it were him.

He would never grow old, and he would never have you more than a few fleeting weeks, months, once even two wonderful years. Eros is love, and love isn’t supposed to fall in love.

So when he did, all those years ago, his father cursed him to find your match, over and over and over. It was you then and it’s you in Greece and Rome and England and Portugal and a thousand other countries that didn’t even have names when he’d met you there.

He’d thought Greece would be the worst because of the longing, because of the jealousy that brewed vile in the back of his throat, but Rome was much worse.

The Church ruled everything and at first Baekhyun thought that was normal. After all, when he was young he and his family had ruled everything. These are just different gods, although perhaps harsher ones.

They called you a harlot because of the fire red of your hair, the way you wore dresses slit up to your hip, the way you'd laugh if someone asked the last time you'd gone to confession.

"You should go to Mass," he'd warned with a lock of that fire red hair slipping through his fingers.

You'd smiled at him. "Why's that, lover? You want to hear my confession?"

He tugs your hair, exposing your throat as you let out a raspy moan, grinding against his thigh.

"What have you to confess, stellina?”

(Of all the languages and all the pet names he'd called you, stellina is his favorite, translates to star, and you burn so bright and beautiful it breaks his heart.)

"Impure thoughts," you muse. "Fornication before marriage.”

You pause. "This might take some time, amore."

You slide down under the linen, leaving open mouthed kisses and nips on his hip bones and thighs, and he forgets what he was going to warn you about.

(He loves any term you call him, in Spain mi corazon, in England love, in German liebling. But his true favorite is when you learn his name, his true name.)

You die fighting, that lifetime, clawing at the priests who’ve decided a witch needs baptism, holding you under the water until you finally stop, your nails broken and bloody.

Baekhyun finds you there, hours too late because he’d been sleeping off the night before, when he’d warned you about Mass, when you’d both stayed up all night, love talk and making love and a good deal of fucking, too, and he hates himself.

Hates that even though he is what he is, he needs sleep and food and water. He hates himself when he lifts you up, your fire red hair darkened by the water, hates himself when he kisses your bloody nails one by one and buries you behind the garden where you used to plant roses that never bloomed.

He hates himself most because it never gets easier, seeing you die, never gets easier knowing that he can’t, that he’s cursed to do this over and over.

In 1402, in Malaysia, you’d just had two streaks of red locks in the front, tendrils that stuck to the sides of your face when you were sweating, and you’re sweating when he first sees you, although you hit him before he ever sees your face.

You’d dropped down from a tree branch, locked your arms around his neck and cut off his airflow. It isn’t as if you could have killed him, but he respects it, all the same. You’ve got this little knife and you slice his throat but it doesn’t bleed, closes up as you watch and you drop to your knees, wide eyed but still, not submitting. Even when you know he’s a god, you never submit. At least, not that way.

Later, he kisses all the scars on your forearms and wrists, defensive wounds from battles and scuffles with the male soldiers who’d found you out.

"I never let them break me," you'd said, proudly, but there's something behind your eyes that makes him want to slaughter all the male soldiers in their sleep, bring you their heads, a sacrifice like the old gods had demanded.

As he had once demanded, before he met a human girl with an immortal soul full of fire and was punished for worshipping her.

Now it's 2021 and he's been through so many years, and he's tired. He's changed his name, over and over, from Eros to Cupid to then more common names.

He's been Baekhyun the last four lifetimes because you seem to like it, it makes you giggle in 1924 when your red (always red, red like fire and blood and love and all things that are important to him) hair was bobbed and you were wearing a black sequined dress at a speakeasy.

"Baek," you'd laughed, tipsy, one hand on his arm and he couldn't stop smiling at you. "Almost like Bark, like a dog."

"I'll be whatever you want me to be," he'd answered, flirting but also honest. He'd always been whatever you wanted because he got so few years with you, each time.

"You'd be my dog?" Your eyes sparkled with booze and excitement.

He nodded. "Follow you around like a puppy."

When you'd given him an incredulous smile, he'd opened his mouth in the middle of a packed speakeasy in New York City and barked like a dog.

The way you'd laughed is something he can hear in his dreams years later, tries to make it the memory he remembers most instead of the ones where you'd died screaming.

Now, there are no more gods who want you for sacrifice, all of his kind who were vengeful had gone silent, moved on or passed on, including his father who'd cursed him in the first place.

He's hoping, every lifetime, that this is where it ends. He's hoping that this time he doesn't have to tell you.

He's wrong, just like he had been in 1425 and 1604 and 1976. The curse outs itself, as curses always do.

You sit up in bed, watching him sleep and shivering, for what seems like hours after that dream.

He wakes slowly, but scrambles up into a seated position as soon as he’s fully conscious, being careful not to touch you.

“Do you remember?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, even if you have a feeling you do.

“At some point, you always remember.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you so goddamn cryptic?” Your voice is hoarse and loud.

He nods, as if expecting your outburst.

“Sometimes you’re not ready to hear.”

You want to scream in frustration. “Hear what?”

“What I am. What we are.”

“And what are we?”

“Immortals.”

You gawk at him. He makes it sound so simple, like he’s talking to a child.

“You’re an immortal?”

“You, too.” He pauses. “Well, in a different way.”

“So what, you’re telling me that was real? My dream? Angelica?”

Baekhyun lets out a long breath, shifts on the bed to face you.

“You were Eva. Angelica. Yui. In Greece I called you stellina. You’ve had more names than I have.”

You look up into his eyes and if he’s lying, he deserves an Academy award for the performance.

“What… what are you?”

You aren’t sure if you’re frightened or intrigued or both.

Baekhyun smiles then, wryly.

“Eros. Cupid. Angelica simply called me Love.”

“You’re telling me you’re like... the god of love? The one with the arrows?”

He looks as if he wants to laugh at you but wisely, he doesn’t. Instead he nods.

“Is it… is it always like it was when… when I was Angelica?” You ask, breathing in deeply because you remembered the pain in your chest, the way the blood spread out on the dirt in your lucid dream.

“Almost always,” he says softly, and reaches out to put his hands on yours.

You would have thought you would have flinched away but instead, his touch seems to comfort you and you lean into him.

“What happens when I don’t?” You ask, curiously, and something shutters over his eyes.

“You’re happy.” He rubs your knuckles between his fingers.

It’s a lot to take in and you have a million more questions but also, you can’t think of a single one that you can put into words. You pace around the bedroom and when that’s not enough, your entire apartment, and then outside to the elevator and back and he stays put, sitting cross legged in bed and looking at you with those deep brown eyes.

Finally, you plop down on the edge of the bed, exhausted.

“So what do we do?”

He just looks at you, again with that bemused smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

“How do we fix it?” You demand.

Instead of responding, he takes your hands in his again, brushes his lips across your knuckles but this time you do recoil.

“I’m not going to die horribly again. You can’t want that.”

“Of course I don’t,” he murmurs, and you want a reaction, something other than the way he’s just looking at you so you shove him and he just lets you, falls back on the bed when you do it a second time.

“You just keep letting me die?” You accuse, crawling up onto the bed and he makes a growl in the back of his throat, grasps your wrists with one of his hands and pins you when you try to shove him again.

“I never let you die. I try over and over and over to save you, but I can’t. The only way I can save you is by finding-”

He looks away from you, shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth and you wriggle under him.

“Finding what?” You insist.

He lets you go, rolls over and puts his forearm over his eyes.

“Your true match. In all the lifetimes that you’ve lived to old age in, I shot my arrow to find your true match.”

You deflate, lying there next to him and staring up at the ceiling.

“So you’re saying in order to live like a normal person, I have to fall in love with someone else?”

“Yes,” he says miserably. After a few moments, he lifts his arm and opens one eye to look at you. “Got anyone in mind?”

You shove at his arm, but not as hard this time, and he breaks into a smile, takes you into his arms. You melt against him, just like before, because that’s what feels right, that’s what feels natural.

“That happened? Before?” You ask, stroking his hair and usually he preens at the attention, leans back to kiss you but now he buries his face in your hair, avoiding your gaze.

He murmurs something in affirmation and kisses just under your earlobe.

“You found someone else for me?”

He nods, still not lifting his head, and you huff out a breath, wanting some kind of reaction out of him.

“Was he hot?”

Baekhyun groans and laughs, rolls over onto his back. ‘You always do this.”

“Always do what?” You demand, poking at his side. “You know all these things about me...or well, some version of me, and I don’t know anything about you.”

He looks at you, smiling just a little. “You know everything about me.”

You huff, frustrated. “It doesn’t feel like it. I want to know more. I want to know how I died, why I died, what all this means.”

To his credit, Baekhyun tries to explain it to you. The curse, his family, but it’s all twisted up in your mind with these memories you have of him in past lives, of being so in love with him you can barely breathe, wanting him so badly you can barely sit still, and it ends with you tearing off his clothes and him laughing into your mouth as you guide him inside you.

After, you’re contrite, kissing along his collarbone.

“I don’t want you to find anyone else for me.”

Baekhyun makes a sound in the back of his throat and you don’t know if it’s surprise or something else.

“I don’t want anyone but you,” you continue, orgasm drunk and with this fire burning under your skin, remembering how Angelica felt, how Yui felt, moving closer to him on the bed because you can’t bear to have your skin not touching his in every place you can.

He pulls you on top of him, kissing you after you squeal in surprise and your lips feel swollen and bruised already but it’s the sweetest ache.

“I don’t think I could, even if you asked,” he admits, and something about the way he says it makes you proud, makes your heart swell. His hands skate over your upper arms and his touch gives you goosebumps.

“No?” You shift to spread your thighs, liking the way he hardens under you with just the barest movement.

Baekhyun shakes his head, his tongue coming out slowly to lick his lips. You see that you’ve bitten his bottom lip bloody and it sends a shot of heat through you.

“Usually I never found anyone else for you, not after I’d touched you. I started out meaning to find someone for you. Touching you first… having you first… it makes things complicated.”

You don’t speak but shift again and it seems to spur him on.

His face is flushed and it’s cute, makes you smile.

“You know why.”

“Do I?” You’re grinning now, like the cat that ate the canary, and he groans but he’s smiling.

He sits up suddenly, bracing himself against the headboard and he puts his hands on your hips to move you backwards so that his half hard erection sits right at the cleft of your cunt and when you gasp and try to guide him inside you, he tightens his hands with a slight shake of his head.

“You gonna make me say it?”

“You know I am.”

You gasp when he puts pressure on your clit with his thumb, humming in the back of his throat.

“I’ve loved you for centuries, and I’ll love you for centuries more, stellina.”

“What does that mean?” You gasp, your insides on fire with lust and love and full to bursting, rocking your hips forward and he gives you what you want, puts more pressure on your clit and lets you guide his cock inside you.

“Star,” he says softly, moving a hand up to cup your cheek. “Because you burn.”

You do burn, you burn inside and out and you want to tell him that you burn for him but he sticks his thumb in your mouth, presses down on your tongue just how you like and all you can do is moan around it.

He keeps his other thumb positioned just right so that you can rock against his hand and lift your ass so that his cock slides against your g-spot and you suck on his thumb until he hisses and bucks beneath you, moving so that you can lean down and kiss him hard, brace your hands on either side of him so that you can get more traction.

You’re sure that you’ll be sore in the morning, ever since you’ve met him (in this lifetime, at least) you’ve been in some type of bittersweet pain, an ache across your throat, soreness in your thighs and hips and ass where you’ve been riding him, a rawness deep inside from too much sex and not enough rest.

There’s never enough, never enough of your sweat misted skin sliding across his, never enough of his hand fisted in your hair, of his cock at the back of your throat, of his fingers hooked inside you. The past couple of weeks you’ve only left his apartment for work and a few changes of clothes (not that you wore them much, anyway).

It makes you feel more sane, knowing that you’ve wanted him this way in other lifetimes, makes you feel like the way you feel makes more sense, because you were beginning to think you were going crazy.

It isn’t as if he’s some kind of sex god, exactly, he just seems to know exactly what you like, exactly what you want, right away. That makes a kind of sense, now, how even when you’re on top he knows exactly what to do and say to get you to tip over the edge.

“I love the way you look like this,” he rasps, looking up at you as if maybe you are a star exploding and it isn’t just some nickname he gave you in Rome. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You cry out his name, throwing your head back when you cum and he palms his hands across your breasts and the stimulation across your nipples sends an aftershock through you right after. You’re like a ragdoll for a few moments after your orgasm and he shifts you around just like one, using you to get off and you kiss and kiss and kiss him, loving the way it feels when he spills inside you.

You say it then, maybe because he said it to you first or maybe just because your heart is full to bursting with it.

“I love you.” It’s almost defiant. “I love you, and I don’t want to love anyone else.”

He strokes your cheek where you’re still lying on top of him.

“I don’t know if we get a choice, stellina.”

There’s always questions when you find out, and Baekhyun is prepared for them. There’s often questions that hurt, somewhere deep in his bones, questions you’d asked over and over again.

Sometimes you’re curious about your other perfect matches, and that stings. Sometimes you want to know about your deaths, and those are hard memories to bring to the surface.

The question that always hurts the most, though, is the one you ask after you’ve both showered, lying sated and exhausted in his bed, the curtains blacking out the sun outside.

“Did we ever have children?”

You’re rubbing your stomach and there’s something caught in his throat and he has to cough to clear it.

“We didn’t. You did. Sometimes.”

You look up at him and frown. “With my true match?”

Baekhyun heaves a sigh so deep it hurts his chest. “With him, yes.”

You pause. “Was it the same guy? Same… soul, I guess?”

Baekhyun nods slowly, his heart sinking, but you don’t ask anything more, you just lie your head on his shoulder.

He wonders what you’re thinking, wonders where it branches off from here. He’s been here so many times before. He feels more tired than he should.

But instead of asking more questions or storming out crying or any of the things you’d done after you’d found out, you start to snore softly, curled up next to him.

Baekhyun wonders idly if he’ll be able to sleep, but he’s drifting off before he’s even completed the thought.

When he wakes, you’re gone, and he scrambles out of bed in his boxers to pace around the house. He can feel you aren’t around and it’s like a hole in his chest. It’s always been that way, he knows when you’re close and when you’re not, and you must be miles away because now, there’s nothing.

When he checks his phone you’ve texted that you’ll be back with food. He’s shocked that it’s nearly noon, it hadn’t even been sunset when he’d dozed off.

Perhaps immortals can be just as bone tired as mortals, sometimes. After a dozen lifetimes of fighting, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

He waits for you, sitting on the couch and idly flipping through the channels, and he thinks about when it all ends. His father had moved on, had no one worshipping his name anymore, and it isn’t as if school children are learning much about Eros, Cupid relegated to only one day out of a year with awful sour sweet candy and paper mache hearts. He’s stored his bow a few hundred miles away, hoping that this lifetime he wouldn’t need it, hadn’t actually found a true match for anyone but you in centuries.

Baekhyun wonders, with no real sense of urgency or fear, if this is the last lifetime. There’s a kind of exhaustion he’s never felt before that seems to weigh him down, and he’s finding it hard to care about anything but you. He hopes it happens before you pass, before the curse ends your life too young and too violently. He wants to move on and set you free, because he knows he can’t resist you for more than a couple of lifetimes. He’s tried too many times and failed.

You return bright eyed and with half a dozen books and a notebook, a pen pinched between your teeth.

At your urging he goes out to the car and brings in the breakfast you’d bought and you spread your books across the table.

“Greek and Roman Mythology for Dummies.” He reads aloud, laughing, and you look up at him from the floor and frown.

“Don’t judge me, this is all new to me.”

He holds up his hands. “Not judging. What’s all this for?”

“I’m going to find a way to end the curse, of course.”

Baekhyun sits down hard on the couch. “Oh.”

“What does that mean?” You demand, your nose scrunching up just a little.

He can’t help but smile at you, and he shrugs.

No reason to shoot down your hopes. Not yet, at least.

Four hours later, your eyes red rimmed from staring at books and your laptop screen, you jump onto the couch and into his lap.

“I found it!” You screech, and kiss all over his face.

Baekhyun smiles, kisses you back, and you make love there on the couch. You want to be bent over, his hand on the small of your back to keep you over the couch arm, up on your tiptoes and making a little grunting noise every time he thrusts into you.

Baekhyun may be exhausted after all this time but he never gets tired of this. He never gets tired of you.

Your moans are muffled in the couch cushions but he hears his name, the one he always uses with you, ever since you were Angelica and that hunter’s arrow had pinned you to the ground.

Baekhyun is tired. He’s tired in a way he’s sure no human ever could be. He’s tired of all the times he’s lost you, to your true match and then worse, to death, and he’s tired of living them over and over again.

But when you stand up, twist his face to kiss him, your eyes bright when you grin against his mouth, he thinks that it’s all been worth it.

You’re always worth it, and the thought of getting to meet you again, another you, is all it takes for him to keep going.

It takes a few months to get the time off work, match up travel plans, and get supplies.

Supplies meaning mostly travel gear and light clothes and a passport, the place you need to get to is high up on a cliffside in Northern Greece.

Baekhyun’s supportive enough, you guess, but you feel a bit nervous about his lack of excitement when you’re finally there, in Greece, at a gorgeous resort near the cliffside. Money hadn’t been a problem. Apparently when you’re immortal you manage to accrue a bit of savings.

“Aren’t you happy? Doesn’t this feel like home?”

Baekhyun laughs, loud and open, for what seems like the first time since you’d found out.

“This isn’t my home, stellina. I’m older than Greece.’

You blink, shocked. “But you are Eros.”

He nods. “I’m Eros, and Cupid, and Ishtar, and Kuni. Many gods and goddesses, different names. My duty and purpose was always the same, but I’ve never had a home. Except with you.”

He brushes your cheek with his nose and you sigh, hate that the way he says that so simply, as if it’s the whole truth, makes your heart clench.

“Still, you remember being here.”

Baekyun nods, staring out at the sea, reliving some life you only half remember.

You don’t ask many more questions, at least not until the next day when Baekhyun is listlessly pulling on his clothes and you’re tugging at his hands, excited, wanting to hurry and have this curse looming over your head end, so that you can stop thinking about it.

“Why aren’t you happier about this?” You pout, but you quiet when he looks up at you, his usually warm brown eyes dull and exhausted.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” You ask, softer now.

Baekhyun shrugs. “Some.”

Then he grins at you and there’s a flicker of life in his eyes. “I’m a very old man, you know. I need my rest.”

It makes you laugh, makes you forget, and you don’t think of it again until you’re hiking up the trail, about an hour’s long journey to reach the top.

He’s behind you by a few hundred feet and you frown at him, waiting until he reaches you. You’ve never seen him out of breath.

You take his hand, tug him further up the trail but it’s only a few moments before he stops, bracing himself on a tree near the trail.

“Stop,” he wheezes, and you do, tilting your head at him in confusion.

“Baekhyun, we have to-”

“Just stop,” He insists, and you’d think he was angry if his voice weren’t shaking.

“Why? What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” You fire off at him, moving closer, and he shakes his head.

You take his chin in your hand and force him to look at you.

His brown eyes are still as tired as earlier, and wet now, too.

“I don’t want to do this again,” he manages hoarsely.

You take a step back. “Have we done this before? Have we been here before?”

Baekhyun doesn’t answer, but there’s a truth in his silence.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. “So what? Maybe this time it’ll work, maybe this is different-”

“It’s not different. In France you were called Jacqueline and we came here. You read books about it, forced me here just like you did this time. You were so certain it had worked.”

You shake your head but he keeps talking.

“You were so certain that after a couple of months, I was certain too. Three months later, there was a bus accident.” His voice breaks and he’s quiet again and you feel like you can’t breathe properly for the ache in your throat.

“We don’t know that will happen again.”

“I know!” He bursts out. “I know it will happen because it does, over and over again! Listen, we should go back to the hotel. I can get my bow out of storage and-”

“No!” You cry, stalking over to him. “No, that’s not the way to fix this.”

Baekhyun laughs bitterly, and he won’t look at you. “There’s no way to fix this.”

“You don’t know that,” you say stubbornly. “Whoever I’ve been in the past, I’ve never been this person, and I know I can fix it.”

He pushes himself away from the tree as if it takes effort to do it. “You always say that,” he says, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore, just tired.

You’re angry, heat rushing through your veins, and you don’t know if it’s at him or the fact that some ancient curse has decided to come through your life like a brushfire.

You push at him and he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t even keep you from pushing him against the tree.

“You don’t care, is that it? You’re what, bored of this? You want to get your bow so you can get rid of me?”

His jaw tightens and he looks away from you. “Maybe I do.”

You push him again and he has nowhere to go, backed up against the tree so he just takes it, stands there.

“Coward.” You spit. “You’d rather match me with someone else. You’d rather let someone else-”

“Stop it,” he says, something like a warning in his voice and you want to laugh or cry or both.

“Look at you. You can’t even hear me say it, but you’re going to marry me off like some 14th century child bride-”

“I’m not-” Baekhyun huffs, then stops, runs his hand through his hair. “He’s your true match. You… you always love him, when you meet him.” He struggles with the last sentence but he maintains eye contact, jaw working.

“Fuck my true match. And fuck you if that’s your answer to this.” You rage.

He doesn’t speak. “You’re always happy when you find him.” His voice is weak and it sounds like a weak excuse to your ears and you’re shaking with anger and fear.

You have this memory, sudden and sharp like a knife.

You're in this stone room, an inn you think, and you're half asleep but you can hear a low murmur from the room. It's familiar, from your traveling companion of the last few weeks.

His name is on your lips as you sit up but he's pacing around the room, not paying any attention to you. The way he's talking to himself makes you worried.

"You have to do this. You have to, you know you do," he mutters and there's something liquid in his voice.

Suddenly he slaps himself across the face and you yelp his name, stand up to take his wrist in your hand.

"Baekhyun," you whisper. "What are you doing?"

His face is flushed and his eyes look so tired, so worn, like he's lived a thousand years.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he manages, pulling away from your touch as if you'd burn him.

A few days later, his hands are shaking when he draws his bow, and your eyes are on him instead of your true match.

"Wh-what if you miss?" You whisper.

Baekhyun smiles but he won't look at you. "I don't miss."

He doesn't, but part of you wishes he had.

The memory just makes you angrier, makes you want to push him again.

“Am I? And what about you? What about you, Baek, are you happy without me? Are you happy giving me away?”

He scoffs, finally looking at you.

“No, really. Tell me. You must be happy giving me away because you want to do it so badly-”

“I hate it!” He bursts out. “I fucking hate it, every single time. I hate the way you look at him. I even hate how happy he makes you. I should be happy giving you away so that you can be safe, so that you can have the family that you want, but I fucking hate it.”

“Why do you hate it?” You demand to know, tears streaming down your face.

“You know-” he starts and you shake your head.

“I need you to tell me.”

Baekhyun puffs out his cheeks, he does that when he’s frustrated, when he wants to scream but you don’t have time to think about how cute it is right now.

“I hate it because I love you. I hate it because whoever your true match is, you’re mine.” He says, finally, heaving in a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Because I’m yours,” you parrot back at him, and his mouth opens, brows furrowed in a frown.

He takes a step toward you, now, but you don’t back away, and you don’t flinch when he takes your hips in his hands, tugs you toward him, claiming your mouth.

You claw at him, can’t help yourself and you don’t care that brambles are scratching your legs when he lies you down on the ground, don’t care because he’s panting your name into your ear, your name, not all those previous yous. You don’t care because you’ve chosen him, despite whatever the gods had determined to be your “true match.”

“We have to do this,” you tell him as you’re adjusting your clothes and he’s still lying there, panting.

He nods, as if humoring you, but he isn’t as listless when he starts back up the trail with you, keeping up with you and stealing kisses and making small talk.

You’re sweating by the time the two of you reach the top of the mountain, and when you look back, Baekhyun has fallen behind a bit, struggling up the hill.

You startle when thunder cracks overhead, sudden and close, but you walk back down the path to him, put your hand on his arm and he’s trembling.

“We’ve never made it this far,” he says, voice hoarse. “I don’t know what will happen next.”

“We don’t ever know what happens next, Baekhyun, but you know what happens when we don’t.”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “Not if you let me get my arrows, we can stop all of this, we can-”

“No!” You yell. “No, shut up about that, I can make my own choices!”

You tug on his arm and he stumbles forward only a few steps before stopping again and you can see the circle of stones at the top of the hill, where you’re supposed to stand according to the legends, and you haven’t done weeks of research and travelled across the world for nothing.

You take his hand in yours, squeeze, and look into his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you promise, and you have no idea what’s about to happen and it’s raining now, cold against your skin, but you know that you have to do this.

Baekhyun looks at you and there’s nothing in his eyes but fear and uncertainty but you tug at his hand again anyway and this time he follows without resistance.

It happens so quickly after that.

You step into the circle first, and he pauses, hesitating before breaking the barrier by stepping over one of the irregular stones. The second he does, lightning cracks above your head and you cry out, frightened.

Baekhyun grabs you out of instinct or some desire to protect you and you go down, scraping your elbows against the rock and sand as you try to catch yourself. Baekhyun puts his hands on either side of your head and it’s raining so hard that it’s all you can hear, that and the thunder, and there’s lightning everywhere, lighting up his features as he looks down at you.

“I was never strong enough to do this before,” he says, nearly yelling over the storm. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t-”

He’s cut off by another crack of lightning and he seems to be… lighting up, somehow, some glow that you think is from the lightning but then you see it’s coming from inside him. He arches his back, his face lined with pain and you realize something’s happening, something bad but when you reach up to touch him, he’s giving off so much heat that the tips of your fingers burn.

“Baek,” you whisper, and he manages to focus on you again. When he does, his face… it isn’t his face, but somehow you recognize it anyway and it keeps changing, cycling through all the lifetimes you’ve shared together.

“I’ve been so many things,” he says, and his voice is strong even over the chaos. “but I’ve always been yours.”

He manages to touch his forehead to yours and you’re terrified by the storm and what’s happening and especially how it seems to pain him to even move, how he’s glowing brighter and brighter until your eyes start watering.

He says your name but it’s your name and Jacqueline and Eva and Yui and so many others, all wrapped into one, and kisses you, the bright light coming from him forcing your eyes shut as he gets closer.

When you open them, there’s no sound of the rain or thunder and the ground under you is dry, as if you’d imagined it all.

But you can taste the rainwater in your mouth. You can still taste him there, too, but he’s gone.

You scramble up, yelling out his name and there’s nothing, just the sound of the birds in the trees. Moments before, the sky had been black, but now it’s sunny again.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the tears running down your throat as you stumble down the path.

You’re sobbing by the bottom of the path because there’s nothing, no evidence he was even there at all. You’re remembering what he said, how he said you’d never been that far before, but you’re wondering if he’d known, anyway.

You’re wondering if breaking the curse means that he has to die and how all of this is your fault your fault your fault.

There’s a sound in the woods and you barely realize it until there’s a man standing next to you.

“Miss? Are you all right?”

You sniffle, looking up at him, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Baekhyun, just the same, wearing the wet and sandy clothes he’d been wearing just a few moments ago, but something’s wrong and you can’t rush to him like you want to.

“Baekhyun?”

He rubs the back of his neck, smiles a little sheepishly. “Is that my name? I seem to have forgotten it. I think… I think I got lost.”

You think about how this feels, how there’s not a single light of recognition in his eyes and it feels like your chest has cracked wide open. You think about how he must have felt this, over and over again, and understand why he didn’t want you to have to feel it.

You take a deep, shaky breath and wipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“You’re not lost,” you tell him, and take his hand.

Baekhyun looks down at your hand in his and then back up to you, a smile breaking across his face. “No, doesn’t seem like it anymore.”

You’re trying not to cry as you lead him back to the resort when he stops and you turn back to look at him.

“I know this might seem like an odd question, but… have we met before?”

It hurts but you crack a smile anyway, remembering how he’d done this for you over and over, remembering what he’d said to you a few months ago.

“Maybe in another life.”

[yes-ihavealwaysbeengreen]

Next One’s on You 3/5

A/N: Thank you so much for reblogging, commenting, and liking! I read them all and I really appreciate it. Let me know if you want to be added to a Taglist. This is my personal favorite chapter so far. :D 

Summary: A series of moments in the life of Maxwell Lord and reader centered around drinks. 

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + for language 

Taglist: @josepedropascal @mrschiltoncat @ghostwiththemostbitch @mrsparknuts @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @maxlordsgf @xjaywritesx

My Masterlist 

Chapter Two - Vodka Martinis 

Chapter Three: Orange Juice 

Our start was rocky. From the unwanted solicitation, throwing a latte in his face, the note, that horrible date with Tom, and being doused in freezing water. You really thought that things couldn’t get any more rocky. Until you met his mother. Mrs. Lord as she commanded you to call her, was a complete and total bitch. 

Coming in like a hurricane and leaving nothing but devastation in her wake. After that night you continued seeing Maxwell Lord. You’re first date he rented out an entire movie theater, and didn’t even pay attention to the movie, his face buried in your neck the whole night. Followed up by small dinners at his mansion, and late night drives in his blood red corvette, the top down, you curled up against his side after a long day at work. 

After each one of these dates his toxic mother would swoop into your work and threaten you with anything in her arsenal. How she could get you fired, lose your apartment, sue you for some insignificant thing, and each time you would kindly tell her to fuck off. But she wasn’t just going after you but Maxwell as well and her claws were deep into him. Preying on all his fears and insecurities that she had instilled in him from a young age. Whispering lies in his ear that she had you tailed and were cheating on him, just using him for his money, or worse trying to get a baby out of him so he would be paying you for eighteen plus years. 

Each time he would come to you and you would remind him something his traumatized brain forgot in those moments….how much you loved him. 

Yes, he was an egotistical, rich, asshole and that is what the world thinks of him. But you saw so much more than that. The way he would take off your sticky non-slip shoes and rub your feet after a long day at the shop, stinking of coffee grounds. How he would hold your hand and rubs circles with his thumb whenever he drove you somewhere. The way he would make love to you with such tenderness, the aftercare where he would clean you and hold you so close you could feel your heartbeats sync together. You were his deepest secret, proof to the world that Maxwell Lord had a heart. Although no one knew that. 

You sit on the couch with your ice cream watching TV. Maxwell had a charity gala this evening and you're watching the news coverage hoping to get a glimpse of him in his tux. You had given him a new pocket square for his birthday last week and he promised to wear it. You dip the spoon in and lift it up to your lips when it clatters back into the carton. You put it on the table and crawl on your knees closer to the TV. 

Maxwell Lord IV is being interviewed by a local reporter looking immaculate. Not a single strand out of place and smiling jovial as he answers the questions. But that isn’t what caught your attention...it’s the blonde woman on his arm. You recognize her instantly as a model on the cover of the magazine your roommate bought yesterday. She is gorgeous, thin, wearing a floor-length pale pink dress, and a diamond collar. Her hand rests in the crook of his elbow and he has one hand over her own. 

“Mr. Lord, is this your girlfriend?” the reporter buzzes. 

“Oh Kitty here?” he kisses the beautiful woman's cheek and she giggles, “No, she is just a good friend of mine, I don’t have time in my life for any serious relationships.” He smiles at the camera again and you notice the pocket square is a pale pink to match her dress and not the one you bought and you feel the ice cream sour in your stomach. 

You reach for the knob and turn off the television laying down on the floor looking at the small cracks in the ceiling. You recall the conversation about this gala replaying it over and over again in your head. 

“Do you want me to attend with you?” 

“No, it’s just some boring charity gala we have ten to fifteen a year. I wouldn’t want to bore you with having to endure that for an evening,” he adjusts his tie and smiles over at you laying in his bed. 

“I understand,” you nod leaning up to kiss him softly, “Are you...going with anyone?” 

“No. I haven’t been attending these things with anyone since you and I...since you and I,” his eyes soften as he sits on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in yours. “You know how much I love you darling, I just want to keep you all to myself. If I bring you to this gala the press are going to start asking questions and….I’m not ready to share you with the world yet.” 

You smile, tightening the grip on his hand, “As long as I don’t have to share you with anyone either.” 

“There is no one else, you’re it for me honey,” he pulls you in for another kiss and you sigh. 

Your heart shatters thinking of the model and how perfect she looked on his arm. She would be the perfect addition to Maxwell. The words of his mother seep into you and your self doubt begins to bloom. You shake your head and get off the floor, put the ice cream away, and go to bed. The heaviness of your heart dragging you to sleep. 

The next morning doesn’t get any better. Your usual good morning phone call with Maxwell never comes and you go to work and try to clear your mind, sure it’s nothing. When your lunch break comes and still no call or even show of him you call his work. His assistant tells you regretfully that he is in meetings all day and can’t be reached. The sick feeling in your stomach continues to grow and when you get off you decide not to wait around for him, catching a cab to his home. The whole staff knows you and greets you happily and the chef makes you a sandwich and listens to you babble about your day as she cleans up. 

The household quiets down for the night and when it hits eleven and he’s still not home you take off your clothes, put on one of his shirts and crawl into bed. Determined not to let him get away with ignoring you all day. The next morning you wake up early, having tossed and turned the whole night. But this time the bed isn’t empty. A warm arm is draped across your waist and his mouth is pressed against your head holding you close. You sigh and watch him sleep, his face free of worry as he dreams.

You carefully eject yourself from his arms and go into the kitchen starting the button on the coffee. It’s very early and the chef isn’t even here yet so you decide to make some breakfast for yourself and Maxwell. The difficult conversation may be easier over food. You get out the egg whites, onions, peppers, mushrooms, and cheese for omelets and get to work cooking. Halfway through turning on the small radio and dancing around the kitchen to some Beegees. You're almost done cooking, putting the omelets onto the plates and pulling out a carton of orange juice and pouring a glass. 

You hear a slight chuckle and whirl around to see Maxwell Lord IV in his grey sleep pants, white shirt, and wearing bright blue cookie monster slippers you had bought him as a joke since he has a secret affinity for cookies. “What are you doing honey?” he asks, gesturing to the mess. 

“I...I thought we could have breakfast together and...talk...we need to talk Maxwell.” 

He lowers his head and nods grabbing the plates and juice before setting them down at the small kitchen table. Usually he liked to eat in the grand dining room but the small eat in kitchen table was your favorite. He sits close to you and digs in groaning at the taste. “This is delicious.” 

You give a half hearted smile, taking a bite and putting down your fork, turning to him, “I saw your interview at the gala....why did you lie to me about not having a date?” 

He grimaces, “my mother surprised me,” he sighs, “I was getting dressed for the gala and she shows up with Kitty, throws your pocket square in the trash and pushes us into the limo with her. I get the feeling that Kitty didn’t have much choice as well, but we played the part. I never wanted to lie to you, I just didn’t have time to tell you.” 

“Then why ignore me all day yesterday? No call, no visit, and when I tried to call the office they said you were in meetings all day.” 

“I was in meetings all day and I am so sorry about not calling in the morning but I had to take care of something very important yesterday.” 

“What was it?” not taking no for an answer. “My mother,” he rubs a hand over his face, “I had breakfast with my mother...I told her that what she did the night before was unacceptable and that I wanted to be with you. Of course she spent the entire day arguing with me but I couldn’t give a care. And at the end of it all I told her she needed to choose. Either she accepts you and we move forward or she can forget that she has a son.” 

“Maxwell,” you beg, “why didn’t you call me? I could have gone with you, you shouldn’t have had to do that alone! What did she say?” 

“She told me if I wanted to marry that poor coffee shop bitch, then she would never speak to me again.” You're silent as you process his words. Marry…? 

He stands from the table and goes into the foyer of the house. You can hear him digging in his coat and he comes back with a tiffany blue box. He drops to one knee before you and tears sting in your eyes, rubbing at them furiously. 

“I told her goodbye and then went to pick up the ring from the jewelers, I ordered it three weeks ago,” he opens the box and you gasp at the princess cut diamond surrounded by sapphires. “I had this big proposal planned, candles, champagne, a string quartet, your favorite restaurant. But, when I woke up this morning and saw you in my shirt, dancing and cooking breakfast, I thought this was a much better time. Plus you know how impatient I am darling.” 

You let out a watery chuckle and nod in agreement. Allowing him to continue, “I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I want to bring you to every gala, show you off to the world, and every morning I want to wake up with you in my arms. Will you marry me?” 

“Yes,” you cry, “yes of course, I will marry you,” you're openly sobbing and he has tears streaming down his cheeks as he slides the ring onto your finger. Pulling you out of your chair and into his lap as he kisses you passionately. His hands running through your hair and holding you close. 

“Oh my,” the chef opens the door seeing you both on the floor in a passionate embrace and backs out. You laugh calling them back, “We’re engaged!” you shout and the chef and butler run into the room congratulating you both. Maxwell smiles at you and you beam back at him kissing him again. 

A loud knock sounds at the front door and the butler rushes out to answer. Returning a few moments later apologizing as Mrs. Lord slams open the door. “Maxwell!” she shrieks, and you groan holding on tighter to your fiancé who is rising to his feet and pushing you behind him, locking his hand within your own. 

“Mrs. Lord?” he asks, “If you want to speak with me you will need to schedule a meeting with my assistant.” You squeeze his hand in encouragement and watch as she gapes like a fish.  

“You can’t be serious?! You are seriously going to give up your mother for some cheap whore?!” 

He steps forward and growls, “She is not some cheap whore, this is my fiancé and you will never speak to her like that again. I am tired of being your punching bag, allowing your toxic words to seep into me. I will no longer allow you to control me, we are done. Now good day Mrs. Lord.” He tightens his grip. 

“Maxwell, you can’-” she stammers and is cut off when he yells raising his voice. 

“I said good-day! Get the hell out of our home, you are no longer welcome.” She tightens her grip on her Hermes handbag and straightens her Dior dress before glaring daggers at you. 

“This isn’t over,” she hisses and turns on her heel stomping out of the house. 

When the door slams shut behind her, the staff quickly leave you two alone and you hold him close in your arms. Leaning up to whisper in his ear, “I am so proud of you.” He sighs and holds you tighter, placing a kiss to your temple. “I couldn’t let her talk like that about you.  You are going to be my wife, and no one will ever disrespect you like that.” 

“You’ve really changed Maxwell, I think some of those things you said to me the first time we met,” you tease and he groans. 

“Despite our rocky start and how much of an utter asshole I was, I wouldn’t change a thing. Because it brought me to you. I love you sweetheart,” he kisses you gently. 

“I love you too. Do you...do you think she’s going to do something bad? She seemed very angry when she left.” 

“Whatever happens, we will face it together. She is a bitter old woman, what’s the worst she can do?” he holds you close to his chest and reaches down for his orange juice taking a large drink. “Let’s just focus on the next thing.” 

“What’s next?” you sigh taking the glass from him and taking a deep drink. 

“Planning the wedding of the century darling.” 

You cough loudly. Oh fuck what have you gotten yourself into now? 

Chapter 4- Champagne (check master list for link)

[lovelyirony]

Oh, can I please ask for one of your folklore prompts? “And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want/just not home” my tears ricochet  For a young Tony, maybe? It doesn't have to have a pairing if you don't want to. :)

A house and a home are different. Tony did not know this until he was in college, much to his surprise. 

A house is somewhere you live. A central place that you come back to in between visits to other people or places or countries or anything else. It is not personal. It is something you use until you no longer see the need or the desire. You can move to a lot of them. 

A home lingers. A home is where you smile late at night over drinks. It is where crumbs reside from last night’s takeout, and you spend lazy Sundays. 

(Tony also didn’t know what that was either.) 

He’s lived in a lot of houses. He has a lot of houses. There’s the one in New York that is looming and lonely and probably would be his least favorite except it’s in New York, which earns it its redemption. 

There is sunny Malibu with its beaches and great views. There are a few others. 

None of them are homes. It’s just a place to rest for a couple of months or a year or until Howard decides it’s not enough. 

He gets to MIT and gets a dorm room, same as everyone else. It is pitifully sad, he gets sun only in the mornings, and that sucks. He kind of hates it. He guesses that’s the college experience. 

He also has a roommate. Jarvis had told him it’d be good for him, and Tony had had to talk Howard out of about twenty-seven different legal documents that basically said “if you ever breathe a word of anything to anyone, you’re being legally sued.” 

James Rhodes. Literally studying to become a rocket scientist, has questionable taste in posters, and waves at Tony when they meet each other. 

“Call me Jim.” 

“...Jim. Are you eighty or something?” 

It’s probably the wrong thing to say. It definitely is the wrong thing to say by Jarvis’ raised eyebrows and down-turned frown. 

But James Rhodes takes it in stride. 

“You can call me something else if you want, but it has to be good and I have to approve it. Can’t be my last name, can’t be Jimmy. Anything else is fair game.” 

Different reaction. That’s...that’s weird. 

So Tony shrugs, smiles as Jarvis leaves, and realizes that he’s alone and Howard doesn’t really have an influence--except he does, god he does--and Tony asks James Rhodes if he’d like to get pizza. 

“You know anywhere with good pizza?” 

“Wanna find out if Hemingway’s is any good?” 

“It’s either going to be artisan hipster or the worst. Hell yes.” 

It’s artisan hipster. It is bad, and James laughs as he tells a story and burns his tongue when he’s reenacting his mother is chewing him out, using his full name, and: 

“Rhodey,” Tony gasps out. 

“I told you that you couldn’t use my last name!” 

“It’s technically not your last name, sugar plum,” Tony mocks, using one of his mother’s nicknames against him. “You are forever now Rhodey. Forever.” 

- 

From there, friendship progresses. Tony’s never actually had a real friend before, not that he tells Rhodey that. Besides, Rhodey probably knows. Tony just automatically assumes he’s paying for everything, and he’s not sure what to do with genuine affection for a couple of months. 

He looks at Rhodey with such love and affection. He does, really. Rhodey has created a whole new world for him. 

- 

And then, the holidays. 

Thanksgiving is Tony’s least-favorite-holiday for a variety of reasons. It’s all a fake kind of gathering. “Coming together to celebrate gratefulness” is the biggest goddamn crock of bullshit he’s ever cooked in his life, and for once his family isn’t doing a PR stunt, so his mother has announced that he’s welcome to be back home, but they won’t be there. 

Howard is taking Jarvis with him on a trip to England to visit Aunt Peggy and probably talk shop about Cap and ice and stupid fucking theories about the degree of alive he’ll be when he’s found. 

(When. What pretentious bullshit.) 

Tony doesn’t want to be alone in the house, because that’d suck shit and MIT would be better. At least he could make shitty ramen and cry and only get a noise complaint instead of one of the cleaning staff members saying that he probably needed therapy. 

“You are not staying in the dorms, what the fuck man,” Rhodey says. “You’re coming home with me.” 

“Now darling, I thought you said we weren’t going to be forward about this whole thing,” he purrs, putting on an old Hollywood accent. “Are you finally coming up and seeing me?” 

Rhodey rolls his eyes. 

“I’ll be as forward as I want,” he decides, and Tony wishes he wouldn’t say things like that, because that seriously get’s a man’s heart rising. “Besides, I told you that you need to have my Aunt Kendra’s rolls, and that’s a promise. So, Thanksgiving is now with the Rhodes’ family.” 

Tony doesn’t know if they know that he’s coming. He also doesn’t know the dress code, and Rhodey is absolutely no help. 

“What do you mean by casual?” Tony squawks. “Is it business casual? Dressy casual? Jeans casual?” 

“What do any of those mean?” 

“Oh my god, I’m going to look like a failure at this shindig. Your mother will die over her cooking because I’ll pull out of the wrong wardrobe and be a fool. I’ll die, and you’ll have to bury me, and you won’t even know which outfit I’ll want. God, this is going to--” 

Rhodey shuts him up, putting a hand over his mouth. 

“Just wear your red turtleneck and your dark jeans or whatever. That looks nice.” 

“You noticed?” 

“You don’t give me as much credit as I deserve,” Rhodey grunts. “Early wake-up on Monday. I’ll supply coffee as long as you give me gas money.” 

“I’ll give you anything for coffee. I’ll give you my hand in marriage for coffee.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” Rhodey teases. “I might actually do that.” 

God, I wish you would. 

- 

Rhodey’s house is a nice place, a wire fence bordering with a porch swing covered in a light dusting of snow, and swinging slightly with the wind that blows through the neighborhood. 

There are quite a lot of cars parked in the driveway and in the street, and Tony can see at least six people inside the house, which is more family than he actually knows on either side. 

It’s all warm and yellow, and Rhodey moves with an ease that Tony didn’t know happened outside of those cheesy family shows. 

He throws open the door and there are shouts of joy and happiness and “Jimmy-boy!” 

“I didn’t know Jimmy-boy was on the table,” Tony remarks dryly. “And here it’s been for months, Jimmy-boy.” 

Rhodey groans. 

“This is worse than Rhodey,” he mutters. 

A woman who could only be his mother steps forward, grinning. 

“Call me Mama, darling. And what’s this I hear about ‘Rhodey’?” 

“He burnt his tongue on pizza while telling me about a time he got a well-deserved talking-to by your own graceful words, Mrs. Rhodes,” Tony says. He’s charming. Oh, he’s very charming. 

She giggles. 

“I said mama, but I can’t say I’ll mind too much when you talk like that. Jim, you should’ve had us meet earlier.” 

“You see I would’ve, but I happen to value myself,” Rhodey says. 

“You do?” a man says. Mr. Rhodes, tall and a smile that could put any of the fake veneers in Hollywood to shame. “Could’ve fooled me.” 

Rhodey gets pulled into a hug, and he laughs, and Tony has the Distinct Memory that He’s Never Been Hugged by his Father. 

Well, isn’t this a time to realize family inadequacies! 

“Rhodey, light of my life, where am I setting up my suitcase?” Tony asks. 

“Come on up with me. We’re sleeping in my room, hope that’s alright.” 

It’s more than alright, and Tony smiles when he sees Rhodey’s room. 

He loves it. It’s decorated with model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, a peeling Star Wars poster that has most definitely been needed to be thrown away for more than five years (but won’t be), and a few trophies from soccer. 

Tony’s never had his own room decorated with anything but the current trends, his mother hand-picking his comforter and the decorations in his room. And they all say he’s so “fashionable” and “keeps an eye out for trends.” 

(Ha.) 

It’s odd for him to see a house look so...lived in. 

“Welcome home,” Rhodey says. “I haven’t grabbed it yet, but I’ll use a sleeping bag and you can take the bed.” 

Tony snorts. 

“No way, honeybee. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. We’ve shared a bed before, this is no different.” 

"Only if you’re sure,” Rhodey says, smiling at him. “This is a bit different than both twin beds being crashed together because we wanted more space for the fridge.” 

“This time we don’t have the fridge,” Tony quips as Rhodey laughs. 

“Come on, let’s head downstairs. Mama’s probably gonna have us wash dishes or something. Maybe set up some more chairs.” 

What actually happens is that their laundry machine has gone rebel-mode, and is currently trying it’s best to fling the door open and spew laundry everywhere. 

“Shit,” Mr. Rhodes says, looking at it. “Another call to the repairman this month...” 

“He won’t get here until a week after Thanksgiving,” Mama says, sighing. “How much do you mind your jeans freezing up a bit?” 

He smiles a bit at his wife. 

-

Tony’s never seen that. But he likes it. 

-

“I can fix it,” he says. Family turns to him. This is all quite embarrassing. “I, uh, I’ve taken apart some washing machines before. I think I can figure it out, if you don’t mind me poking around.” 

“I wouldn’t mind a bit,” Mama says. “Jimmy, I like this one.” 

Rhodey rolls his eyes. 

“I’ll go get the toolkit for you. Need anything?” 

“Towels and you, honey-pie.” 

“You get one out of two of those options.” 

“You treat me like a vagrant,” Tony declares. Rhodey laughs as he heads to go get supplies. 

- 

The night goes on. People occasionally check in, and Rhodey assures them that it’s going well. 

“Instruction manuals are such bullshit,” Tony says. “Half the time they’re written by someone who doesn’t even know how to do it themselves. The other half, no one uses them.” 

“Well when you take over your company, write better instruction manuals,” Rhodey says. “Pass me a towel, things are about to get sudsy.” 

Forty-five minutes later, the washing machine is probably doing better than it was even at production, and Tony gets a kiss on the cheek and cheers all around him. 

“This calls for cookies,” Rhodey declares. “Tony, let’s go get some.” 

They sit at the kitchen table, and Tony learns so much about Rhodey’s family. He sees him laugh and relax and tell the funniest stories about when he was little and got stuck in a tree. 

-

It’s home. That’s how he finally understands it. Home where you keep on going long after, with people you love. 

He doesn’t have one of those.  

He thinks, maybe, that he could make a home of his own. Maybe he could have AC/DC posters lining a wall, or have the pictures of friends and vacation in the kitchen. 

And Rhodey would be there. For now, he’s going to enjoy his hot chocolate and try to get more embarrassing stories about his best friend from his family. 

[greenninjagal-blog]

Deja vu pt4

Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait! Who’s ready for 19 pages of Remus angst? If you’re new around [Here] is the first part, and [Here] is the previous chapter for those who want a refresher!

(To that one person who asked if Remus’s vision would get any clearer: I am so sorry.)

Summary: Remus has been able to see the future since he was eight years old. He thinks that maybe his mother would have loved him a bit more if he hadn’t. (aka, Remus calls home.)

Words: 7879

TW: attempted suicide, blood, death, bad parenting

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

By the time he’s twenty one and four months, Remus is no stranger to cross country traveling. He’s been all over the country, all over the back roads, the main roads, the highways and the interstates. He’s had paper maps from greasy gas stations stuffed in his go-bag since he was eighteen, and keeps souvenirs of his travels in the form of pins and buttons he’s clipped on the shoulder strap. 

He had made it a habit to never travel with a plan. He had chosen directions on a whim, following signs when he felt the need to sleep somewhere, and picked up cars from dealerships when he had been too lazy to use his casino-breaking powers to get the cash to pay for it legally. 

Travelling is something Remus has always been familiar with. The freeing feeling of pressing his foot to the floor and blowing through endless cornfields, of burning more gas than strictly necessary, of getting himself lost on backroads without cell service-- He loves driving with the windows down and the long distances. During the billions of times that he had slept in whatever car he was using, he had enjoyed climbing on the hood and staring up at the stars until sleep dragged him away again. 

Travelling with Dee, however, is something else entirely.

At first it had been different just because there were two of them: the presence of another person made him feel the need to talk to fill the silence, made him actually have to answer the “where are we going” question, made him unsure of if what he was doing was the right thing to do.

(Not the morally right thing-- no that he knew the answer of. He meant the right thing as in the thing that Dee wanted him to do. He imagined in those first few weeks he acted a lot like a pet dog, always checking back to Dee to see that he was doing good, and wagging his metaphorical tail whenever the Shapeshifter gave him that delicious validation.)

Travelling with Dee almost means the death of sleeping in the car they were using. The Shapeshifter believes him when he says that they aren’t gonna be attacked in the night or the police aren’t going to come knocking on their windows, but Dee, as much as he tries to pretend he’s new to riches and money, is a fucking elitist. 

“Why sleep in the backseat when there is a hotel with a bed and breakfast right there?” He used to ask, sometimes still asks, never needs to ask anymore. “Why act like a ruffian without a home when I can live like a king?”

And, well, Remus had looked into his eyes for too long and gotten lost in the depths of them. Dee was pretty, you see? And Remus’s stubbornness was a learned trick that Dee knew how to circumnavigate. 

Travelling with Dee means hotels with beds and fake names in a log book. It means showers with mini bottles of shampoo and crisp covers freshly cleaned and watching the stars from the balconies while Dee smelled his money (again). It means complimentary breakfasts that aren’t super great, but they’re something that Remus hadn’t had in a while and sharing a room with another person who didn’t trust him not to run off with all their money, counting the near silent inhales and exhales, and trying not to think about stupid things like “family vacations” or “Just share the bed, Roman, its one night!”

It means no more stealing cars, because Dee rations out and puts aside money in the most atrocious order-- something that he won’t describe to Remus beyond “you’re cute, but not that cute” no matter how many times Remus asks, or when he asks. Somehow he always has the money for a new car and food and a hotel room and anything else they saw and wanted for whatever reason. 

(“Not that one,” Remus had said, grabbing Dee’s arm before he could even look in the direction of the car in the lot. And Dee blinked but didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t pick out any other silver sedans and Remus managed to make it all the way to the bathroom before vomiting his guts up. Funny, isn’t it? That he can still see blood on a bumper and hear the screams of ambulance sirens thirteen fucking years later?)

Some things are the same, though.

Remus takes note of them as he drives calmly through the evening, like he used to in the four years where he had between running away from everything he’d known and running into Dee’s arms. The air still feels nice with the windows down, his eyes still burn when the opposite traffic forgets to turn off their high beams, the radio is still soft and soothing and plays along to his heartbeat. Dee’s still curled up in the passenger side seat, wearing a fresh pastel peach button up tucked into black dress pants and dress shoes bought straight from the rack. 

He’s still cute like this, vulnerable, with scales on display and his seatbelt imprinting a line on his opposite cheek. There’s a duffel bag of stolen money at his feet, all counted and tagged in his pocket notebook that he never lets Remus flip through. In the backseat are two more duffel bags with just Remus’s atrocious half of the money and another couple of suitcases that contain their material possessions.

Something stirs in Remus’s gut at the sound of Dee’s soft snores. He really is asleep, really does trust Remus not to drive them into a guard rail or off a cliff or into another car. He really trusts that Remus hasn’t been hiding a switchblade in his sleeve, just waiting for the right moment to plunge it into Dee’s throat before making an abstract art masterpiece out of his blood. He really trusts Remus not to park somewhere on the shoulder and take all the money they have between them and disappear in the night without a trace.

He trusts Remus.

And he doesn’t have a clue how much that means. 

Well, maybe he’s guessed a little. After all, Remus still gets that surprised look on his face when Dee actually listens to him, still finds himself rolling that purple coin from the Basilisk Casino that he’s kept, still gets a little shaky when he tells certain futures because this is it, this is gonna be the time where Dee says he’s stupid and crazy and dumb and he’s not gonna listen--

Trust was a hard thing to come by after Remus turned eight. How can you trust the crybaby that starts sobbing every time someone gets a little scratch? How can you trust the psycho kid who needs medication to go to school? How can you trust Roman’s Weirdo Brother when he says he can see the future like some sideshow circus attraction?

But Dee trusts him enough to keep travelling with him, enough to keep robbing banks with him, enough to let down his glamour and show his real self while he’s sleeping.

It's all well and good and fine.

Remus wishes he trusted himself the way Dee trusts him.

The music playing is still something that Dee had picked out hours before, classical and Remus doesn’t hate it necessarily, but he did turn it down so slow that the engine is louder than those stupid violins. Remus has an appreciation for people who find the screeching strings pleasant rather than just annoying, he swears. But the rumbling of the engine, the bump of every uneven bit of road, the slow winding turns is a familiar comforting melody.

Home, Remus knows, is more of the road than any building he’s ever been in. It’s more of the feeling of Dee’s hand in his over the console, more of the smell of pine tree air fresheners mixed with new car, than any concrete solid place he’s ever been.

Which is silly, maybe. Remus thinks if he squeezes his eyes closed really hard he can still picture the layout of the house he and Roman lived in. (Not “home”, not “the place he grew up in” and he definitely didn’t grow up in there-- because it wasn’t until he was seventeen and sleeping in gas station bathrooms in two hour spurts that he learned how the world really was.)

His mother really tried, Remus thinks. She really tried to be a good person, a good mother, a good role model. She made sure they cleaned their rooms and taught them how to do the laundry. She made sure he brushed his teeth and was fed and healthy and smil--

Listen when he--

Helped him take his med--

She tried, okay. Remus thinks that if he had been a normal child he might have grown up happy. He thinks that if she had had any other son to twin with Roman she would have been a fantastic Mom. He thinks that if he hadn’t gotten his power at eight fucking years old he would have been able to articulate what the fuck was going on and they might have had a chance.

Then he wonders what the hell they would have had “a chance” at. 

And then he gets angry about himself even thinking about it and---

---drives his car directly into the guardrail. Killing himself instantly with the force of the side collision and the air bad while Dee gasps for life he desperately was clinging too and the car that had been behind them for three exits screeches to a stop a dozen yards ahead of them and with passengers scrambling from their pickup truck screaming for help---

---drives his car directly into the guardrail. Killing himself instantly with the force of the side collision and the air bad while Dee gasps for life he desperately was clinging too and the car that had been behind them for three exits screeches to a stop a dozen yards ahead of them and with passengers scrambling from their pickup truck screaming for help---

---drives his car directly----

 And Remus keeps driving on the quiet road, switching lanes so he’s in the middle lane rather than the side one.

Its not a good night.

Well in all honestly it hasn’t been a good day either. They had spent most of it driving and Remus hadn’t meant to be quiet, but his thoughts had been so loud he forgot that not everyone could hear them. They felt like screams, like a blow horn directly into his ear drums, like his brain was being torn apart with each and every fire of a neuron. 

Thinking hurt. He hated to do it. 

Dee must have picked up on it, must have taken note of his change in attitude since that morning when he had grabbed the car keys off the dresser and hoisted their bags into the car. He had asked once, Remus thought, maybe. It would have been out of character for him not to ask what Remus was doing with the keys, but if he had asked he had only done it one time.

And Remus hadn’t answered it and Dee hadn’t asked again.

He also hadn’t asked where they were going. Remus thinks that was blessing, a mercy, a silent kindness that he was too selfish to even say thank you for. He didn’t know where he was driving to, just that he had blown through a full tank and a half and somewhere over ten hours of driving and that they had crossed timezones again.

And the concept of timezones had made him angry enough to slam his foot to the floor and nearly run a blue minivan off the road entirely.

He switches hands he’s steering with, flexing and stretching his digits to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

There’s four hours now. 

And Remus knows this because even if he hadn’t graduated highschool he knew how to read a clock. Which was what he had been doing all day: watching the speedometer and watching the clock and watching his blood pressure rise with every mile he drove.

There’s four hours between them now. Which means nine o’clock for him, which means the dim sky, which means the peaks of the faint stars through the grey cloudy sky, the closed mom-and-pop shops and the dwindling number of other cars-- which means that everything around him currently is not the same thing for someone who is four hours behind them.

Dee is asleep, shifting tiredly, when Remus, grinds his teeth together so hard and violently and angrily.

His skin feels wrong, too tight, too small. It feels like someone else and he’s only borrowing it. It twists around his lungs, constricting around him like a python and stealing every breath from his chest and getting smaller with every inhale. 

His legs burn with a restless energy and his eyes hurt from driving for so long and he’s hungry.

The radio fuzzes as he drives, as they reach the end of the station's signal range, as the violins finally die and leaves them with just static. The noise is grating in a way that Remus can’t quite place, something more annoying than the screeching of his own thoughts that won’t shut up. He reaches blindly for the power button, trying not to take his eyes off the road because he doesn’t want to plow them into the back end of the SUV they’ve been trailing behind for the better part of fifty miles. 

The radio goes off. 

Remus’s thoughts do not. 

The cloudy sky makes it darker than it actually is, making him turn on his headlights and make him growl at the lane reflectors he comes across every so often. The words on the signs might as well be written in Greek because Remus doesn’t bother reading them at all.

Mostly.

He tries not to. 

But there’s one that spells out “RESTSTOP” and it gouges its phantom fingers in Remus’s brain, refusing to leave him alone after he sees it. He drives and he tells himself it's because they haven’t eaten all day, because Dee probably needs to use the restroom, because he needs a stretch. Dee hasn’t complained at all, you know? Remus owes him a little bit of a stop. Maybe they can look for a fancy hotel with a penthouse edition and get himself drunk on the minibar delights.

That’s all.

It hasn’t nothing to do with the four hour time gap.

Dee doesn’t wake even when he pulls into a well lit parking spot. There’s a handful of other vehicles in the lot: a deep green hatchback with two bikes strapped to the top, a jeep with no doors and a lot of mud, a group of sixish motorcycles and the owners of them standing nearby talking quietly. He counts at least seven eighteen wheelers resting for the hour all with a collection of name brands and graffiti on the backs. 

 Remus puts their own car in park and sits back, taking it all in. 

He’s no stranger to travelling, hasn’t been for a long time. At twenty one years and four months old he’s no longer scared of the dark and certainly not scared of going to a public restroom. The signs clearly mark eating areas, restrooms, the dark, creepy, not-at-all well lit path into the woods for those who need to stretch and want to be murdered by psycho crazy forest clowns. There’s vending machines that take credit cards for sodas and packaged foods and Remus even spots one selling cheap portable phone chargers.

There’s a payphone booth.

Three actually.

None of them are in use, currently.

Remus looks back at the clock in their car-- its a quarter past nine-- and wishes that he couldn’t do math so well in his head. Maybe if he hadn’t been able to count he would have been able to take the stupid urge by is scrawny neck and throw it out the window while he drove right on by. Maybe if he hadn’t been able to keep track of days so well he would have been able to ignore the date. Maybe if he hadn’t been so great at counting he could have been better at something else, anything else, something normal.

She had tried, hadn’t she? 

So Remus should have been thankful, grateful, happy at least about that, right? It was his fault that he hadn’t been able to figure out that his visions were telling the future until a year later, until the doctors told him it was all in his head, until his own mother had decided he was making it up. She had listened to him those first few times, listened and reassured him, and held him close when he couldn’t breathe from the crippling fear that Roman was going to die. She had weathered each of eight-year-old Remus’s breakdowns with the patience of a saint.

And he still hadn’t been able to be that perfect son for her.

“Take your meds, Remus,” She had still told him when he was sixteen and had stopped crying when he watched her cross the parking lot without looking. “Take your meds and you’ll get better.” She had said even though that wasn’t what the meds did for people who actually took them. The meds hadn’t been the glue to piece him-- or anyone-- back together. They just reminded people of how their pieces fit without scratching and breaking and shattering even more.

And Remus hadn’t even needed them back then, because his problem hadn’t been like anyone else's. 

It hadn’t been delusions and hallucinations in his head. It hadn’t been him going crazy, it hadn’t been him losing himself. 

She had tried though. To be a good mother. To love him and all his….quirks.

“I don’t need you!” Roman had said. Very loudly, very openly, very angrily. And Remus thinks about that day a lot, often, all the goddamn time. Because they had been arguing all the way up the stairs, had been fighting verbally and their mother, their mom, Mom, had been just below them in the kitchen making dinner-- or maybe it had been a dessert, baking? Or just messing around in the kitchen. She had been there.

And they had gotten in trouble for arguing much quieter before.

Remus thinks about that day. He thinks about the vision of Roman dying by his own hand, of the blood and the gore and then fluttering pulse and the concept of a soul leaving the body. He thinks about how his parents would have come running the moment they heard Roman scream in pain.

He thinks. 

Maybe he thinks too much. 

And maybe one day he’d get the courage to ask himself the big looming question: Had she loved him? Or had she loved the concept of him?

Today wasn’t, hasn’t been, isn’t that day.

It’s nine thirty, here, at this rest stop somewhere in Oregon, where Remus is clawing his fingers on his thighs and letting his unevenly chewed nails catch on the holes in his fishnets. Its nine thirty here on the day where Remus is twenty one and four months old and staring at a payphone like it was about to ring all by itself. Its nine thirty one and Remus is thinking too much, too loudly, not enough.

It must be around five thirty for her. Right in the middle of dinner. Or after. Maybe she’s doing the dishes under scalding water that boils her hands right off. Maybe the dinner was poisoned and she’s clawing at her throat right now. Maybe she went out for the evening and got hit by a car when crossing the street.

Remus knows he could check. He doesn’t.

Because his skin is already itching and his breath is too hot and he wants to cry but he’s too old to be crying over things like this, just like his mom has said a thousand times over. 

He wonders if she would believe him if he told her how many times she had cried over Roman, how many times she had frozen at the sight of her precious baby boy going still and silent, how many times she fell to the ground and clutched at his body screaming her sobs like there was a chance any god out there would hear her anguish and give her son back. 

Like she had only one to love and cherish.

She had tried.

Remus wants to laugh so badly it hurts. The urge itself rips through his body, shredding his organs with a razorblade and filling his lungs with fluids followed and squirming its way up his throat inch by inch with a determination Remus hasn’t seen in himself since that gas station four years ago where he saw himself jump in front of an eighteen wheeler and felt his insides go splat! for the first time.

Remus wants to laugh, because she had tried, and it hadn’t been enough and Remus still---

He still---

Remus pulls the keys out of the ignition and throws them in the cupholder next to the sleeping Dee. He exchanges it for his wallet, which had seen far better days and been handled far nicer, but that’s beside the point. His driver’s license is overdue but nothing short of a nuclear bomb will get him back to the state he had once lived in-- he skips over it and the various rechargeable cards he had picked up over the years (Starbucks, Seven-Eleven, a Techron Advantage Card he got for fun and never actually used because Dee always paid for gas) and goes straight for the cash.

They’re all large bills. He takes a fifty.

Dee murmurs softly as he unbuckles his seat belt and flies into a wide blown panic when Remus opens the door. Quicker than Remus thought was possible for a guy to move, he springs over the dividing console and grabs Remus’s arm with-- OW FUCK DEE -- claws.

Remus yanks back on instinct, throwing himself against the already open door and tumbles into the empty parking spot next to them. His arm howls with pain, with an agony, with a cacophony that drowns out all his other thoughts for the moment. 

The blood is red. 

Remus is twenty one and four months old and his body wracks with such a vehement hatred for the color it makes the rest of his blood, the blood in his veins, the blood in his body, his blood boil. Its red, and he hates red, has hated red, will forever hate red.

Because red was the color of Roman’s favorite jacket when they were eight, the color of Roman’s shoes that he left out on the stairs too many times, the color of Roman’s blood too.

Red had been the color staining the bumper of a silver sedan, the color of a broken snow globe hitting the carpet, the color of Remus’s insides on the freeway, and the underside of an eighteen wheeler, and the bottom of the motel bathroom tub. 

“Remus!” Dee yells from inside the car, morphing, changing, panicking in a way that is not like him at all. He clambers into the driver's seat looking too pale for a guy whose skin tone could be any color he wanted it to be. “I’m sor-- I didn’t know we ha--- Oh my god I’m sorry!” 

He grabs all the napkins they have squirreled away in the crevices of the car, then the half empty tissue pack from the last time Remus had decided to check to see if the line in McDonalds was going to be long, then a scarf Dee had bought before he remembered that it was warm enough to cook eggs on the sidewalk in most of the places they went to. He spills out of the car even less gracefully than Remus had, bubbling up apologies like his mouth was a fountain. There’s an emotion wafting off him, something that taints the air and makes the hair on Remus’s neck stand on edge.

“It’s okay,” Remus whispers.

“You’re not okay!” Dee frantically responds, turning a stripe of his hair blonde and completely missing the part where Remus did not say he himself was okay.

Dee’s fingers feel like bugbites up and down his arm, like cigarette ends being jammed into his flesh, like he was the cake and Dee was placing enough candles in him to make up for every birthday his mother had missed celebrating.

“Its okay,” Remus says, tugging his arm away before Dee can turn him into a house fire that burns down the whole block.

“Remus--”

Remus stands up. “I need to make a phone call.”

Remus doesn’t need to make a phone call. He probably shouldn’t make a phone call. 

“Remus!” Dee says standing up too. He’s taller this week, today, now, than he’s been before. He’s got an inch on Remus, and he uses that inch to look down at him and breathe like every inhale might be his last. There’s blood on his hands from trying to mop up where Dee had clawed him. Remus can feel the warmth of his blood trailing down his fingers even now. 

“What the hell is up with you right now!” He demands in a way that makes Remus’s stomach churn, that makes his knees weak and his throat feel all lumpy in all the wrong places. 

He should be mad. Dee should be furious at him for ignoring him all day, for driving them through a handful of states, for not pausing for bathroom breaks or any type of food, for not waking him when he stopped at the rest stop. He should be so angry he can’t see straight, so enraged that he stood up and grabbed the keys and drive the fuck away from here. He should be mad.

So why does he sound so scared? 

“Is this about the Mall?” Dee asks, “I can do better, Remus, please! I’m sorry!”

He’s babbling like a brook, about things in the mall that Remus barely remembered because it was a day and a half ago and three, four, five states gone. He’s talking about the Mall the same way that eight-year-old Roman had been apologizing for name calling, while Remus was three sheets in the wind during a tornado on his own thoughts.

“No,” Remus says, which is about as effective as shoving his finger in a hole in a dam.

The parking lot lights make Dee look like he’s standing in a spotlight on stage. Remus hates the sight, hates the feeling that they’re putting on a production for someone else's entertainment, hates that he should know his lines by now and because he doesn’t he's ruining everything around him.

Dee moves like a clockwork mannequin with rusted gears. Remus thinks he can hear each individual gear screech as his back straightens and his weight shifts back and Dee looks more like Roman than he’d ever know.

“N--n--” Dee repeats, “No?”

As if he didn’t know what the word meant.

“Like….no I can’t do better?”

-- “Like, No Get Back in the Fucking Car, Dee!” Remus explodes.---

--“Like No, Leave me alone for five seconds!” Remus erupts.---

--”Like No, Its not your fault I’m a fucking mess!” Remus chokes.---

--- “Like No, Its not your fault. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”--

-- “Like No, I’m making bad decisions and I’m sorry and I don’t know what to do and I know that you don’t really love me the way you think you do because no one ever loves me that way. Like No, this is a future that I’m not going to choose but I wish I had because keeping this all in my chest hurts like a little bitch, Dee. It hurts so bad. Like no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m going to have such a nose bleed from this one, and because you’re you, you’ll know that I’ve been bullshitting my way through this for a good while. My power’s broken, Dee. Don’t you see? And once I tell you what's going to be left for you to stay?.”---

“Like No,” Remus says, defeated. “I don’t even remember what happened at the Mall.”

Dee stares at him with stolen sapphire eyes, with an emotion he can’t place, with wordless questions Remus doesn’t want to answer.

He doesn’t know what time it is.

A drip of his blood leaks down his lip and lands on the asphalt at his feet. That’s okay.

He breathes in the dry air, feeling it scratch down his throat and butcher his lungs with each inhale. “I...need to make this phone call.”

“Why?” Dee pleads, and Remus thinks that if even Dee can tell it will end badly, he should know better than to go through with it. 

But Remus has been thinking too much lately, about too many things. He’s been trapped up in his own head, and the last people he tried to let help him gave up on him.

And he still can’t give up on them.

“It’s her birthday,” Remus says with a smile that borders on deranged, “And she tried, you know?”

He doesn’t know. Remus can tell by the look on Dee’s face. But that’s okay. They made a pact after all, after that first night, that they wouldn’t get personal, that discussions of feelings were off the table. And Dee had said in a future that hadn’t happened that Remus was an investment that will pay out one day. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know.

“Remus,” Dee says, controlling the stage like he was born to do it. “What will she say?”

Remus shrugs and turns away because he’s never been able to make it past intermission of any production he’s watched. The fifty in his hand has splatterings of blood, his arm aches and whines as he uses it to smear away the waterfall from his nose. At least a couple of the sidewalk lights are broken so he doesn’t scare every single normal person chilling at the rest stop as he walks up.

Remus is twenty one and four months, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t waste forty seven dollars on snacks from a vending machine just to get the change in quarters to call cross country. He’s not hungry but he peels open a Cliff bar and takes a bite anyway. The rest of the food he leaves on the patio floor around the vending machine for whatever comes by, be it the kids he can hear yelling or the raccoons watching from the tree line.

He glances back at the car, their car, Dee’s car. Just to make sure its still there. That Dee didn’t drive off without him.

Dee hadn’t, didn’t, doesn’t. He’s sitting in the driver's seat with the door wide open, half in half out, and it looks like he was fiddling with the radio again.

Remus tosses the other half of the bar into the trashcan and walks the last three steps to the payphones. 

She had tried. Remus puts the phone to his ear and tries to remember how to breathe. 

The buttons are stiff. Remus’s knuckle leaves behind traces of his blood as he dials. The back of his throat tastes like his inside of his stomach. There’s a gritty feeling along his teeth and the bottom of his mouth from the Cliff Bar. He’s knees tremble to the sound of the ringing, leaving him swaying in the too-long silences, in the bated breaths, in the calm before the hurricane. 

“Hi! It's the Regis Family! We’re not available right now, but if you leave your name and number, we’ll get back to you!” 

Remus’s mouth tastes like blood. He swallows it down, breathes through the rest of the message, the beep and another moment where his chest just aches with a billion words he doesn’t know how to say.

“H….hey.” His voice is raspy. Why is his voice so raspy? He clears his throat. “I, uh...I was calling to say, Happy Birthday. Hope it was a good one. That’s all. B--”

“--Hello?”

Remus’s jaw clicks shut at the noise, the words, the voice. Because even four years later Remus knows it like the back of his hand, can still imagine it screaming his name in the store, of it laughing as she brushed through his curls, of it whispering softly that everything is fine, everything is okay, I’m right here, Remus.

“Ha, Hi! Sorry about that, you caught us just as we were getting back to the house! Oh, this is embarrassing… Who is this? Our caller ID isn’t working…”

She trails off.

Remus thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe.

She sounds out of breath, flushed and happy and excited in a way that he doesn’t remember her ever being before. His vision tunnels through memories, through scenes in his head where she’s smiled and laughed and giggled the way she’s doing right now. He’s coming up blank.

He grabs the wall to keep himself steady.

“Hello?”

“I’m here,” Remus croaks.

She’s different now. So is he. Everything is different and the world seems to stop at that mind blowing statement.

“.....I’m sorry,” She says, “I really need to know who this is, now.”

Remus should hang up. 

Remus needs to hang up. 

He laughs, like he’s on death row, like the barrel of a gun in on his temple, like his foot just left the ledge.

“What?” He asks, “Can’t a mother recognize the sound of her own son's voice?”

There’s a breath. A moment. A second. Remus feels it. Like it's tangible, palpable, real. Like all the clocks in the world decided to stop. Like a tick without a tock. Like the past and the present and the future didn’t exist at all. There’s a breath, and Remus thinks that she had tried once, maybe she could try again. 

They both could try again.

“Oh my god. Is that...Baby, is that really you? I’m so sorry for what I said. You were right.” 

“Wait--”

“You’re always right. And I’m sorry about-- about everything. Please let me make it up to you?” His mother says and Remus gets a sinking feeling in his chest.

“What--”

“Or at least talk about it? Can we do that?”  His mother says and Remus should have hung up.

“Mom--”

“Can you come back home, Roman?” His mother says and Remus sees red.

Because, of course, she thought he was Roman. Of course. 

Red is the color of Roman. The color of his jacket and his shoes and the ball Remus should have thrown into the road when they were eight. The color of a past Remus can’t get rid of because every time he does anything he can only hear Roman’s voice in his head or picture his mom with her red lipstick telling him to take his pills and stop being so abnormal. It’s the color of a future that he can’t reach because every time he gets a little bit of hope he’s reminded that he’s unnecessary and forgettable. 

Red is the color of Remus’s blood that looks just like his twin’s but somehow has always been valued less to their mother.

He squeezes the handle of the phone so hard his fingers go numb from the pain, and the scarf around his wrist turns scarlet. His body trembles and bubbles and boils like its housing a volcano ready to erupt, or a thousand termites are trying to chew their way out of him, or every atom in his body is trying to shake themselves apart.

Remus is twenty one and four months old and he hangs up the phone so hard that it pops right back out of the slot and swings to the ground by its cord.

He doesn’t fix it. In fact he doesn’t even see it because he’s too busy seeing red. Too busy seeing Roman’s head collide with the bumper of a silver sedan, too busy seeing Roman’s neck break when he falls off the swingset wrong, too busy seeing Roman’s body on the ground of his carpet surrounded by the shattered remains of a snowglobe, too busy seeing all the things he should have done or let happen or helped happen.

Too busy knowing that hindsight is 2020 and Remus’s insides suddenly want to be outsides and his arm hurts and he wants to-- 

He wants to--

--“REMUS!” Dee shrieks from across the parking lot, sprinting towards him because he forgot that he can shapeshift into something faster. There’s a terror in his eyes, a fear, a horror in his expression that's like being stuck under a collapsed building and knowing that no one is gonna come. “REMUS! SOMEONE HELP!”---

--“REMUS!” Dee shrieks from across the parking lot, sprinting towards him because he forgot that he can shapeshift into something faster. There’s a terror in his eyes, a fear, a horror in his expression that's like being stuck under a collapsed building and knowing that no one is gonna come. “REMUS! SOMEONE HELP!”

But no one is close enough and Remus’s knots are a practiced stubborn thing that has his body convulsing before Dee remembers he can make claws and cut the scarf off.---

--“REMUS!” Dee shrieks from across the parking lot, sprinting towards him because he forgot that he can shapeshift into something faster. There’s a terror in his eyes, a fear, a horror in his expression that's like being stuck under a collapsed building and knowing that no one is gonna come. “REMUS! SOMEONE HELP!”

But no one is close enough and Remus’s knots are a practiced stubborn thing that has his body convulsing before Dee remembers he can make claws and cut the scarf off.

But by then Remus is already dead.---

But no that’s not right. 

He doesn’t want to die. 

His mouth tastes like metal, and he’s so sick of the taste of metal, of the smell of blood, of the sight of red on his clothes and on him. He’s so sick of being the weird twin, of being the one everyone wants to forget, of being gifted with a power that's so shitty it his own body rejects it. He’s so, so sick.

And tired.

And angry. 

That he spent all day trying to figure out what to say to his mother and she doesn’t even remember him. That his family pushed him away and now he watches himself jump off buildings or into traffic or off tables at a rest stop. That his skin feels too small and his mind too big and that there is absolutely nothing wrong with him but everyone still treated him like there was.

“Pardon me,” A voice says to his left. “Hello? Sir? You seem to be bleeding...”

It belongs to a guy with glasses, big thick blocky glasses that match every other part of him: his sharp jawline, his stiff spine, his set shoulders. It belongs to a guy with hair so dark it might as well have been a black hole, with eyes swirling with so many blues they looked like nebulas, with skin so pale it might as well have been the surface of the moon. It belongs to a guy that reaches out oh so carefully and touches Remus’s shoulder to check that he’s alright and---

-- “A stick in the mud?” Logan suggests sourly as they walk. The rain speckles his glasses and plasters his hair to his head.

“I was gonna say prude, but that works too,” His younger brother shrugs, sipping loudly from his drink. “Girl, you really just need to loosen up. You’re always so stressed!”

“I do not need to loosen up,” Logan counters, “In fact, if anything, I need to tighten up my interactions with people more. You saw what happened to the baristas at the Starbucks.”

“Yeah, and it was Awesome!” His brother motions to the drink in his hand, “Free drinks!”

“Will it still be awesome when they get fired and lose their source of income because they unwittingly gave away merchandise to customers?” Logan asks. He tugs his jackets around him tighter, hunching his shoulders and wishing that between the two of them they had thought to bring at least one umbrella.

His brother rolls his eyes because the rain doesn’t bother him anymore than the slight chill or the cars passing dangerously close to their sidewalk. “Honey,” He says, “Its two free drinks. It’s not gonna kill the infrastructure.”

Logan grunts, dismissing the rest of the argument as he was prone to do more often these days. “Remind me again why we’re here.”

“That prince dude is supposed to be around here today!”

“You mean, Princeps,” Logan corrects. “Assumedly named after the swordsmen from Roman armies pre-Marian reforms. Which does not make any sense considering that he does not carry a sword and his perceived power does not--”

“I wanna get his autograph!”

Logan squints back at his brother. “You want the autograph of a man who is running around the country in tights? You don’t even have anything for him to sign.”

His brother shakes his mostly empty drink and points to the spot right below where the barista had scratched out his own name, not that Logan can see it, or anything. “Duh.”

Logan shakes his head, as his brother prattles on about Princeps face, his biceps, his thighs. And as much as Logan enjoys listening to his brother talk about things that interest him, he wishes that it was something other than men that thought “superhero” was a stable dayjob. He sighs and removes his glasses and to clean them as best as he can with the raindrops being the nice of dimes.z

 He hates the rain, hates that he couldn’t ever see more than three feet when it so much as sprinkled, hates that his brother has no such problems at all and can continue walking without a care in the world.

“LOGAN!” His brother yells.

And Logan has just enough time to feel his stomach jump straight to his throat, before he walks blindly into an open manhole. His forehead slams on the outer rim so hard he sees actual stars in the corners of his blurry vision. And he fumbles and  flails and falls and...

And the empty air catches him, covets him, carries him off. Because he’s dead as soon as his head hits the concrete floor ten feet below---

Remus inhales like he’s been drowning for the past four years, and hasn’t been able to find the surface. He stumbles back from the stranger who had approached him, from the man who has a younger brother, who doesn’t like superheroes, who’s name is Logan. He stumbles back and feels the whole Earth roll under his feet, turning the solid ground to an uneven puddy.

Logan jerks back as well, be it shock or surprise or something in between and equally bad. He looks at Remus, the way that the first dealer from the Basilisk Casino had, the way that the new freshmen at their high school had when the older kids told them to steer clear of the guy who looked just like the theater star, the way that Roman had when he had first seen the orange bottle of pills that were supposed to make Remus not cry all the time.  

“My apologies, you seemed to be in distre--” Logan starts.

“Don’t touch me,” Remus says quicker, louder, angrier. Because Logan doesn’t know that he’s going to die some day in the future, that its going to be a stupid sudden death, that his brother that he actually loves and whom loves him back is going to witness it. Because Remus doesn’t know why he knows either.

His skin blisters and bubbles and itches in a way that tells him he needs to take it off. His arm burns from the scratches, his blood is making his hand and wrist all sticky and his head feels a bit like cotton. His mouth tastes like Starbucks Hot chocolate and ash. 

“Don’t touch me,” Remus says again, because he feels radioactive and can smell petrichor in the air and everything about it is wrong. If he says anything else he thinks he might throw up or cry or both and he doesn’t think anything other than more blood can come up.

Remus turns and runs. 

“Remus?” Dee asks, when Remus throws himself into the passenger seat the way he should have that morning.

Remus shakes his head. And keeps shaking it because if he stops his thoughts will catch up and then they’ll really be in trouble.

“Drive,” He manages between his inconsolable gulps for air.

“Where?” Dee asks.

“Don’t care.”

He doesn’t. He just needs to be somewhere other than here.

Remus is twenty one and four months and he’s no stranger to travelling without a destination. Dee buckles his seat belt and pulls out of the parking spot without another word. Remus brings his knees to his head and counts, and counts, and counts. If he closes his eyes he thinks that he might see the silhouette of Logan standing next to the payphones staring at his hand still so he doesn’t close his eyes.

“That’s just what I’m saying, John.” The radio says, “All these new people with what can only be classified as “superpowers” and what is the Police doing about this? Nothing!” 

“Hotel,” Dee says, “We can order some food there and actually look at those marks on your arm.”

“Whatever,” Remus says.

“Well what do you expect the Police to do?” The radio says, “Their answer to everything is “shoot it.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t want the police shooting at a kid who just so happened to be able to make lightning. You heard about that incident in the Idahoan Mall didn't you? Times are changing. It's up to the people to police themselves now.”

Dee sticks his tongue out ever so slightly, like a snake smelling the air.

“You’re encouraging the actions of people like that dragon guy from that incident? The child from that event is in the hospital right now. 

“So is the man that had been robbing the store. Which is better than him being the morgue. I’m not saying that I think that putting children in the hospital is a good idea! I’m saying that only protecting the lives of “good” people is telling everyone to become judge, jury, and executioner. The Idaho Mall Incident could have been handled better-- in fact I think if the new guy, the one around the east wearing the white? You know the one I’m talking about, Karen.”

“Yeah, yeah, the Prince? I think he called himself Prince.” 

“Yes. If the Prince had been the one who had handled the Idaho Mall, it could have been handled completely peacefully, without either parties having ended up in the hospital.”

Dee grips the steering wheel, tightly.

Remus reaches out and turns the radio off.

[Part 5]

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Phsychokinesis

You meet the League and butt heads with Clark.

Masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Panic attacks

Phsychokinesis 

You sat in the back of the batmobile for what felt like hours lost in your own thoughts, you regreted this already, why rock the boat now? you were fine, you were learning how to do this on your own, you didn't need anyone they'd get in the way Or hurt! Then they'd hate you, hunt you down, you wouldn't get away! Either that or they'd see you for the monster you was and just leave you somwhere this was a stupid idea, a silly childish hope of a fairytale ending of a home ,acceptance the hope of finding people who will understand, they wont, no one understands they can't. You panicked your breathing shallow, out! you had to get out slowly you looked around looking for the hinge that held the door infront of you closed it had flipped up like a trunk but in your panicked state you wouldnt be able to concentrate enough to send out your ripple instead you had to touch it you fumbled with the harness style seat belt cursing when your fingers couldn't grip finally useing your power the split the mechanism down the seam it must have sent a warning to him in the front as you heard his voice a few seconds later.

"Kid? Calm down Whats the matter?-" 

"NO! Let me out stop, I've changed my mind I can do it on my own!" You cried out leaning forward blindly running your hands over the top of the door sliding your palms hurried wanting to find the weak spot to tear at sniffling as tears began falling blurring your vision 'stupid your so stupid!' You thought repeating over and over scrabbling over the top you couldnt find it! He continued talking low and calm trying to ease you out of your panic attack.

"Hey kid its okay your scared its natural to be scared okay? But I promise whatever your think is going to happen isn't, none of us are going to let anything happen to you, just take some deep breaths for me in......then out.....again for me in ...... and out....." you closed your eyes doing as he said kneeling on the floor shivering from the aftermath of your break down as you felt the vehicle stop. You slumped resting your head on the door in front of you and spoke in a quiet voice

"I can't do it again" You held your breath when you got no reply had he listened? 

"Do what again?" You stayed silent he wouldn't have it and asked again in a different way

"What are you afraid of? Tell me so I can help, we just want to help"

"....I'm better off alone.." and there it was your words were loud and clear Bruce read between the lines the truth behind your fear and panic,abandonment, a kid who lost her parents and has been passed here there and everywhere thrown from home to home until finally you run away deciding you dont need anyone else he sighed.

"We wont leave you, not now your here weather you belive it or not the second you stepped into this car you were one of us and the others are eager to meet you" 

"And when I hurt one of you? It will happen it always does its why they get rid of me." You venom in your voice made his blood go cold, you sounded like one of the many nut jobs he put away behind bars, the ones that wanted to watch the city burn with everyone in it ,all he could do was hope he wasn't to late.

"The only one you could hurt is me and if I'm not mistaken we have been over that already and you said so yourself you caught it, was I angry? Did I shout and attack you? Or call for back up? I could have but did I?"

 You looked down fidgeting with your fingers a little feeling small he almost sounded like a parent and not in that hyped up I'm right and your wrong way you were used to it was more like trying to get you to understand him something you hadnt heard in a long time.

"Well? I expect an answer young lady"

"No, you didn't do none of those things"

"Right and you know why? It was an accident and accidents happen, besides one of us will always be there to watch out for you,everyone in this place is faster then you physically we are all stronger than you there is no need to worry, now lets go meet the team, We are already here." You sniffed a little wiping at your eyes.

"I suppose....I'm scared" He chuckled at that you sounded so tiny and vulnerable 

"No their not scary at all come on" you waited a few breaths then the door opened and he was in front of you he sighed quickly lifting you out palcing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You looked around this place was huge with various different vehicles air land and sea all in matte black spanning the length of the huge space.

"Holy shit..." he hummed in agreement 

"Immpressive huh?" You looked around some you recgonized from news footage in gotham.

"Yeah you have a lot of.....weird  things here" he shrugged just happy that your little break down had passed, he knew the others were watching through the security eager to meet you, but he wanted to make sure you were okay. He cleared his throat nodding to the elevator that would take you up into the main tower.

"This way we can go and meet the team then get you settled in for the night" you blinked at him

"What?" He crossed his arms standing tall

"Well it is nearly eleven pm and your only what fourteen? you shouldnt be up this time, what about school?"

"Im sixteen and I don't go to school I do online...when I can be bothered" he sighed walking to the elevator you trailed behind him as he sent it moving up.

"Fine, either way you can stay here tonight, there is a room ready for you" you nodded a little apprehensive finally the doors opened revealing a huge room with a large round table the others sat around it smileing at you batman pushed you forward when he saw you freeze a little the small nudge sent you walking forward into the room. Wonder woman was the first to approach you with a smile

"Hello Im Diana its nice to meet you we're glad you decided to come" she was beautiful ,polite and looked kind, you almost forgot how powerfull she was just by speakjng to her

"H-hi Im y/n its....nice to meet you too" you said quietly scanning the room still nervous looking for escapes just incase, the window, thick glass but doable not sure how far the free fall would be- your thoughts were interrupted by a gruff voice

"I wouldn't we're pretty high" you snapped your gaze up to Aquaman he was....unerving to say the least, he gave of a chill and slightly playfull attitude.

"What?" He smirked nodding to the window

"Your checking for escape I could see it in your eyes, hell sometimes I want to throw myself out the window to escape this lot but were pretty high, I mean wonder boy over there would catch you no doubt but still waste of a window dont ya think?" You smiled a little blushing tangling your hands in your hoodie.

"Itd be fixed before I was a quarter of the way down, its just a habit.Sorry" He smiled waving it off

"Nah your fine its smart you want a back up plan I'm Arthur by the way." You nodded still lookkng around everyone noted you didn't drift to far from Bruce which in a way was good he become a sort of saftey net it seemed. They all new what happened on the way here and downstairs. You were holding up well considering how terrified you were. They all drifted to the table taking their seats, when you didn't follow Bruce came up behind you taking your bag walking to the huge round glase table you followed behind him.

"Jesus what do you have in here? Thats way to heavy for you to be lugging around" he complaind as he set it down lettingnyou take a seat next to him.

"Books,clothes, my phone ,headphones and purse I take everything with me when I leave the homes, its easyier that way don't have to go hunting for it later" you shrugged everyone in the room frowned. It was Clark who began speaking

"So thats everything you own?" You nodded a little scared of him if you were honest you were scared of all of them.

"Pretty much, when it comes to foster homes in Gotham their not the best to put it bluntly us kids are money makers, the state pays them to take me in, when your younger theres more to it they put you somewhere nice with good poeple that care, you know try to make you a model citizen all that crap but teens no we get the shit ones given a bed and told to get on with it we are lost causes by this point just waiting to age out and be fucked off, I haven't been to my foster home in three weeks they haven't tried to get in touch or anything they dont care, occasionally they file a missing persons report and police find you and take you back but thats only cos of the inspections if I aint there when the do a spot check the money stops and they can be stricken off the register loose about $400 a month, but I prefer being out on my own" He frowned crossing his arms infront of his chest taking a deep breath leaning back, you fidgited a little under his intense gaze leaning to Bruce he didn't look happy at all and you weren't sure what you'd done but you felt like you'd irritated him, you cast a glance to Batman who was giving you a similar look making you gulp.

"So where have you been sleeping then for these three weeks?" you snapped your head back to the Man of steel.

".......with freinds and stuff....." he raised an eyebrow he didn't need to hear your pulse change to know you were lying it was clear from the way you spoke quiet and high but he would leave it for now.

"Well from now on you will be home by eight at the latest" you blinked you were expecting an argument or some dismissive 'oh it can't be that bad' but not a curfew... honestly you wasn't sure what to make of it and that made you angry, you wasn't used to people caring for you, your first instinct is to scare them away.

"err what? not being funny but I'm here to get my freaky power under control not to get a fucking life coach, had one he quit...like not just me he quit completely something about having the devil inside or something...Not sure if that was aimed at me tho...Probably...He was old as shit" you shut up when he tilted his head leaning back it was a very...Parental gesture you swear your dad did the same thing when he was alive.

"Well that was before I learned of your situation and the fact that your living on the streets at the moment." you growled at him any fear replaced with anger and a little panic he knew... he definitely knew you were lying the air rippled around you coming to life.

"Are you deaf? I've been staying with friends.... Not that its any of your fucking business" 

"Friends from your online classes you never do? now I don't see that somehow" you shook glaring at him 

"Fuck you!" he stood up not taking notice of the way your eyes glowed you panicked normally that was enough to make them back off he wasn't, standing you faltered not sure what to do you wanted to scare him off, make him back down but you didn't want to hurt him, you freaked out a little as he continued coming around towards you swearing trying to pull back your power not wanting to attack him but in the state you were in it was hard you couldn't grasp it you winced hearing the crackling of the floor beneath you fighting it as it tried to rise up toward him.

"Calm down. I know your lying I can hear it in your pulse now I know for a fact that you've been on the streets and I'm guessing its more because your frightened of hurting them rather than all this teenage 'better of alone' bravado your trying to play it off as. And as for having a life coach Instead of that you'll be getting a family"

"Shut up!" you were really panicking now he had managed to figure you out break past your walls quick and you wanted him to stop.

"...I know your a good kid and have had a rough ride having to grow up to soon now its time to be a kid again. So from now on you will have a safe place to stay each night sometimes that will be here other times it will be with one of us" he kept coming slowly towards you, you stepped back only everyone watch tense but not out of fear or trepidation just ready to dodge what ever you might do.

"I'm not going to be a fucking charity case- this was a bad idea Im leaving" you made to grab your bag  but it wasnt by you chair anymore you swore 

"Your not leaving and your not going to be a charity casenow calm yourself down" 

"What you can't force me to stay here!" You backed off now sending out your power feelkng for your bag wanting to get out of here fast, this was a stupid thing to do, trust people? You cant trust anyone.

"I will if I think thats whats best for you,you can't hurt me... You can't hurt any of us and that is probably scaring you isn't it? its been a long time since you wasn't the strongest person in the room, since you were able to be yourself with out having to have absolute control of every thought and movement... I know because I've been there myself when I was growing up and the shock and fear I had fighting Zod and Batman it was frightening realizing that I could be hurt, its terrifying having something you don't understand or control and you think no one will understand, thats the same for each of us at some point we realized we are not like everyone else and we were alone wanting help someone to turn to thats why we are going to help you, so you can have some form of normality" you gave him a side glance shaking he understood? you thought he must of had it worse you couldn't imagine having to deal with his abilities. 

"Normal? Thats not an option for me, people can't even touch me" you cried out as he sped towards you tuggeding you forward to him making you jump everything happed so fast you couldn't catch it you closed your eyes tight shaking like a leaf knowing that you'd just attacked him unintentionally probably killed him you whined waiting for the inevitable attacks from the others instead the hug tightened he chuckled 

"Look its okay"slowly you opened your eyes looking down the small spikes had snapped as they touched him instead of impaling him you gasped stepping back.

"They didn't?" he smiled shaking his head.

"No they cant...I told you, you cant hurt us" you smiled a little sniffling as tears escaped you felt silly but happy relieved you might be able stay here... you could be here with them with out worrying about loosing control they can handle it.

"I-I dont have to run?" he smiled pulling you back against him

"No you dont have to run...I'm sorry I had to make you attack me it was the only way to make you see you can't hurt me and its the same with Victor, Arthur and Diana Barry is to fast and Bruce well he will think of somthing he usually does, here you can be yourself and relax a little be a kid again and yes that means rules and curfews" you smiled nervously as he retreated a little he was sad you hadnt returned the hug he could tell you were touch straved and you probably didn't even know it.

"I-I cant stay what about the social workers-"

"Hey what did he just say? you be the kid we will deal with all that." it was Diana who had interrupted as supes made his way back to his seat faster then you could register pulling back looking at the floor correcting it as you sat back down.

".... was a dick move tho supes"

"Clark call me Clark, no need for our other names here we're family" you nodded a little it sounded strange when he said it. 

"and I would appreciate it if you watched your mouth its not lady like" you snorted 

"The only lady like thing on me is my v-jay" you deadpanned Arthur roared up at that as Clark rolled his eyes next to introduce themselves was a man who didn't look much older than you.

"Hi I'm Barry, its great to have someone not old here now, they look fun but they are all boring" you laughed at to chorus of grunts and scoffs.

"Well I can't promise I'll be much fun.." he shook his head

"Seriously? I cant wait to see you in action properly, its one thing to see it on screen but honestly, I wanna see you do the glass thing how does that work anyway? Like how do you do what you do?" You leaned back into your chair.

"Err its kind of weird.... its like ripples?" he tilted his head

"Ripples?" You nodded nervous knowing everyone was listening.

"Yeah o-or waves, Im always sending them out  and I can feel everything they feel.... so sitting here I can feel the wall over there.....its close so I can make better sense of it and have better control I can move it like clay.... then to fix the things I break I just zip them up....I can show you if you like? and its okay?"you looked around the room everyone nodded a gruff

"Just be careful" came from behind you, within seconds your eyes glowed bright and the huge table shattered into hundreds of thousands of tiny pieces across everyone they stayed still holding there breath.

"did you hit it? To make it do that?" Arthur asked wanting to understand how it works.

"No I pulled it from all sides ,It feels like pulling apart a huge jigsaw when I do that.....tugging I can stretch it two but that makes it weaker I just make it thinner and larger when I do that.....then I just think of the pieces edges being a zipper that fits back together. Its ends up being so tiny you can't see it" You did as you said pressing them together slowly but surly the table mended itself creating three thirds then used the floor to push them up until it mended from the center out becoming crystal clear glass again.

"OH GOD THAT WAS SO COOL! Can you fix my phone screen its been annoying me for weeks?" You nodded as he produce the phone and you quicky fixed it for him he stared at it in awe running his fingner over wheee the cracks were

"Thats so cool...And usefull"

"Phsychokinesis" you turned slowly to the final man.....cyborg 

"Phsychowhatsit?" He chuckled at you

"Thats your gift its called phsychokinesis like telekinesis but instead of moving things without touching them you can manipulate physical things, their forms, but my geuss is for some reason you can pinpoint actual molecules instead of clumps of them together" you tilted your head at him you it had a proper name.

"Yeah thats right I can't make things float, only move and change em and I can't do it on anything living no plants or animals." He nodded 

"Im victor, the one who found you, I've seen you do some incredible things.....Are you aware of everything that you do or does a lot of things just happen?" You shrugged

"Most just happen, the table I did but.....when people make me jump I try to attack them" you cast a guilty glance at batman behind you he waved you off.

"I dont mean to and if I trip or fall the ground softens ,if i fall really high it rises to catch me...water to I can't go onnthe diving board it gets weird...I don't do any of that either just happens....but I catch them most of the time before things go to bad"

"Self preservation, you said you send out these....Ripples all the time? You cant pull them back?"

"No I tried once it really hurt it was like....It felt like someong ripping my skin off, of burning my nerves i passed out in under a mineut....my fault tho" Arthur sat up leaning over the table

"Whats your fault?" You smiled sadly

"I- after I killed my parents I put it away it was an accident but it was me who did it.....Stopped useing it completly I'd suppressed it then about a year ago.... yeah I had to use it to save my freinds on a school trip... I tried to sheild them protect them, but the oil tanker was huge! I couldnt hold it for long and as much as I wanted to I just couldnt push it back to the water and......my gift it was much stronger then I remembered it hurt.....couldn't hold it... since then I can't put it back" 

"So you've always had it? Then surpressed it for years and then it blew up and now you can't control it?  I think it reacts to protect you, when you fall you don't want to hit the ground and be hurt so it moves to accommodate you instead your power is trying to protect you." 

"That....makes a lot of sense.... shit word tho my names gonna be fucking lame...." Barry laughed.

"eh we can thing of somthing.... well I can they all added man and woman to something" you giggled a little Diana got up smileing at you

"Y/n its late we should probably get you to bed" you blinked at her then got up slowly. Everyone said their good nights as you left the room looking around wearly

"Dont worry, nothing will happen here" she said moving closer slowly hooking an arm across your shoulder you tensed but it only flicked across the floor, like a stepping into a puddle of sand then levled again you relaxed again.

"See? Like Clark said we are family here so just think of us as your aunt and uncles we will protect you...now this is your room you can decorate it soon and there is a small ensuite to, all of us have rooms here homes away from home and soon you will probably be coming with us to our other homes aswell but for now you will stay here training for a while while we sort out the legal side of things. Im across the hall Clark is next door and Bruce two doors down"

"Bruce?" She rolled her eyes a little snorting

"Batman, he always finds a way to hide his own name paranoid bat" you sighed frowning

"ho-how are you going to sort out the social worker thing? I know you said not to worry but I wont be able to sleep..." she smiled patting your shoulder sitting on the bed with you.

"Adoption and as much as I would love to adopt you from what just happend I'm pretty sure Clark isn't going to let anyone else do it"

"Sounds like you knew my situation befor I got here, you can't just adopt me tho thats like a lot of home checks and and you have to pay a lot of money thats not fair-"

"We did know...Bruce has adopted his fair share already and will be pulling a few strings for us tho as I said I'm pretty sure Clark has decided already you need a more quiet stable home, as lovely as Bruces children are they are boisterous and human which can put you on edge which isn't what we want. Clark has one kryptonian son who is older than you and would be well equipped to help you over come any hiccups.Now just relax, go have a shower brush your teeth and get some sleep?" you looked at her wide eyed adopted...By Superman....and having a brother who you also cant hurt.

"Im not tired-" she tilted her head raising a brow at you

"You need sleep your a growing girl, I expect you in bed in half an hour I will know if your not and if your not I'm sending in Clark" you nodded in a way it was nice having someone who cared.

"Good night I will see you in the morning" she said closing the door. You looked across the room it was nice a large twin bed, your bag had been placed on it somehow, a desk tv on the wall built in wardrobe and a door in the corner what you assumed lead to the ensuite. after a few moments you got up using the shower and brushing your teeth before changing and crawling into bed, tonight was strange but it was nice to have somewhere safe to sleep and you was happy you couldnt hurt superman. you fell into a deep sleep fairly easily to warn out not to vaguly aware of someone pokeing their head in the room to check on you.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #290

“you’re a little pistol, & i’m fuckin’ pistol-whipped.”

What’s the biggest argument you’ve ever had with a family member? Did things ever go back to how they were beforehand? Definitely something with Mom. The biggest was probably in the car one night where she got so mad at me that she tried to kick me out of the car. No, I didn't listen. I don't really remember exactly what we were arguing about... other than it was something small that blew up about bigger themes. Have you ever experienced some kind of natural disaster? Hurricanes. If you have pets, do you feed them human food or do they just get regular pet food? If they do get human food, what’s their favorite thing to have? Roman only gets cat food. He's actually really well-trained about not taking human food after he did once as a kitten. Now he might just sniff around curiously and give it a look, but food can be pretty close to him and he doesn't go for it. Have you ever been in a physical fight? Who won? No. What were you lighting the last time you used a lighter or matches? Probably a candle. What’s the mode of transport that you take or use the most? Mom's car. Are there any sequels to things that you prefer to the original? I'm sure. Oh, Shrek comes to mind; I love the original, but the second is my favorite. What games do you play on your phone, if any at all? Just Pokemon GO, really. I have a couple others up there just for my niece and nephew to play. Aside from family, who was the last person you spent time with? How do you know that person? miss rona doesn't allow "hanging out." Do you spend a lot of money on your appearance? No. Have you ever had a zoo keeper experience or anything where you’ve been able to go behind the scenes and look after/feed the animals? I wish! :( Do you have an item that is your good luck charm? No. Your favorite thing about your job (or school)? N/A Least favorite thing about your job (or school)? N/A Do you have a "funny" toenail? No. Favorite canned soup? Meh, not a soup person. Do you have a particular coffee mug you drink from? No. Your take on declawing cats? It's cruel as fuck and you're despicable if you think it's all good and well to torture your cat like that. Do you have smoke detectors in your home? Yeah. What was your favorite snuggle toy when you were a child? First it was my little stuffed bunny that held a polka-dotted blanket, but through most of my childhood I cuddled a stuffed moose I got from Ohio at Cabela's. Brownie is still on top of my dresser. :') What did you do on your first date? Got Sonic and saw Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance in the theater. I had the weirdest first date in that he invited my mom lmao. I still count it as our first one, though. The last time you let someone go, was it to make yourself happy or them? Myself. Who was the last person that could tell something was wrong with you? My ma. Have you ever thought about online dating? If so, were you desperate? Well I had a long-distance relationship, but it wasn't through a dating app or anything. Had one of those once and am mortified by it (even though no one shoud be), but no, I wouldn't have called myself "desperate." I was just incredibly lonely. Do you try not to take a lot of medicine or do you take it whenever? I just take it if I need it, honestly. I've been medicated pretty heavily most of my life, so whatever. Are you ever scared of people reading your survey answers? I wouldn't put them out there if I was. Would you ever go back to your most recent ex? That's the plan if things go ideally, but I'm not letting my hopes get too high. It'll be nice if that happened, but I'll still live on if not. What’s your best friend’s pet’s name(s)? She has lots of pets. There's Martha, Crowley, Little Dot, Jane Marie, Doris, Buster, Mango, and for her fish, I only know the one pleco's name: Raisha. When was the last time you got a splinter? I'm not sure. Are there any spiders in your room right now? I mean, probably. Somewhere. Have you ever taken a picture while laying in the grass? Not of myself. Who’s your favorite Disney charater? Dory. Are there any framed pictures of you in your house? In family shots, yes. What was the first television show you were obsessed with? Pokemon. Do you and your friends normally say you love one another? Definitely. How often would you say you get sick? Almost never. Let's not jinx it. Is there anything you get for free as a benefit for being a member of something? No. When were you the saddest in your life? 2016 was a year I'd wish upon absofuckinglutely nobody. Do you think bald guys are attractive? It would depend on the person? I don't find them inherently unattractive or attractive. If you don’t recognize the number of who’s calling, do you answer anyway? Nope. How do you pronounce route? "Rowt" What's the last thing you looked at under a microscope? Something during a biology lab when I was still in school. We looked at a number of stuff. Pretty cool. What internet service provider do you have? ... We just moved and changed providers and I already don't remember. Do you ever hear of something disgusting that you haven’t seen, so you go and look it up? This is very rare. If something is *disgusting*, I don't exactly wanna see it. If you had to get a tattoo on your face to save your life, what would it be? I'd have to think on this. I'm not opposed to a subtle face tat anyway, maybe near my ear or eye. Has someone ever made you a Build-A-Bear? No... but I've always kinda wanted a partner to lmao that's cute as fuck. Who was the last person you were “in a relationship with” on Facebook (including anyone you may have put “in a relationship with” for a joke)? Sara. Were you ever “the other man/woman”? How did it turn out? How do you feel about it today? No, and I never would be. What do you think of open relationships? If your partner suggested it, what would you say? Not for me whatsoever, but it works for some people. I'd honestly leave the relationship because I'd feel like I wasn't good enough. Would you ever date out of your race? I have before, would do it again with no problems. Have you ever had a reptile for a pet? Oh, plenty! Did you have a swing set when you were a kid? Yes. Swings were my favorite outdoor "toy" as a kid. What is a book that you really want to read? The Testaments by Margaret Atwood. I fucking adore The Handmaid's Tale and I literally have the book, I'm just too into WoF to make time for it. What is something that you really want to try, whether it’s a hobby, food, etc.? A lot of things. I guess to name one... wow, now that I'm actually thinking, nothing is coming to me, lmao. What sort of things do you like to post or look at on Tumblr? Mark-related stuff, what a shocker. What type of people are you usually attracted to? "Different," but not in a super weird-you-out way. I like clearly unique, truly one-of-a-kind people. What song are you listening to at the moment? "Watching For Comets" by Skillet is on. I'm surprised I feel okay listening to it. How often do you take naps and how long do they usually last? Almost daily. They can be an hour or two... embarrassingly, haha. Who’s one person who changed how you viewed something? Hannah Hart on gay rights. How many pillows do you like to sleep with? Two. What was the best conversation you’ve had recently? I dunno. Have you ever considered modeling? Nooooooooooo sir. When was the last time you did something daring? ME? DARING? Who in the world knows. List five of your favorite foreign foods. Uhhhh. 1.) This requires a lot of thinking and 2.) I'm very uninformed in what is *actually* truly foreign food that I've eaten and not just an American adaptation. I'm not very adventurous with foods, either, especially when I know it's "foreign." What types of seafood are your favorite? I just like shrimp. Do you write a lot for pleasure? I wouldn't say "a lot" anymore. Do you like bacon? Oh yeah. Do you like Rammstein? Hell yeah, they're in my favorites list. Have you ever been to a State Fair? Maybe, but I don't think so. Do you like YouTube? Maaan, I don't know what I'd do without it lmao. If so what's your favorite channel? I like that Mark R. Pliers guy a little bit, and lately I've really been digging Snake Discovery and Hazelnuttygames. Good Mythical Morning/Rhett and Link are deep, deep in my heart still, even though I don't watch them anymore. There is truly a *lot*, it's why I don't need television, haha. What is your favorite small dog breed? Papillons, probably. When was the last time you went through a McDonald's Playplace? Oh yikes, no clue. I definitely haven't ~really~ been in one since I was much younger (uhhhh and smaller), but I do have a faint memory of starting to go in one chasing after a kid. Maybe my nephew when he and his dad visited? idr What was the first comic book you ever had an obsession over? I was never into comics. Do you like kids pop-up books? BITCH you are LYING if you say you don't like looking at the cool effects lmao. Have you ever ridden a camel? No. Have you ever punched somebody? No. Can you sing opera? Oh, definitely not. Who was the last person you video-called with? Have you done this more often since COVID hit? My therapist, and you could say that, considering I never did before because I hate video calls. If you have pets, when was the last time one of them annoyed you? What happened? Roman (my cat) was just playing too rough with my hand. He's always hyper in the morning. When was the last time you took a dog out for a walk? Is this your own dog or did you borrow someone else’s? Wow... it's been many years. I walked Teddy sometimes, but that definitely slowed down and eventually came to a halt as he aged and his joints got bad; he would hesitate going down the porch steps, and I didn't want him to get too tired mid-walk and then have to go up them. Have you ever been the victim of a theft or robbery? What was stolen? Did the police ever catch the person who did it? No, thankfully. Are you a fan of garlic bread? Do you eat it on its own or as part of a bigger meal? Garlic bread would ruin my life if I let it, lmao. It's always a side. When was the last time your area was under some kind of weather warning? Did it end up being as bad as predicted? There was literally a tornado warning three days ago. I don't think so, no, but then again I didn't really look into it. Do you prefer having the blinds/curtains open or closed when you’re at home? Does it depend on the weather or the time of day? OPEN. You NEED natural light, I promise. I used to like my room as dark as possible in my worst times, but I am so glad I cut that out. I like, feel a part of me lighten up when I open my blinds in the morning. Who was the last person to tag you in something on social media? How do you know that person? My mom shared something that reminded her of Roman. Have you ever eaten a Big Mac? No; I don't like lettuce in my burgers, so I'm sure I wouldn't like it. What brand is your vacuum cleaner? I'd have to check. Where was your favorite hangout as a kid? So at my childhood home, down the road was a "stream" (aka a ditch and drainage pipe going underneath the road) that usually had at least some water in it, but if it rained, it really started to feel more like a real stream to us kids because of the movement. It drained into the pond just beyond the woods, and my sisters and some neighbors loved to play around that area. What’s your favorite pizza topping? Pepperoni,ig. Which sport do you suck at the most? All of 'em lol. My hand-eye coordination is awful, and hell no can I run. Are you good at rapping? I've never tried, but I'm certain I wouldn't be. I stutter so badly, and it's been getting worse. Can you say the alphabet in more than one language? I know it in German. Do you eat three meals a day? It varies. What do you want out of life? Fulfillment. To feel like I did something worthwhile.

[vagrantblvrd]

I’m like. @miss-ingno had the gall to plant an idea in my head regarding the androids in ~space AU, and then this? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Jeremy’s this promising soldier from one of the outer colony worlds, right? Got caught up in the fighting when it came to his home planet and when it moved on he went with it. (It’s how things work, when you sign on with the military.)

Left his family and friends behind – those that survived the years of fighting – and did his best not to look back.

His unit got sent into a fight they didn’t stand a chance of winning and he’s one of the few who made it out (mostly) alive.

Was going to be out of things for a while thanks to his injuries, necessary physical rehab if he hoped to regain his mobility and such and was brought to a facility.

Big shiny thing smack dab in the middle of nowhere, edge of an asteroid field or something like that. Minerals and such in the floating hunks of rock out there that played merry hell with sensor readings and the whole damn thing spread out across several hubs.

Weird that it looked like you could isolate entire sections, maybe jettison them from the main assembly if there was a safety issue/breach, you know?

But it’s an old science research hub that’s been repurposed under new management, so no need to worry about that

Really.

That said, they bring him and a handful of people in similar situations there because there’s a researcher there, you see, a Doctor.

Only one, they’re told. Everything else is used as a forward base/medical facility these days since it’s so far out. (Hand on heart.)

Can work miracles and paranoid about her work and too valuable not to humor, or so they’re told. She’s come up with incredible new techniques and therapies and whatever else that might get them back on their feet faster and since the military’s put so much money into Jeremy and his fellow soldiers as it is, makes sense to try to salvage what they can if possible.

He and the others signed a contract, you see, and several years left to it and a whole lot of money down the drain if they can’t fight for them anymore, so.

It checks out as far as Jeremy’s concerned, worried about being able to send money home to his family to help them rebuild what they’ve lost until their planet recovers financially. (Won’t be like it was, but better than it is and worst case scenario enough to move somewhere better, last resort and all.)

Some nights Jeremy gets restless, wanders the facility as far as his security clearance allows him. Recreational floors and viewing stations where he gets to stare out at the asteroid field, watch the cargo shuttles and ferries and whatnot beetle about between the hubs.

Workers out on maintenance checks and minor repairs, flitting here and there. Scuttling across the surface of the hubs and connecting access ways/tubes.

Goes down to the gym and trains with one of the generic robot frames. No personality to them, just core programs and protocols and impersonal as hell.

Great for the times you know what you’re doing and just need a sparring partner or spotter or whatever, and Jeremy jokes about having a favorite, right? This older model, scratched up paint job that looks like it might have been around since the place was commissioned. (Or maybe the facility was built around it, whichever.)

Anyway, one of those nights he runs across this guy, right?

Skinny fuck running around like he knows he shouldn’t be where he is and all that, and Jeremy is like !!! because he knows there are a lot of people out there unhappy with the situation with this war(s) and the military and all that. That this used to be a top sekrit, hush hush facility where Questionable Things took place.

But then the company behind it got a new CEO and so forth and so on – there was a whole Thing about it over the news and such – and they’ve moved in a new direction since then. Been transparent about things best they can and totally on the up and up now, cross their hearts and hope to die and all that.

Still a lot of suspicious people out there, though, you know?

Lot of cargo transports and all that in and out of the facility that one of those suspicious people might be lucky enough to sneak in on. Either pretend to be someone they aren’t or manage to stow away, however the hell they want to approach things.

(Shit happens, Jeremy should know.)

So he follows this guy for a while, just in case.

Ready to call on security if he proves to be a problem but from the way the guy’s acting he doesn’t think he will be?

Just.

Sort of wandering, keeps rubbing at his neck every once in a while, but he’s wearing layers and has this hooded sweatshirt on and Jeremy figures it’s a nervous habit of some kind. Self-soothing and all.

Realizes that for all the wandering the guy’s doing he knows the facility, might be support staff or something with a guilty conscience and a bout of insomnia. (Doesn’t go near restricted areas and such. Just the lounges set aside for staff and patients and so on.)

Jeremy’s about to give it up, go back to his rooms and call it a night (whatever), but that’s when the guy notices him?

Clearly startled by the yelp and way they almost fall on their ass. (Weird gesture as he flings his hand out in warding gesture before falling on his ass, coughing and choking and hissing? but whatever. Reflexes can be weird, weird things in moments like this.)

Jeremy just stares at the guy who has this annoyed look on their face and Jeremy tries not to laugh but the whole situation is ridiculous, right?

Still, he helps the guy up and introduces himself after he apologizes for startling him.

And Gavin – because of course it’s Gavin – introduces himself right back.

Kind of annoyed still, but amusement’s slowly creeping in and they laugh about it and kind of wander around a bit. Chat about nothing because it’s like being a kid again before the war hit his home planet and he used to sneak out with his friends to run around just for the fun of it.

Gavin proves he does indeed know the facility because he lets Jeremy in on a few secrets, little ones.

Conference room where they forget to clear out the pastries and whatever other baked goods are brought in for the duration because they always think someone else will get it and then just...forget because projects and vidcalls and all sorts of things.

How to get into That One lounge with the best view of space around them without setting off alarms or anything troubling like that. The one not cluttered up with asteroids where you can see forever. (Or as far as your eyesight will let you.)

Have to detour through this one maintenance hallway to do it, though, but it’s not a security breach because the area outside this part is monitored as hell and the only way to get there undetected is from the inside, which lucky they already are and don’t worry about it, security will get ‘round to fixing that blind spot one day. (They’ve been saying that for years though, always something more pressing to see to first.)

Other little things like that that baffle Jeremy because kind of a big security risk???

Gavin shrugs, odd little smile because he’s not wrong, Jeremy, but people here are more concerned about trouble coming from the outside rather than the other way around. (Something about the way he says that, twist of bitterness to it Jeremy doesn’t really get? But it’s there and gone before he can say anything and not his business anyway, so. Yeah.)

Eventually they have to part ways – Gavin looking a little !!! about it before he runs off like he’s got a curfew or something, and Jeremy more huh about it because weird?

Doesn’t think much of it for a while.

Runs into Gavin from time to time on the nights he can’t sleep, amused at the fact Gavin’s the only one in the facility he’s met that he actually looks forward to seeing, in a weird way?

Like.

The people in charge of his rehab are nice enough, but they’re careful to keep things professional and he does the same because otherwise awkward?

The other soldiers are caught up in their own stuff and some are friendlier than others sure, they’re just not friends.

Gavin, though.

Different.

More and more so as time goes on and Jeremy notices little things about him. Frustration and this bitterness/anger simmering under his skin that he’s so, so careful to hide most of the time?

But some nights he’s too...tired to hide it.

Looks pale and drawn, tired, and the handful of times Jeremy tries to ask him about it, be a shoulder to lean on the way Gavin’s been for him Gavin deflects. (Sometimes more skillfully than others, but he always deflects.)

Will, though.

Ask random questions. Weird as hell all of them, some troubling. (Usually just bizarre though.)

And then!

Something happens.

An accident, something, and one of those hubs that can be jettisoned?

Is.

Just.

Atmosphere vented and bulkheads sealing it off and Jeremy and some of his fellow soldiers get to watch it burn/implode/explode whatever on viewing screens or through the view-port in one of the lounges.

Alarms and klaxons and voices on the speakers directing everyone to remain calm and head to designated safe areas while the staff get everything on lock-down until the emergency passes.

One of the hubs where the seriously injured soldiers are taken to recover. Quieter and all that, not as much activity to agitate them while they heal. (No visitors allowed, because reasons and Jeremy and the others are weirdly, guiltily relieved about that for reasons they can’t quite admit to themselves.)

Except Jeremy, okay.

Something is weird, he fucking knows it.

Slips past his fellow soldiers doing as they’re told and runs to that one lounge Gavin showed him how to get to that first night, right? Perfect view of what’s going on and with everyone in crisis mode they won’t notice if anyone’s down there.

Gets to see it all and realizes something is...off.

Couldn’t say what, but it’s there in the back of his head as he heads back to where he’s supposed to be afterward. Gets strange looks from the others who noticed him running off, but again, whatever.

He goes wandering later that night. Back to the lounge he’s not supposed to be able to get into and Gavin’s there.

Staring out the view port, hand at his throat and this distant look on his face. Isn’t startled to see Jeremy there when he clears his throat in an effort not to startle him too badly, but it’s obvious Gavin knows he’s there.

Gives him this little smile – wrong – and asks if Jeremy saw, earlier. (Did he?)

Flashes of light that didn’t match up from what he knows of the kind of accidents like that. (Accidents, ships under fire, one and the same from a different point of view in war sometimes.)

Other things that got snagged on the way out of being dismissed at seeing just another tragedy out in the black, cost of going where they don’t belong because humanity as a whole is so goddamned stupid about that, aren’t they?

See something like the vast endlessness of space and think, challenge accepted, and watch us, and never give up because they’re so fucking curious and wild and reckless with it.

Gavin sighs when Jeremy doesn’t give him the answers he’s looking for – doesn’t know what those would be, but Jeremy’s still working through what he saw himself.

Gavin shrugs and changes the subject and it’s awkward and strange and something shifts that night Jeremy doesn’t realize at first.

He doesn’t see Gavin too much after that, and times he does Gavin’s always tired.

Out of it, and sometimes there are bruises, burns. Bandages. Gavin waves it off, tells Jeremy it’s just.

It’s the way things are – work, maybe? - and Jeremy’s too wary of annoying the only one here worth talking to into shutting him out to push too hard.

And then, and then.

Gavin stops showing up altogether.

Leaves this little hidden message for Jeremy he finds a few weeks too late.

Gavin telling him he’s being transferred or something, got a job to do and it was great to meet you. Take care of yourself and watch your back when they send you out to fight again because Jeremy’s improved in leaps and bounds, hasn’t he?

Good as new, or nearly there and ready to go back out and fight a war he doesn’t believe in any more than he did when he signed up but back then it was to protect his home, his loved ones, and now -

Well.

Now.

Jeremy stashes Gavin’s message away in his belongings and makes sure to bring it with him when he gets shipped out not too long afterwards.

Fights in battles across God knows how many planets for a while there, scrapes through somehow and barely notices when the fighting hollows him out bit by bit. Pares him down to the soldier they’ve made him into, killing machine and look at him go, would you?

Gun in his hands and armor on his back and indistinguishable from the men and women fighting at his side, on and on, look at them go.

But then there’s another unwinnable fight for him, land mine or mortar and on his back in the mud and muck, blood on the outside where it has no business being. (Doesn’t even hurt anymore, and God it’s so quiet. Cold.)

Stares up at stars he doesn’t recognize and waits to die, but no, no, not today. Rescue squad plucking him out of the line of fire and to a field hospital, and from there back to a facility somewhere.

(Swears, swears, he sees flames before they lift him out of that war zone. Strange, odd. Cold as anything and purple as they wash across the battlefield, aimed at the enemy refusing to give ground even now, but he’s lost so much blood by that point no chance any of it was real.)

Middle of nowhere in a system he doesn’t know the name of. (Lost track a few back, to be honest, but that’s fine because it’s not his business knowing as long as he knows which end of his gun to point at their enemies, pull the trigger, and repeat as necessary.)

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” Gavin says, wry little smile and tired.

Probably here when he shouldn’t be, but there’s something in his eyes that says that’s a problem for later as he watches Jeremy.

Too tired, hurt, to be much of a conversational partner but Gavin doesn’t seem to be looking for that at the moment.

Just sits there, thinking and thinking and thinking.

Things he wants to say but never gets the chance to because this woman, the Doctor from that facility where the two of them met comes into Jeremy’s room.

(He saw her once, back then. No-nonsense. Brilliant, to be sure, for all things she’d done to help Jeremy and those like him, but. Cold.)

Studies him for a moment before she looks at Gavin who sighs, gets to his feet and follows her out without looking back. (No goodbye this time.)

Jeremy gets doctors in and out after that.

Headed for a full recovery, but he’ll be out the rest of his contract.

And then?

And then.

That Doctor comes back to see him.

Looks at him like he’s not what she was hoping for and has to make do, and offers him a...it’s not even a choice, just.

Something.

A program, and chance to be on his feet faster than conventional medicine might allow, think on it. (Clock’s running, tick, tick, tick.)

Jeremy thinks on it, pain from his injuries and rehab in his future. Another facility somewhere else, grueling rehab therapy sessions and no combat pay to any of it. (Scraps to send home instead of the scraps and a little more he was able to before.)

When she comes back a few days later he says yes, and doesn’t think about what he’s signing away when she brings in all these documents for him to sign, Gavin at her shoulder and eyes shuttered.

Gets loaded on the same transport they take back to that facility from way back when. Passed through security areas he was never allowed in before. (Missing section where that one hub was and Gavin’s eyes flicking towards it as they pass, steps faltering for just a moment.)

They put him in a room, nice and simple.

Plain.

Guard on the door – precautions, they tell him, but don’t tell him for what – but he’s still too tired to question it.

Days out of surgery and sleeps more often than not. Can’t do much with the program he’s signed up for until he’s healed enough to stay awake on his own longer than a few hours.

Gavin pops in once or twice, never long though. (Stolen moments, favors wheedled out of the guard on Jeremy’s door and things Jeremy can only guess at for the scant time they see one another.)

He sleeps through most of Gavin’s visits, guilty about it, but Gavin just smiles, laughs when he tries to apologize. Calls him ridiculous, and God’s sake, Jeremy, worry about yourself.

Eventually the Doctor comes to see him again, still displeased but she explains what he’s signed for, just a bit.

All this alien tech just laying about here and there all over the galaxy, you know? (Because of course.)

No knowing what happened to the aliens who created it, but goodness, there’s just so much.

All these applications if they can be reverse engineered – clumsy, stupid humans and that curiosity of theirs, wild and reckless – and sometimes they can.

Sometimes.

There are a few such things here in this modest little facility in the middle of nowhere, and Jeremy?

He’s their newest guinea pig.

He’ll need new augments and implants – small ones, nowhere near as invasive as the ones they gave him when he signed up to fight a war – to interact with them, though. (That’ll come later, once he’s medically cleared for the surgery to receive them.)

And then!

And then he gets to learn how to use them, figure out how they work.

Training rooms properly fitted to take the abuse, and she shows him this video, you see.

Gavin in one of them and these combat training frames. Big, bulky things with heavy armor, shiny factory finishes scorched and burned. Melted in places, and the Gavin on the screen holds his hand out in the same way he did that night they met.

Only this time a gout of flame shoots out of his palm.

Purple flames, so guess Jeremy wasn’t imagining it back there in his delirium as the dropship took off in the middle of a battle.

Back of Gavin’s palm lit up like circuity, glowing violent purple like his flames, and when he closes his hand in a fist the flames die down. Show the combat training frames twisted hunks of metal, floor around them alight with purple fire that slowly flicker and go out.

“What - “

See?

No worries about how reinforced the training facilities are here if they can handle that.

Jeremy doesn’t sleep well that night because what and how and what the actual fuck did he get himself into now?

The medical doctors give the all-clear for his augment/implant surgery a few weeks later and Jeremy swears he sees Gavin’s face before they put him under.

When he wakes up everything is different.

Well, probably not, but it feels like it.

The augments/implants they gave him are...different.

Majorly, massively different.

Like they’ve carved out this space in his head, cavernous like those places he saw in holovids where Things Lurked and they warned you to stay away from.

To allow him to interface with the Things he’ll be working with, and it’s.

Unnerving. Unsettling.

His hand itches, muscle and tendons and ligaments moving around the implants there – more, of course – because the Doctor and her people have made advancements since the early days of the program.

Back when test subjects didn’t directly interface with them, had to go about like primitive apes using sticks to poke at things.

He’s told he’ll be able to call up/project what they call abilities through it the way he saw Gavin do.

No telling what it will be because different people have different affinities, so that’s a bit terrifying, not knowing what to expect. (To be honest, all of this is terrifying, but too late now.)

He heals. Goes through rehab to get him to “healthy enough to undergo the rigors of the initial interface” and barely sees Gavin in that time period.

Sent out to handle conflicts and other problems that crop up that require his abilities or training, and no time to slip away to see Jeremy even for a moment.

And then, and then.

He gets discharged from medical, given a private set of rooms.

Bit more luxurious than the ones he had here before, but only just.

No guard on his door, but all this security around the place he’d wonder at if he didn’t know how borderline legal some of this is. He’s dumb, not stupid. (Maybe it’s the other way around?)

Either way.

They bring him to a lab, show him this gadget.

Looks like a little chip, card he might have slid into his old implants but...more. (Shinier, maybe.)

Click it into place and wait and welcome to hell new test subject, congratulations on that one.

Because all that? It goes just fine, doesn’t it.

So much so they toss him into one of those specially reinforced training rooms. Go down a long corridor and through airlocks and other such fun things, and did they mention? That can be jettisoned too, if things get ugly in there, have fun!

Jeremy looks down at his hands, one with the shiny ship, the other with the shiny implants and in for a penny in for a pound or some bullshit.

Quiet before the storm (ironic, that thought of his) before he clicks it into place.

Feels the implants and everything else they buried under skin and tissue warm up – imagination or something more – sees it light up.

Feels something eeling through his mind, an Intelligence to it, foreign and alien and curious. Confused. Alive, because the Doctor and her people didn’t so much reverse-engineer as butcher.

Took what was found and cut and shaved and carved until it fit (more or less) the shape they wanted it to be, became something they thought they understood. (Smarter than them, though. Hid itself and let them hack away until they were satisfied and learned to show them what they wanted to see.)

Quiet little voice in the back of his mind, whispering to him in a language he has no hope of understanding. (Yet.)

And curious, frustrated, it pokes and prods and finds those implants in Jeremy’s hand. Recognizes them, like you do things in a dream sometimes.

Jeremy lifts his arm, opens his hand and lightning shoots out of it and that’s the beginning of the end.

They have him in that training room day after day for hours.

Learning to use his new abilities, that he can fucking fly as well as shoot lightning from his hand and where this is supposed to take him next he’s afraid to think about. (That day on the battlefield and purple flames headed towards the enemy and what, he doesn’t think, what will they do with more people like them out there? What happens to them when the war comes to an end?)

Eventually Gavin comes back from where they sent him, and of course, of course, the Doctor and her people think it would be smart to pit them against one another.

Simple training exercise and Gavin’s expression twists at that, but he steps into the training room all the same.

Meets Jeremy’s gaze, eyebrows raised and Jeremy thinks about that voice in the back of his head, how that alien language sounds more and more familiar with each passing day, closer to English. (Or maybe not. He doesn’t know.)

Wonders if Gavin has a voice in the back of his head too, but then he doesn’t have time to think because there’s a gout of fire coming at him and Jeremy reacts instinctively.

They fight (spar) until the Doctor is satisfied and calls a halt to things.

Gavin and Jeremy both exhausted and pushed past their limits and no clear winner. (He’s sure Gavin was holding back, and God knows he was because – Because.)

Gavin gets brought in to help him train, and admits to Jeremy he sometimes has trouble controlling his abilities. Fire and its nature and maybe other factors but he shrugs uncomfortably and Jeremy knows, knows Gavin has something whispering to him too.

Neither of them mention it though. (To each other or the Doctor and her people.)

They get downtime in between too, and Jeremy.

He learns that Gavin’s parents were scientists too. Worked for this company, you see. Stumbled on these ruins, once upon a time. Found this.

Lab?

Something like it, and these devices and it’s a long story, but Gavin was a kid at the time. Went with them when they were stationed on the planet to learn what they could and this.

He calls it an incident, laughs this odd little laugh as he looks down at his hand, strange scar on his palm with a matching one on the back of his hand like something went straight through.

Idiot kid poking about where he shouldn’t have and alien tech and it’s a long story, Jeremy, you can probably guess at what happened though, yeah?

Because Gavin and the Doctor and this facility. The purple flames. Everything.

No mention of what happened with his parents, and Jeremy doesn’t ask. (...No.)

Anyway, anyway.

They train and train and train, and then send the two of them out to deal with a particularly troublesome conflict somewhere.

Jungle planet and rebels and resistance and enemy forces dug in and they’re supposed to uproot them.

And they do, because what choice do they have?

Get dropped behind enemy lines and it’s horrifically one-sided what happens out there, Gavin blank-faced through it all and Jeremy realizing why over and over again as they get sent here and there and everywhere.

After a few months of that they’re brought back to the facility just as Jeremy’s on the cusp of understanding the voice in the back of his head.

Military officials and executives and a presentation. (Mission briefing.)

Pair of rogue androids and this cover story that doesn’t add up, no matter how hard they try to make it.

Accounts in the files they’re given that don’t match the story they’re being told but it’s not theirs to question, is it?

Hunt them down, they’re told, or else.

(Because, because, because. Jeremy’s family and loved ones, and Gavin’s – Jeremy doesn’t know what they’re holding over his head, just that it’s enough for Gavin to go along with it.)

And anyway, he thinks, anyway.

They’re just androids.

Takes them almost a month to catch so much of a whisper of where the androids ran to after the bloody scuffle on some backwater planet/colony.

(Strange, you know. All that blood and enough bodies to account for it, but more leading to the hangar where there was a ship hidden away and all of their people accounted for, so where did that blood come from?)

Catch the combat android by surprise, and while its first reaction seems to be to engage them, it doesn’t.

Just.

Cuts and runs, drops the packages and parcels its holding and darts into the crowd in the marketplace they found it in.

Fast as hell and agile, but it’s an android.

Stands out no matter how well it passes, and they track it easily enough, run it to some dirty little alley because they had access to all this intel on the place and memorized routes and the whatnot.

It clearly couldn’t get access to an updated map of the area and took shortcuts and the whatnot that simply don’t exist anymore. (Construction and growth and all that.)

There’s...a fight.

Fast and brutal and Jeremy gags as Gavin heats his flames, the time the android gets Jeremy on the ground, metal fist under synthetic flesh aimed for his head and Gavin yelling Jeremy’s name in fear, and the android makes this noise that sounds like pain as Gavin hits it in the side,

Controlled burst, meant to knock it back, off Jeremy and dangerously close, but they heal fast these days, don’t they?

The android snarls and for a moment Jeremy thinks Gavin’s attack wasn’t enough, but it turns and runs when faced with both of them, and Gavin -

He checks on Jeremy instead of pursuing.

Brings him back to their ship to do what he can for him.

They lose the androids, get a dressing down when they report back about the incident.

And then they go hunting, again and again and again, and all these close calls and encounters that keeps them chasing after the androids.

Jeremy doesn’t ask Gavin why he pulls his hits, and Gavin doesn’t ask Jeremy the same.

Voices in their heads, Jeremy thinks, and all the things he’s being told because, because, these things they’ve got in their heads are old. Have seen so much and know corruption when they see it. Know evil deeds.

And did Jeremy know, did he, he’s not the first test subject to be given this particular device?

(There was one, not too long ago. Incompatible, or maybe just too scared about the voice in his head and an accident that wasn’t, entire hub filled with lightning and thunder and jettisoned and the crews that went in after. Cleaned the mess up and picked up this twisted lump of metal to extract a chip that sat in a lab until they found someone else to give it a try?)

Eventually, though, eventually Jeremy and Gavin talk.

Because only so long they can chase these androids running towards something without talking about why they’re not really trying to catch them, you know?

And Gavin.

He’s been with the program and the Doctor and her people for a long time. (Since he was a kid, the Incident.)

Raised in one lab or another (watching his parents work and then an object of study himself after the incident and the Doctor) and this voice in his head for years.

Friend, partner, whatever.

Helping him with his abilities but there’s only so much it can do because Gavin’s a special case, you know? None of this tampering the Doctor and her people did, no. He’s got the original in his head, under his skin and emotions play a major part in how he uses them.

He’s learned how to control it (mostly) but he slips, here and there.

Wasn’t much of a problem, but then he met this little idiot, you see.

Convalescing soldier he met one night, gave him a right fright and lucky Gavin didn’t hit him with a blast of flame from his hand or they might not be having this talk, so think on that, would you Jeremy?

And, see.

The Doctor is a bit ruthless in the pursuit of science, because science.

Knew she was losing her grip on Gavin, that he was getting ideas and all these abilities that would have made it easy for him to finally, finally escape, but then this little idiot in Jeremy.

Easy, Jeremy hears in his head. Listen.

So he does, because he owes Gavin that much, doesn’t he?

About Gavin and this little idiot he met, befriended. (Living, breathing weakness where Gavin hadn’t had one before, too perfect not to be exploited. And it was.)

Gavin sent to handle matter when the military ran into a situation it couldn’t handle without major loss of life on their side, but someone like Gavin?

Well.

Easy enough to send him in, isn’t it?

Over and over again and always that little idiot to think about.

And then Jeremy went back to war himself, none the wiser.

Gavin still got sent out to fight someone else's war, and it could have gone on like that forever until a certain planet and a certain battle and Jeremy bleeding out in the mud and muck.

An opportunity, for the Doctor and hers, and maybe, maybe, way to get back at Gavin for thinking he could escape so easily.

“Christ.”

Gavin’s bitter laugh, because yes.

And then, and then.

Jeremy and his device and the training and now this matter with the androids, and did Jeremy know, did he know?

Gavin hears his share of gossip, you know.

The Doctor’s people who think he doesn’t care about things like that but they get bored, restless, and they talk. The soldiers he’s surrounded by who don’t give him the time of day but talk to their fellow soldiers.

All those little secrets Gavin showed Jeremy about the facility and a lifetime in places like that. (His own life and the lies that go with it.)

Of course he wouldn’t trust blindly they were being told the truth about these androids, and Jeremy please, don’t tell Gavin you bought into it?

Because something is going on, and these androids are part of it and, oh, Jeremy, this is the chance of a lifetime.

Jeremy thinks about his family and loved ones, thinks about the Doctor and her people. The military officials and company executives and this horribly complicated mess and the goddamned androids they’re chasing after. (Voice in his head he’s learning to trust despite all logic because it hasn’t steered him wrong yet.)

“I. Need to do a thing first.”

Warn his family, loved ones and hope that’s enough, because Gavin’s right.

Too much going on to ignore it, when he knows about the program they’re caught in, that the Doctor and her people hope to expand things. Pull more people into it, mass produce the device they handed Jeremy somehow, and what then?

What then?

So.

He sends a message home, and they put in a good show of chasing the androids until he gets a message back.

Laughs, because this could go so badly wrong on him and he’d lose so much, but Gavin’s right, isn’t he?

They can’t pretend they don’t know, can’t do that anymore.

Chase after the androids, but now, now it’s for a different reason.

Fight and fight and fight because the androids are desperate and running scared, but eventually, they get the chance to talk.

A whole lot of a lack of trust, but that’s to be expected and they have to work to earn it, but at least they get that chance, you know?

Michael and Ryan paranoid and wary and Jeremy and Gavin accepting it as their due, and then Matt and the idiots he’s working with (for?) and it’s.

The chance he and Gavin were looking for, and maybe something good for all of them.

[whoever-iwant-tobe]

It wasn’t meant to be a long game (part 10)

Continuation of the David x Natalie story--- my imaginary version based on real life.

This is my first attempt to write from David’s POV. Not sure how I feel about it, but if you’re reading it, it’s because I didn’t hate it enough to keep it on private.

No warnings today! Remember I am cross posting on AO3!

___________________________________________________

Natalie didn’t want to go out one night. You were confused because she’d been talking about it all day like she’d planned to go. She was even talking with Carly about an outfit, but then when the time came and everyone was over and you were calling her name to get in the front seat of the Tesla, she wouldn’t come out.

It wouldn’t be the first time you went out without her. Sometimes she stayed home because of hangovers or headaches or just needing alone time, but she always encouraged you to go out anyways to have fun with your friends and get whatever footage you needed. But you never had as much fun as when she was with you. Natalie was such a big part of the fun for you since you didn’t really like to drink or lose control in that way. But Nat brought you laughter and you loved how your friends loved her. 

But today it didn’t make sense. She was coming with, and then she wasn’t. And people were already loading your car up to go.

“One sec guys, Natalie must have fallen asleep. I’ll be right out,” you called as they headed through the garage and climbed in the car. 

The house was empty now, so you didn’t bother to knock. When you walked in the room, Natalie was in her bed. Full makeup, but under the covers, laptop open beside her as she scrolled through Netflix.

“Hey what the fuck. Didn’t you hear me calling you?” you asked, walking towards the bed, moving to sit on the edge closest to her. 

“I’m not going.” she said flatly.

“But you said...”

“And then I changed my mind” she interrupted.

“Nat, what? Everyone is in the car. Lets go. I want you to go. It will be fun.” you argued as patiently as you could.

“I just don’t want to go there, okay?”

“Go where?” Now you were lost.

“That guy’s house. I didn’t realize where we were going and I am just not feeling it. But you go and have fun! I’ll be here when you get back.”

You had to think for a minute. Puzzled over her words. You’d been to a million house parties, including to this guys house. Why was it suddenly a problem now? Your mind rushed to the worst possible reason.

“Wait, did he try something with you? Cause I will fuck him up if he..”

“No, no, no. It’s not that” Natalie stopped you. “He’s never done anything to me. I just don’t love the crowd that goes to those parties. I can be confident and fit in a lot of places, but I just can not do that crowd tonight.”

You were supposed to go to an acquaintance of Dom’s house. You’d been there before. Somehow Dom befriended a rich guy who hangs out with a mix of real models, insta models, and porn stars. Even some you were familiar with. On top of that, Dom would let in any thirsty, halfway attractive fan if they gave him enough attention, so fans of yours always managed to get in too. These weren’t your favorite parties either, there were always lots of girls throwing themselves at you, but you knew it was mostly for clout or money so you were good at dodging them. You would quit going to these parties yourself, but they were so good for footage and you needed it. 

“Ugh yeah I get it, everyone at these parties are annoying. But you’ll be with our friends! It will be fine!” you reasoned, empathizing as best as you could. 

“No it’s not even that.”

“Natalie, I’m reaaaaally not a good mind reader so you’re gonna have to explain or I’m not getting off this bed.”

“David, just go and have fun! I’ll be here when you get back.”

“But I don’t want to go without you.” There. You said it.

Natalie smiled at your admission. “I just can’t go there. All those models and then all the hitting on you. It’s just a lot.”

It was your turn to smile at her admission. “It bugs you when they hit on me?” You smirked and waggled your eyebrows at her.

Natalie rolled her eyes and chuckled, just a little. “I don’t like when THOSE girls hit on you. They’re always beautiful and then you’re so polite and there’s nothing I can ever do or say about it and I just don’t like it.”

“Nat, come on.” You reached your arm to lean across her. “You know I have zero interest in any of them. We’ve had this conversation.”

“Yeah but, I don’t know. I never know if ‘the one’ is gonna walk up to you and I just really don’t want to be around to see it. It stresses me out, so my solution is to avoid.”

You heard a honk of the tesla from the garage now. Your friends were getting impatient. 

“Nat. If you come, I promise I won’t let any sketchy models hit on me. And you’re ridiculous for thinking ‘the one’ is gonna walk up to me at a party because I already have ‘the one’ right here and she’s being dramatic. I love her, but she’s being dramatic.”

Natalie narrowed her eyes at you in a fake glare before she smiled. She reached up to hold your cheek in her hand. “I’m gonna sit this one out, okay. I trust you, I do. I just have already talked myself out of this one. I’ll hang out when you guys get back! Tell me if you end up going somewhere else and maybe I’ll meet up, okay?”

You pouted, but didn’t want to push it. You grabbed her hand that was on your cheek, turned your face, and kissed her palm, then leant down to kiss her. “Okay, fine. We won’t be long. Promise.” She kissed you back.

“Don’t hurry on my account! Get good footage!” she called as you headed out the door.

You explained to your friends that Natalie wasn’t feeling well, so Zane crawled himself very unceremoniously into the front seat and tried to figure out if you were telling the truth, but you just pumped up the music and backed out of the driveway, heading towards the house party. 

You dodged many “where’s Natalie” questions, but you dodged a lot more girls who were hitting on you. Still polite, but shutting them down a lot quicker than you would have before. As promised.

You got the footage you needed, Carly drank more than she normally would and Zane was trying to take care of HER for once instead of the other way around, and you decided after about an hour that it was time to head home. You realized that it was a lot harder to have fun without Nat than you’d even though.

As usual, everyone came back to your place after, and Natalie came out to join everyone in the living room. She was in her PJs, clean faced, and glowing. She was refreshingly beautiful after all the girls who had been hitting on you at the party. She joined everyone on the couch, but quickly realized how trashed Carly was and tried to force-feed her some water. She was so good at taking care of people, it blew you away. Even when she was drunk herself, Natalie still figured out how to make sure people were taken care of. She always managed to pull it together just enough to get shit done. It was another item on the million reasons long list that you loved her. It was that trait that led you to invite her to come live out here and you loved that about her even when Liza was still in the picture. You didn’t know a lot of girls, much less people, who were like that. You admired her amidst the chaos. 

Things started to quiet down at the house. Heath and Mariah left. Jeff drove Jonah home and Zane offered to get Carly back to her place. Natalie had offered the guest room, but Carly was insistent on sleeping in her own bed. You loved having your friends in the home you shared with Natalie, but you had to admit you were happy that you’d have it to yourselves soon.  

When the door closed and the place was finally empty, you waited for the lights to back out of the drive before letting out a massive breath of air. Nat was curled into the corner of the couch across from you, cuddled with a blanket, scrolling on her phone, but she put it down at the sound of you. You crawled your way across the couch and settled next to her, trying wrap an arm around her. She smiled and hummed at your touch, turning into your body. 

“Miss me?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

“Too much.”

“How were the girls?”

“Shut them right down. Actually I kept directing them to Jonah and ducking out of the way, but it worked pretty well!” you explained and Nat laughed.

“Oh good. I’m sorry I didn’t come with. But I’m glad you seemed to have fun.”

“I always have more fun with you. I don’t get why you are worried about those girls though.” You tugged her into you closer, trying to get her weight on top of yours. “Like you know I love you.”

“I know, but those girls.. they are all so perfect. I don’t know. You talk about being in love with perfect actresses and I am so not that. I’m not a model and we both know I can be dumb sometimes.”

Nope. You were not going to listen to her shit on herself like this. You pulled her so now she was laying on your chest and wrapped your legs up in hers. 

“Stop talking like that. You are everything I have ever wanted and you’re the only thing I’ll ever want now. No one can even come close. I promise.”

You were pretty sure she didn’t believe you, but now you had the task of making sure she did.

[the--blackdahlia]

Too Young to Fall in Love Chapter 17 (Dirt!Nikki x Reader)

Title: Too Young to Fall in Love 17

Summary: Nikki Sixx was a hard partying musician on the strip. He never expected to fall in love with anyone, until a girl knocked on his dressing room door looking for a ride home and took his breath away. Just like everything else Nikki did; the drugs, the money, the music; Nikki went hard with love. (Y/n) Bass never expected the bassist of Motley Crue to be the one to shake her calm and calculated life up. She had a plan. Graduate school, become an epic producer, and watch from behind the scenes as her brother’s band rose to fame. Nikki and (Y/n) were perfect for each other, too bad her brother, Tommy, didn’t think so.

Series warnings:  Smut (18+ Please), drug use, language, referenced miscarriage, drug overdose, mentioned attempted suicide, out of character moments for everyone in the band, the timeline might be a little screwy but it’s fanfiction! I know nothing of music production and my medical knowledge is really screwy, so it won’t be accurate.

NIkki was wearing a tie, a fucking tie, and he was excited to watch (Y/n) march across the stage to get her diploma.

“I look like a damn monkey.” Tommy groaned, pulling on his tie. “Why can’t we wear our normal clothes?”

“We’re being supportive of (Y/n).” Mick said. Vanessa made her rounds, fixing ties and straightening jackets. She smiled at Vince as she fixed his tie.

“There.” She said. “You guys look presentable.”

“There’s a lot of snooty looking people here.” Tommy looked around. “Maybe I could set (Y/n) up with one of them.” He winked at Nikki. He loved to push his buttons.

“Do it and die lee,” Nikki growled as he shifted in his seat. He had taken a small bump before coming to this thing. He was nervous as hell but it helped to calm his nerves. Looking around he sighed. He hoped that the ceremony would start soon.

“It’s should be a few more minutes before they start,” Vanessa said as sat by Nikki making Vince pout. Vince never really did make anything official. Vanessa knew she was still a booty call.

“Hey it’s starting.” Mick told everyone.

The ceremony started, the graduates settled in their seats listening to speeches. And then they started calling out the names. Nikki saw her in line, waiting.

“(Y/n) Bass!” The dean said into the mic. And five seats in the middle of the audience erupted into screams and cheers. Like it was the Whiskey and she was Motley Crue. NIkki was the loudest.

“THAT’S MY SWEET GIRL!” he yelled giving her devil horns as she walked across the stage.

“Who are they?” one of her classmates whispered to her as she sat down.

“That’s my brother, my boyfriend, my best friend, a male model, and an alien.” (Y/n) laughed.

“Are they one of those bands that play the strip?” He asked.

“Yeah. They’re fantastic.” She smiled, settling in her seat. The ceremony finished off and the grads were waiting for their family. Before the guys and Vanessa could get to (Y/n), a man in a suit approached her.

“Uh...hi?” She asked.

“Ms. Bass correct?” the man said offering his hand.

“Yeah...who are you?” She shook his hand as she waited for an answer, afraid it was a sleezy porno produced offering her the chance to pay off her student loans and college debt.

“My name is Frankie Sharp, I'm one of the produces of Elektra," he gave her a smile.

“Oh, if you’re looking for the guys, they’re around here somewhere.” (Y/n) said, figuring that he was here to talk to the Crue.

“No, Ms. Bass,” he chuckled. “I’m here to offer you a job at Elektra as a producer of course you would have an intern starting salary and have to intern for a year, but we are very impressed with your portfolio and work ethic.”

“Wait...you want me?” She asked.

“Absolutely, we will see you at the office on Monday?” he said as he gave her his business card.

“I...yes! I’ll take it!” She said without even thinking it over. He smiled and walked away as the guys walked up. She looked at them, in shock.

“Was that one of the reps from elektra?” Nikki raised his eyebrow as he walked away.

“Uh huh.” She said, nodding.

“Are you ok sis? You look like you saw a ghost,” Tommy said as he watched Frankie walk off. “Was that one of the reps?”

“Yes now hush,” Vanessa said. “Well hun what did he want?”

“He offered me a job.” She explained. “He said they’re impressed with my portfolio I put together and my work ethic. I start on Monday.” The boys were quiet for a second before they broke out into cheers.

NIkki picked her up and spun her around giving a big yell. “That’s my girl! See you are smart. Oh I can't wait for you to represent us! You are going to be amazing!” he put her down and kissed her while dipping her.

“Hey, my turn to hug her!” Tommy said, pulling her away from Nikki and hugging her tightly. “Elektra will bow at our feet! Long live the house of Lee!”

“I’m still not going with your stage last name Tommy.” (Y/n) laughed.

Niki stood back and let Tommy have his moment with his sister. He saw how happy she was and he leaned over to Vince. “Is the thing I gave you still at the apartment?” he whispered to him.

“Which thing?” Vince asked, teasingly.

Nikki rolled his eyes, “the key dumbass!” he sighed and crossed his arms at vince.

“Oh right. The key to her chastity belt?” Vince teased. “No man, it’s safe. I put it someplace Tommy would never look.”

“Ok, good.” he smiled. “We still going to DisneyLand to celebrate right?” he looked at everyone as Tommy and Y/N joined in.

“Yes!” (Y/n) called out. “I mean...yeah, that sounds cool and shit…” She smiled at Nikki.

“We are going to the happiest place on earth!”

****

(Y/n) had a pair of pink ears on as they made their way around the park. Nikki had ran home, while (Y/n) and Vanessa got ready for their trip to the park. The first thing he had done when they got there was bought her the ears, since he thought she just looked so damn cute wearing them.

“What should we go on?” (Y/n) asked, looking towards the castle.

“NIKKI! The Teacups we need to go on the Teacups!” he bounced around.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.” Tommy took her hand and pulled her away from Nikki, leading her to a ride. That’s how most of the day was. And the surprise Nikki had for (Y/n) was burning a hole in his pocket.

“Somebody get him distracted.” Nikki groaned.

“On it!” Vince said. Aurora was in front of her castle, waving at people when Vince approached her. Her whispered in her ear and offered her a ten. She smiled and made her way over to Tommy, starting to flirt with him.

“Princesses man.” Vince laughed. “Easy to bribe. I’d run now though.” Nikki nodded and grabbed (Y/n)’s hand, running to the castle.

“What are we doing?” (Y/n) asked with a laugh. Nikki pulled her into the castle, hidden from Tommy’s view.

“Well Tommy’s been hogging you all day and I needed to get you alone.” He held her close and kissed her deeply.

“Oh, he’s just excited.” She laughed. “But I agree. He’s hogging all my time away from you.” She kissed him gently. “So, why are we here? Am I a princess now?” She laughed.

“Yeah, you’re my princess,” he said as he placed his forehead against hers. “I have something for you.” he dug around in his pocket.

"Is it kid appropriate?" She asked, looking around.

Nikki chuckled, “If you count a key to a very nice new house not kid appropriate I’d hate to see what you think is kid appropriate.” he pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened it. There nestled gently in the middle was a shiny key. “I used some money we got from the tour and the album sales to get us a house. Would you like to move in with me?”

“You...you want me to move in with you? And you want to leave the party house?” (Y/n) asked, a little surprised, even though, when he was home he spent most of his time at the Bass house with her.

“I love you, and I know it seems fast but… I can’t picture my life without you.” Nikki whispered as he gazed into her eyes.  “And besides, our house can be party central if you want it to be.” He lifted her up and swung her around. “I can’t imagine my life without you babe, what do you say?”

“Of course I’ll move in with you Nikki Sixx.” She smiled, teasing him about their first phone call together. “It’ll be great!”

Nikki hugged her and kissed her deeply. His hand cupping her face as a camera flash went off. Vanessa stood there smiling as Vince and Mick clapped. Tommy came in with a smile on his face as he adjusted his pants.

“What did I miss?” He looked around and froze when he Saw Nikki kissing his sister. “People, people! Enough with the PDA!”

“Says the asshole who just got blown by Sleeping Beauty at Disneyland.” Vince laughed.

“Well, I’ll start packing tomorrow.” (Y/n) told Nikki. Tommy raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Can I see the place when we’re done here?”

“Oh yeah sweet girl,” he smiled as he held her hand and led her to prince charming's carousel. “We can give everyone the grand tour.”

“What’s going on?” Tommy asked. “Packing? The place? Are you guys moving in together or something?” (Y/n) smiled up at Nikki. “Why didn’t you ask my permission or something first?!”

“I did back in Albuquerque,” Nikki said and laughed.

“What?” Tommy asked. “We went to Albuquerque?”

“Tommy, as your sister, you need to lay off the zombie dust.” (Y/n) laughed. “Isn’t that what you told me about the caffeine pills?”

“I.. uh… well that’s….” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the carousel. “Oh look horses!” (Y/n) shook her head and left.

Forever Tags:  @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogarukes @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk

Motley Crue Tags:  @primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @twistnet @saint-of-los-angeles @vader-kai @motleyfuckingcruee @sharon6713 @kawennote09 @2dead2function @nikkisixxwiththebass @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @jayprettymuchomw @charlyallise @you-know-im-a-dreamer @livingdeadharley @estxxmotley @arianareirg @the-normal-potato @nikki-sixxtynine @jjjjjjjoshdun @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @stella20131991 @tarahell @wowilovenikkisixx @i-want-to-shoot-myself @motleycrueee @sams-serialkiller-fetish @getbackhonkycatt @are-you-reddie54321 @flamencodiva

Nikki Sixx Tags: @daisystuffsstuff

Too Young to Fall in Love Tags:  @kingbouji3 @leximus98 @thekidbakerinthetardis @crystalbaby12 @shawnsstxtches

[butcanijustnot]

Dating Tony Stark would include:

Tagging @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

(If you have a character you want to see written, or you want to be tagged, PM me and I’ll add it/you to the list.)

-  Starting out as his secretary, replacing Pepper Potts when she moved to a CEO position.  

-  Your first impression wasn’t great. You thought he was just a sketchy playboy who couldn’t commit to anybody and seemed damned to spend eternity alone.

-  But hey, things change and as the two of you got closer and worked together, you realized he had a lot of good qualities that the media didn’t see.

-  You spend a lot of time chilling out down in his lab, doing work while making sure he’s eating and sleeping regularly. You would talk absentmindedly about your respective lives and get closer quickly.

- Every once in a while, you’d have to handle one of his depressive episodes. His angry or sad moments where he felt like the world was crashing down on him. You weren’t sure what to do at first but you learned quickly to comfort him with calming words, hug him if he was up to physical touching (sometimes he wasn’t, and that was fine too) and make sure he ate reasonably well and slept at regular intervals. During those moments he tended to follow you around like a lost puppy, in constant need of attention and affection to make him feel like he was worth anything. It was sad that life had broken him down to this point, but also quite adorable in a lot of ways.

- He liked taking you to his charity events and galas, and beforehand he’d buy you beautiful dresses to wear and jewelry he said ‘runs in his family’ (It’s doesn’t, It’s Cartier, and you better believe he bought that shit just for you.)

- You, being the slightly unaware person that you are, thought it was just a work thing until a colleague tapped you on the shoulder and said “Hey, Y/N, I think he’s courting you.”

- “He’s what?”

- “Like, I think he’s trying to date you. With the buying you nice stuff and taking you out all the time.”

- You didn’t believe it at first. “No, It’s just… We’re just… He just brings me for work.”

- The colleague just smirked and shook her head. “Whatever, just do yourself a favour and look up the price of the last dress he bought you.”

- Against your better judgment, you did. You looked up the dress.

- “EIGHT THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!!” You practically screamed as you burst into his office.

- “Oh god, she knows.” Tony whispered to himself, then turned to the startled intern sitting next to him. “Save yourself.” Naturally, he bolted from the room, leaving you and Tony alone.

- “WHY IN THE FRESH FUCK WOULD YOU SPEND EIGHT THOUSAND DOLLARS ON A DRESS FOR ME?” You yelled, truly dispensing with the formalities at this point.

- “Well, how else was I supposed to get your attention?”

- “…YOU COULD HAVE JUST ASKED ME OUT?!?”

- “Would you have said yes?”

- “WELL YEAH!!!”

- After Tony managed to calm you down from your rampage, you agreed to go out with him.

- And the rest, as you say, is history.

- He showers you with affection, never failing to express how much you mean to him. He’s screwed up enough relationships by being stubborn and distant, and he’s promised himself he’s never going to make that mistake with you.

- He also showers you with money and gifts, no matter how many times you tell him to stop. You never want to make him feel like you’re taking advantage of him, but he explains that he wants to make sure you’re catered too and doesn’t mind the money.

- Something in a shop catches your eye? It’s yours in a second.  

- You broke your phone? The newest model is in your hand before you can blink.

- Your bank account is out of money? Honey, I don’t think so. He just topped it up and dammmmn you don’t think you’ve ever seen that many zeroes in your life.

- Date night is Friday every week to two weeks depending on Tony’s schedule. You don’t mind waiting, because he always makes it worth it.

- He picks you up in a limousine every time, and it never fails to make you feel like royalty.

- He’ll take you somewhere exquisite, a fancy restaurant or a movie premiere that creates an amazing memory. Low-key isn’t an option for THE Tony Stark.

- You’re always in the public eye, being Tony stark’s official “arm candy,” and you have no shortage of cute photos from your dates, courtesy of the paparazzi that always seem to be right around the corner.

- “You know, we don’t have to do this every time.” You say, slow dancing with him in the middle of a crowded room. It was a large party that Tony had thrown to celebrate your anniversary. He’d ordered a strange amount of paparazzi for one of his simple [arties but you were too gleeful to question it. Four years. You couldn’t believe it. “I mean, I enjoy it, no doubt, but maybe we should tone it down every once in a while.”

- “I know…” Tony said, looking off into the distance.

- You knew something was off. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

- “Nothing, I’m just… I’m nervous, that’s all.” He explained. You looked confused for a second before a small drone flew up in-between the two of you. It was a development drone Tony had been building like crazy for the last couple of days. There was something tied to it, dangling about a foot below it. On further inspection, you realized it was a ring.

- Oh.

- OH. - “Tony?” You asked, barely able to speak as you dislodged the ring from the little machine. No, ring was the wrong word. That was a wearable paperweight. A series of beautifully sculpted diamonds with a gorgeous silver band. Gorgeous and no doubt incredibly expensive. The whole thing was probably worth more than your car.

- “Y/N, you’ve made me so happy for so long and I hope that I can return the favour in even the smallest way. I never felt alive until I met you, and the thought of being without you is more than I can handle. My life was dark before you, and I honestly thought that I would never get back to the person I was before, but that all changed because of you. I feel like I can be better with you. You make me want to be better.” He paused for a second that felt to you like a lifetime because at this point time had slowed right down and your heart felt like it was going to burst. “Will you marry me?”

- “YES!!!” You practically screamed at him, jumping into his arms.

- The wedding was surprisingly low-key for Tony Stark. Held on top of Stark tower, most of your family and friends agreed to attend, excited to meet the posse of superheroes who had RSVP’D to the wedding, taking the place of Tony Stark’s side in rue of actual family.

- Rhodey was Tony’s best man and Steve was on…. how do I put it… ‘freak out patrol?’ He had one job and one job only. Get Tony through any cold feet freak-outs that he has and to the wedding on time.

- Natasha was your maid of honour, as well as having a very similar job to Steve for you, not that you really had any doubts in your mind. You knew you loved Tony and nothing short of death would stop you from marrying him today.

- The flower girl was a flower boy, a teenager named Harley. Tony had told you stories about him but you’d never met him before this. God, he was sweet.

- All in all, the wedding was beautiful and picturesque and made the cover of about a thousand magazines afterward.

- Peter was there, naturally, as he was about the closest thing Tony had to a family at this point. The two of you had grown close since you met, and even text each other every once in a while, to make sure you’re both doing alright, and to keep a closer combined eye on Tony.

- Spider-son - I was thinking of sneaking out 2night, but in case I get caught, what sort of mood’s the Tin-man in? - Y/N/N – Would not recommend. Can you wait till Saturday? It’s the day after our date night, and he’s always in a better mood after that. - Spider-son – Oh I get it. ;) Yeah, I can wait a little while. Have fun!! ;) ;) - Y/N/N – I’m not above telling on you, Peter. - Spider-son – Please don’t.

- You worry like mad every time that he leaves with the Avengers or Rhodey or Peter. You know none of them would let anything happen to him but still, you worry. Every time that he comes back you practically bolt into his arms.

- You help him through his toughest moments as Iron Man. The creation of Ultron, the Sakovia Accords and the disbandment of the Avengers, you were there for it all, and you were his rock. You stood unwavering in your support of him, even when you were terrified for his safety.

- Plus, as dangerous as his life is, you can’t help but feel pride on his behalf. I mean, come on, he’s IRON MAN.

- Every time he’s on the news fighting the week’s big-bad, your heart leaps into your throat. It’s like you can feel every punch he’s dealt on your own skin, and you enthusiastically scream cheers along with his victories.

- “Yes… Yes… YES… YESYESYESYESYES!!!! GO TONY!!!”

- “Y/N, you know I win. I’m sitting right here next to you.”

- “Shhhh, you’re about to shoot the guy right in his stupid face.”

- He thinks your enthusiasm is entirely adorable. If he’s Iron Man then you’re his Iron Fan.

- Put simply, your life with him is not a calm one, but it is good, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Do My Hands Deceive Me (2/5)

Come morning, Crockett aches. His legs, his face, his neck. He’s got a fresh collection of bruises to admire now, and he figures Ethan will be tendering his resignation today, if he hasn’t already. It was a good night, minus getting his coke confiscated, and he relishes in the burn of each agonized muscle as he makes his way to the shower. Already, it’s late morning. Brunch sounds nice. Some french toast with powdered sugar, a mimosa with the good champagne, bacon fried up just for him. God, he loves these hungover, fatty breakfasts.

But as soon as he walks out into the hallway, holding a bundle of clothes to protect his modesty (only because he doesn’t want to upset mom more after Ethan quit) and wondering if the chef will hear him yelling for breakfast, he finds that he’s not alone. Ethan’s there, in the hallway, and isn’t he put together this morning? Hair gelled, wearing a button down and jeans that are absolutely tailored, arms crossed.

“Tendering your resignation?” Crockett asks, tilting his head to show off the collection of hickeys around the bruise from being choked. “No hard feelings, I knew you’d be gone soon.”

Ethan shakes his head. “I’m here to stay.”

Oh, so he thinks he knows best. Good for him. Crockett rolls his eyes and continues his path to the bathroom. “Tell the kitchen I want french toast, bacon, and a mimosa. Please and thank you.”

“I’m not your assistant.”

He shuts the bathroom door, and listens for Ethan’s feet to go away anyways. He’ll tell the kitchen. And that leaves Crockett to start the water, near scalding and perfect to wash away the stickiness left from sweat and not properly cleaning himself up last night. He was tired, sue him. Ethan took his coke. He’ll have to snoop later to find it, but first he ought to clean himself up and get downstairs for the usual morning after. Everyone knows by now what his little celebration breakfast is. He bathes with ease, cleans himself up, and even uses his fancy little cologne when he gets redressed. Being naked is more comfortable, but clearly, that won’t be scaring Ethan away.

He’ll still probably show off some more. Ethan’s gorgeous, and hey, if he’s here, at least Crockett knows what he’s getting into. It’s like buying from the same dealer each time. Safer. Guarantee of satisfaction. Of course, he’ll have to find out if Ethan knows what to do with that body, but chances are, he’s pretty good with it. Someone doesn’t go through life looking like that and not learn a thing or two.

When he gets downstairs, breakfast is on the table, and Ethan’s got a boring plate of paste. Oatmeal, actually. But Crockett decides it’s paste as he takes a delicate sip of his mimosa. Just the right side of more-champagne-than-needed-before-noon. His favorite. And it pairs so nicely with his french toast as he considers the day’s activities.

“I want to go shopping today,” he decides. Ethan looks up at him, thoroughly unimpressed. “You seem like a man with taste. Help me pick something out for the next time I go clubbing.”

“Sure.”

They finish breakfast in silence. Boring. But Crockett can feel Ethan’s eyes on him, on his bruises and the way he sits because his entire lower body hurts with last night’s actions he barely remembers. Memory doesn’t matter, he reasons. He’s fine. He had fun.

Presumably.

He eats most of his breakfast and gets through two mimosas before standing up and grabbing onto Ethan’s bicep. Good muscles. They’d look amazing holding Crockett down as he’s fucked within an inch of his life, and that’s now higher on the agenda than annoying Ethan into quitting. He doesn’t need a babysitter, thank you very much.

“Did I tell you yesterday how hot you are?”

Ethan walks to the car like Crockett didn’t ask, like he’s not practically hanging off him. 

“Because you are. If I’m honest, I’d kill to find out what you’re hiding in those-”

And Ethan clears his throat to cut him off, but it’s gotten somewhere. There’s a faint flush on his cheeks, the tops of his ears. Proof of progress. Crockett gives himself two weeks, maximum, before he’s got Ethan railing him into the mattress. Maybe he’ll even be sober for the occasion.

Beautiful, Crockett decides, and leans his head against Ethan’s shoulder. “We don’t have to go out. I can just take you back up to my room?”

Again, no response. But Ethan opens the front door for him, and then that of the car. He’s patient and stiff as Crockett reads out the address of his favorite strip mall, and stares out the window the entire ride. Unbreakable. Stunning. Crockett feels something, maybe a challenge, in his chest as he watches the world stream past as a background to Ethan’s profile. Maybe this whole thing was a joke.  A setup to see how he’d react to the unattainable. Joke’s on his mother, because nothing is out of reach when you’re Crockett Marcel, thank you very much. He’s got money, influence, and a willingness to put out. What more could someone want?

At the strip mall, he makes a beeline for his favorite little boutique. Technically they’re mostly women’s clothes, but Crockett looks fantastic in them and no one is going to refuse to sell to him. They have light wash jeans in the window, and Crockett’s never been big on them, but he figures he might as well try. And of course, get Ethan’s opinion on how he looks. He has been told that wearing more light colors would compliment his complexion.

Before he even reaches the door, there’s a hand on him. On his ass, more specifically. But then it’s gone, and he turns expecting to see a shy Ethan avoiding his gaze, but instead finds some random man pressed up against a wall, arm wrenched painfully behind his back, pinned in place by Ethan. This is hotter than it should be.

“Never touch him again,” Ethan growls, further tugging on his arm to make him wince. “Now apologize.”

“Ethan-”

Crockett’s words are ignored.

“Apologize.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” the man says, struggling with little success. “Jesus. It was just a joke.”

Ethan finally lets him go and the man walks away, rubbing his wrist. But more importantly, Ethan’s holding Crockett now, looking him over. “Are you alright.”

“I’m fine,” he says, and as they walk in, he realizes no one has ever defended him from something like that. “Thanks.”

Everyone before Ethan- every boyfriend, every bodyguard, every friend- has laughed it off like it’s nothing, or called Crockett names. Slut, mostly. And they’re not wrong. But Ethan defended him, pulled the man away and demanded an apology. It’s new and strange and honestly, a little frightening. Crockett doesn’t know what to do with what’s just happened.

For the rest of their shopping trip, he feels like he’s going through the motions. Buying what he wants, trying on revealing clothes to get Ethan’s attention, flirting with whoever’s willing to speak to him. But none of it feels real, because of an action as simple as telling a grabby stranger no.

Crockett doesn’t think even he has ever defended himself against something like that.

After shopping, he decides he needs to do something to account for this, and decides on taking Ethan to dinner at one of the nicer restaurants in the area. Steak and fine wine and incredible desserts- the whole nine yards. He doesn’t know what else to do. And when Ethan leads him in, keeps a hand on his back protectively, he feels almost cared for.

“Ever been here?” He asks as the waiter hands them menus. The low light is stunning on Ethan’s cut features. God, he could be a model. Maybe Crockett will hire someone to take picture after picture of Ethan just for admiration.

“Never.”

Crockett leans over the table and points out a dish. “This is so good, it’ll practically kill you. You’ve gotta try it.” For good measure, he adds, “It’s on me.”

Then wine comes, and they order, but the air between them is loaded. Heavy. There are things to say, things Crockett isn’t prepared to say because he simply doesn’t have the words right now. For lack of anything else to do, Crockett drinks. He drinks until it doesn’t hurt, and until Ethan gives him an indulgent smile as he goes to the bathroom.

He fishes a small baggie out of his pocket. He knew he had something stashed in this pair of pants. Cocaine, a thin line he makes on the bathroom with his credit card and inhales with a thin-rolled receipt for the cropped sweatshirt he bought labeled “BABE” in pink letters. It always burns.

When he looks up at himself in the mirror, he does not see a person worthy of protection from passersby who decide that they want to play grab ass. He does not see the pedigree son of a senator who will one day do great things. He does not see anything but a battered body and a bloody nose, and so he buries his face in his hands to hide the reflection. 

For a long time, he stands there. It must be, because eventually Ethan comes and picks him up. Crockett is limp, like a rag doll. His whole body buzzes and hums, and he almost feels normal, but the world is still angry around him. He’s energized. But he’s tired. 

Above all, he’s with Ethan, held securely in a walk to the car, buckled into his seat, and eventually carried into the house. His mother has people over. He waves at them, and they don’t wave back. Ethan brings him all the way to his room and sets him on his bed, starts working off his pants.

“Gonna make me feel good?” he asks, and his voice doesn’t sound right.

Ethan tosses his pants away and replaces them with soft flannel that he probably had to search for in Crockett’s dresser. When did he have the time to do that? They’re warm though, comforting, and then his tight shirt is replaced with something oversized and equally soft. Ethan could do anything he wanted right now, and Crockett would let him. Wouldn’t be able to stop him, really. But instead, Ethan cares for him and tucks the covers around him carefully so he doesn’t get chilly in his sleep.

“Stay?” he asks.

“I’ll be right back,” Ethan says, and shuts off the light as he leaves.

Before he finds out if Ethan actually does come back, he falls into a heavy sleep. Come morning, he wakes up alone. Like always, alone.

[fanforthefics]

17, tyson/gabe

meeting at a party whilst drunk au

Tyson doesn’t believe in regret. Regret is for people with too much time on their hands, whose lives are filled with the plebeian and the mundane. Tyson is an artist, he carpes the diem, he lives his life to the fullest, he doesn’t take the time to look back and regret. He should basically be in Moulin Rouge. 

That being said, he is maybe going to regret that last tequila shot. 

“No, see, you don’t get it,” Tyson tells Nate, his solo cup waving in the air. “It’s just a boring class, it’s not even hard.” 

“You want to trade?” Nate asks. He’s slumped on the couch, a beer in his hands that he looks too dispirited to even drink. His latest midterm really took it out of him. “You can be the mech e major, and I’ll go to your classes and draw shit.” 

“But then who will support me when I’m a starving artist?” Tyson asks. He gives Nate his biggest, most pleading eyes. “I need someone to save me from my tuberculosis.” 

Colin, from his other side, snorts and grabs Tyson’s solo cup before it tips over. “I think your dad’s money will do that,” he points out, which is maybe true but like, a low blow. 

“Whatever. You guys are just lame,” Tyson informs them. “I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

“Neither do I,” Colin replies easily. Tyson sticks out his tongue. 

“Just for that, I’m going to go find someone else who will understand my woes,” he announces. 

Nate sighs, like the world has crashed down upon his shoulders. “No, it’s good, I need to hear about someone else’s problems so me failing out of school won’t sound as bad.” 

“You didn’t fail,” Tyson tells him, kicking at his leg. “Come on, get up, we need you moving.” He tugs. Nate sighs again, but at least now he’s upright. He just needs another drink and maybe some karaoke. Tyson’s going to go look into that, as soon as he’s done bitching. “But seriously. How am I supposed to get better as an artist if they don’t give me good models?” 

“I thought you said that Roman was the model,” Colin asks. He seems to get on board with Tyson’s herding them through the party towards where the rest of the drinks are, which is good because Tyson needs one hand for pulling Nate along and one for his solo cup. 

“Yeah, exactly, have you seen him? He’s way too pretty to be a model.” Tyson yells over the noise of the party. A dude they’re passing by turns to him, like he thinks they’re talking about him; Tyson nods to him because hey, no harm in letting him think that.  

“I don’t think that makes sense,” Nate says, listless. “Or maybe I’m not smart enough for it to make sense.” 

“Nah, you’re too sober for Tyson logic,” Colin tells him, patting him on the back. 

“No, it’s real,” Tyson insists. “I mean, yeah, you are too sober, come on finish that and I’ll make you something. But also, it’s real. Beautiful people are boring to sketch, they’re just–beautiful. There’s nothing new about it. You draw one perfect face, you’ve drawn all of them. Like, look at him.” Tyson gestures across the kitchen, to where the most beautiful blonde man he’s ever seen is standing, talking to another large blonde man who seems to be missing some teeth. “He’d be boring to draw. I could draw him in my sleep, probably. There’s nothing interesting there.” 

Maybe he says it too loudly. Maybe it’s one of those lulls in conversations that happen at parties. Maybe it’s just Tyson and his luck. Maybe this is that last tequila shot talking. 

Whatever it is, the beautiful man turns around, and gives Tyson a look that has him half quaking and a lot turned on. “Excuse me?” he demands. Even his voice is hot, what the fuck. 

Tyson, because he can’t not, doubles down. “You’d be boring to draw,” he tells him. “It’s not your fault, it’s just like, the one down side of being hot. I could draw you or I could draw Prince Charming, it’d be the same.” 

“I am not boring,” the guy protests, his face drawing together thunderously. It’s actually a pretty interesting expression. His friend, however, is looking delighted. “I am interesting.” 

“Fine, but your face isn’t. I mean, it’s gorgeous, and I’m an art student I should know, but it’s not interesting. See, this–” Tyson gestures to his face– “This is interesting. Your friend, without the teeth–that’s interesting.” The guy gives his friend a look like he’s betrayed his entire family. The friend is really grinning now. “You’re not.” 

“I’m not?” the guy echoes. “Prove it.” 

“What?” 

“Prove it,” he says, like he’s won. “Prove I’m so easy to draw.” It’s a dare, and he sounds like he doesn’t think Tyson’s going to do it, which just shows how little he knows Tyson. Which maybe makes sense, as he doesn’t know Tyson.

“Fine,” Tyson announces, and gets an incredulous look from the guy, a cackle from his friend, a resigned chuckle from Colin, and another sigh from Nate, who really isn’t as invested in this as Tyson thinks he should be. “Someone get me some paper and a pencil, we’re doing this.” 

“Tyson, you do abstract sculpture,” Colin mutters. Tyson ignores him. 

“Fine,” the guy snaps back. “EJ–” 

“Oh I am finding supplies,” the friend says. “Nemo must have them around here somewhere, don’t move.” 

“Should we move?” the guy asks Tyson, all false solicitousness. “I wouldn’t want you to be disad–disadvantaged–” he sluts the word a little– “By bad lighting.” 

“Fuck you, like you have bad lighting,” Tyson throws back. “We’re doing this right here. You, stand–” he pushes the guy back against the counter, where he’s got a decent contraposto going on. The guy goes, lets Tyson pose him, which means Tyson really gets some hands on knowledge of how muscled his arms are. 

“Okay, I’m–wow, you move fast,” EJ says, coming back in holding a notepad and a mechanical pencil aloft like trophies. 

“I’m posing him,” Tyson explains. He looks up–the guy is annoyingly, perfectly tall, of course–to find bright blue eyes looking down at him, still determined and a little hazy with alcohol but with a glint of good humor in them. It’s all very attractive. Tyson doesn’t regret this, exactly, but maybe he should have thought about this for a second. “You good? Not going to cramp up and mess me up?” 

“This is fine,” the guys replies. “If you can handle it.” 

“If I can handle it,” Tyson mutters, and grabs the paper and pencil from EJ. Neither of them are great quality, but whatever, he doesn’t need great quality. “I can handle you.” 

“Sure,” the guy retorts, and grins. It’s a frankly devastating smile. 

“Okay, clear the area,” EJ announces, pushing people away. “Come on, you get over there,” he tells Nate and Colin. Colin rolls his eyes and doesn’t move. Nate lets out a long breath but looks a little more interested in the proceedings as he moves people away, so, at least that’s a win. 

Then Tyson sits down to draw. 

It’s–look, he meant it. Beautiful people are easier to draw, in a lot of ways; they’re beautiful because they’re symmetric and simpler, basically. It’s like, basic aesthetic theory. But also, that’s only true if you don’t put effort into it, because the longer Tyson draws the more he sees, like, the little crinkles at the corners of the guy’s eyes like he smiles a lot, and the cocky set to his shoulders, and the smudge on his hand probably from pen, which means he probably is old school and likes handwritten notes. Tyson likes art because he likes to find that in people, in things; find the inside and make it the outside, and even drunk that’s true. 

So all in all, the drawing’s not bad, even for a rough sketch, is what he’s saying, but he feels oddly shy when he puts down the pencil. Colin and Nate have wandered away a little chatting to EJ about who knows what; they aren’t paying attention anymore. 

“There,” he says. “Done.” 

“Well let me see,” the guy demands. “Come on, I have to judge if I really am that easy to draw.” 

“Whatever, it was about interesting, not boring,” Tyson tells him, but he hands over the notepad, then waits as the guy stares down at it, his mouth gaping a little open. 

Tyson is not capable of waiting for more than thirty seconds, though, so, “So?” he prompts. 

The guy looks up. He doesn’t look so snappish anymore. “You should sign it,” he tells Tyson. “That’s what artists do, right?” 

“What, you aren’t keeping–” 

“Yes I am,” the guy says. “But first, you’re signing it.” He holds out the notepad. Tyson takes it back, looking at little skeptical. It’s not that good. 

“And,” the guy goes on. “You should probably add your number. In case I have any follow up questions.” 

Tyson freezes. Looks up halfway through his signature. 

The guy is still looking at him, but there’s a smile twinkling in his eyes and the corners of his lips. 

“That was really smooth,” Tyson tells him, and adds his phone number. 

The guy laughs, and takes the notepad back, then switches hands so he can hold his right out for Tyson to shake. “Gabe,” he tells Tyson. His hand is warm, and lingers a little. “Maybe I can prove that I really am interesting–” he glances down at the sketch– “Tyson.”  

Tyson grins back. Yeah, he regrets nothing. 

[externally-upset]

1-100

Alright going all in I see. Let's do this

1. I mainly use Spotify

2. I try and keep it clean but somehow always winds up messy

3. I've got brown eyes

4. y'know I've got a really generic name but I do like it. Why, I have no idea

5. I'm currently single

6. Scatterbrained, happy, adventurous

7. I've got natural black hair

8. So I don't drive because it actually hurts my leg to drive. Also I can't sit still for longer than 5 minutes

9. I shop everywhere that has toys lmao. I'm a toy collector so I'll go anywhere that has em

10. I don't really have a style. I try and live my life as cozy as possible

11. I don't really have a favorite social media account

12. I have a full/queen size bed

13. I've got lots of siblings. In all, I've got 6 sisters and 2 brothers, but some are step family. I've got 1 bio sister and 1 bio brother, both younger than me.

14. I've been looking into moving to Washington recently, but I think I'd rather travel the world than settle down somewhere, for now at least

15. I don't use the filters myself so I can't speak on that

16. I don't use makeup so I don't have a fave brand to talk about

17. I shower everyday, I get really sweaty so I gotta

18. I don't have like a definite fave TV show. It varies from month to month. Although this summer it was Nisekoi, which is an excellent anime

19. I wear a size 11.5/12 shoe

20. I'm 5'11

21. I wear almost strictly sneakers

22. I don't go to the gym, I should though. I really should

23. Dream date would be to have one lol, um I guess to go up to the mountains together and star gaze or something to do with the mountains. I just enjoy being outside

24. Too much to count 💸💸 lmao jk I've got $60

25. Ain't wearing any but if someone came through right now, I'd put some black ones on

26. I had four, but my mom stole 2 of them

27. I was working in drywall for awhile but I hopped out of that and am currently applying to places. I specifically was a taper, so like when drywall is put up in the house, there are gaps between the pieces put up. I covered those gaps up, all over the house. It doesn't seem like a lot but when you've got 15-20 feet ceilings, it gets hard

28. I've got quite a lot of friends and I love them all

29. I've know I've done bad stuff that others remember me for but I can't think of anything

30. Oh man I loooooove lavender scented candles. Lavender scented anything is the best

31. I honestly can't think of any boy names that I like

32. 3 girl names: Sochi, Lavender, and Laurie, which is actually the name of one of my best friends

33. Anthony Hopkins is my favorite actor by far

34. Fave actress is definitely Meryl Streep, I fell in love with her when I first saw the Devil Wears Prada years ago and it just snowballed from there

35. My celeb crush is either Bonnie Wright or Jessica Keenan Wynn

36. Fave movie has gotta be The Great Mouse Detective

37. I used to read a lot, not so much anymore. Of everything I've read though, Christine by Stephen King has been my favorite read

38. Everyone wants to say brains are more important and they are, but unfortunately in the world we live in money rules over all

39. I used to be called Chancho but not any more

40. I've been to the hospital more times than I'd like to think. I had a heart condition that flared up in high school so I spent a lot of time at the hospital. I'm still not even sure what it was and am sure the doctors made it up to take my money

41. TOP TEN SONGS:

Beauty and the Beast - Angela Lansbury

Beauty and the Beast - Celine Dion, Peabo Bryson

Higher - Creed

Eres Mi Droga - Intocable

Crossing Field - LiSA

Don't Blink - Kenny Chesney

Junkhead - Alice In Chains

Your Decision - Alice In Chains

Losing A Whole Year - Third Eye Blind

Forever Halloween - The Maine

42. Nah, no meds for me

43. I think I have an oily skin type

44. Biggest fear is leaving those I love behind when I pass along to the next life

45. I don't know how many kids I want

46. I always have my hair either in a bun or braided

47. I live in a medium sized family home

48. My grandma has been and always will be my role model

49. It was being told how wise I am

50. Last text I sent was to my homeboy, telling him "this school shit is wack"

51. I was 6 years old when I found out Santa wasn't real

52. A nice Truck is my dream car or maybe a souped up Subaru, with an anime wrap for shits and gigs

53. I'm cool with smoking weed, but no cigarettes and only smoke outside, don't need my stuff to smell

54. Yeah, I'm here in college, but I don't like it

55. Rural areas by far. I've always wanted my own farm

56. I wanna be a high school history teacher and that requires a degree, so that's why I'm in college

57. I don't like the shampoo and conditioner from hotels, don't like the way they feel. That being said, yes I'll take them

58. I've got freckles but you can barely see them unless were face to face

59. Yes and no. It really depends on my mood. I try to take more smiling pictures now

60. I've got quite a few, mostly memes though

61. Of course I've peed in the woods, with the amount of times I've been hiking and camping with no bathroom in site, you gotta

62. I watch almost strictly cartoons, if we're being completely honest

63. Chicken nuggets smack, no matter where they're from

64. If it calls for it, honey. If not, then sweet and sour sauce

65. Alright, so it depends where I'm at. If I'm home alone, just my underwear. If there are people here, shorts. If I'm at someone else's house, I wear whatever I have on

66. Never participated in a spelling bee in my life

67. My hobby is collecting. I've been collecting things since I was a kid. I've switched between many things in my life. I've gone from Wrestling figures, to sports cards, to vinyl records, to Funko Pops. I actually collect a little of everything I've mentioned now

68. I can't draw for shit

69. I don't play any instruments, although I've tried learning how to play the Ukulele

70. Last concert was seeing Four Year Strong and Seaway like 2 years ago

71. I prefer tea over coffee

72. I guess Starbucks as I've never had Dunkin before

73. Marriage sounds nice, but I don't need to. Like if I'm dating someone and they said they don't wanna get married, I wouldn't have a problem with it. As long as we're in love, that's all that matters

74. Aha, I'm not answering this one

75. If ever I get married, I don't know what the last name situation is gonna be

76. Burgundy and blue look absolutely fantastic on me

77. Yeah there are a few people I miss

78. I always sleep with my door closed and my closets too

79. I belive in ghosts, although I prefer to call them spirits. Used to see them frequently as a child, still do sometimes

80. Biggest pet peeve is when people try to tell me what to do. Not like suggestions but actually tell me what to do. Irritates me to no end

81. Last person I called I think was my Dad, but that's because I couldn't find him in the store

82. Black Cherry Vanilla is the best but no one sells it anywhere

83. Golden Oreos are pretty damn good so I'll go with those

84. If I have to choose, probably rainbow sprinkles

85. Just a plain white tank top

86. My phone background is a picture of Ricky from Trailer Park Boys saying "Man, maybe I am gay."

87. I can be outgoing, it kinda takes a bit for me to open up though

88. I fucking love when people play with my hair

89. My neighbors across the street are very nice, but next door neighbor is a dick, always judging shit

90. I usually wash my face in the mornings

91. I used to get high a lot, not so much anymore, although I'd really like for that to change

92. I spent a good portion of this year drunk, so that's a problem. I actually only started drinking when I turned 21 last September. Never been hungover either, so I've been blessed

93. Last thing I ate was some chips

94. "Thank you to the miracle that we are able to meet in a dirty and ugly world, even like this" My Song - Girl Dead Monster. This is from Angel Beats and these are rough English translations

95. I prefer winter over summer, but spring is my fave season

96. I love night time, always will

97. I will always pick dark chocolate over all other chocolates

98. September is my favorite month, not because it's my birth month, but it's the one month where everything feels right

99. I'm a Virgo

100. Last person I cried in front of was my homeboy Mason, albeit I was drunk as fuck and don't remember it but he does. Says I scared him

Goddamn that took forever, but I did get over being bored, so bless you Anon

[sinfully-romione]

Shooting Star

Sin(s): Envy, Pride Rated: T+ (language only)

Summary: Ginny and Hermione are finally home from Hogwarts, having matriculated. Ron and Hermione, along with George are awaiting Ginny to arrive before starting dinner with the parents. She has some news that inadvertently lockets Ron in unpleasant ways.

Ron stared at the back door for the 12th time in the last hour, willing Ginny to arrive. Bill and Fleur were unavailable to join the family for dinner, along with Percy, who was working, and Harry off on a mission. Unfortunately, waiting on the last guest was irritating Ron to no avail, having worked entirely too long today on entirely too little sleep.

Not even Hermione’s gentle rubbing on his back soothed his hangry attitude.

“If she’s not here in five minutes, sod her. I’m eating.”

“You will not,” Molly barked from the oven.

“I’ve not had a thing to eat since dinner last night. I’m starving.”

“You’ll wait on your sister.” Molly turned back to the oven, putting a tray of biscuits in to cook.

Ginny barged into the Burrow’s kitchen holding a butcher’s paper wrapped parcel under her arm. “Sorry I’m late,” she put it down behind the door along with taking off her emblazoned Green Jacket and tossed off her Green and red cloak. After she doffed her gear she went to give her dad a peck on the cheek, her Mum a hug and her other brother a punch in his arm.

“Where the bloody hell have you been? You were supposed to be here an hour ago,” Ron grumped. “Mum wouldn’t let us start without you.” He looked over the table at all of the dinner preparations – roasted chicken, parsnips and peas, bread and sliced tomatoes.

“For your information, brother of mine,” Ron pulled a face, “I was off at Holyhead to get fitted for these,” Ginny pulled on the snug jumper, in dark green, she was wearing along with her very tall Quidditch boots. “Who knew signing a contract could be so stressful.”

“You’re telling me,” Ron finally tucked into dinner. “It’s bad enough working for George on my off-hours from the Ministry but it’s bleeding ridiculous that I have to be available on my off hours at a moment’s notice. But that was what was in my contract,” Ron lifted his fork at his sister across the table, watching her scarf her meal down too. “And since those contracts are magical and binding, there’s no choice.”

“Look, you agreed to help, ya git. You’re the one asking for shifts at the store, for some reason or another. He’s probably saving for a huge ring for you, Hermione.”

“Hush, you,” She blushed and Ron tucked into his chicken, ignoring George but turning beet red. “Anyway, I do hope it’s not as detrimental as the one Ron signed for the Ministry,” Hermione piped up. She picked at her plate like she always did; ignoring half of it that Ron would gladly finish after a strenuous day of training. “I read the entire length of mine, three times over, before signing it. That was probably how I was able to get the extra time off I wanted when Ron comes home from missions.”

“I’m glad you did,” Ron leaned over for a small kiss on the cheek. “Merlin knows how glad I am to have a bit of – “

“Ron, not at the table,” Arthur piped up. His grin and twinkle in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

“Sorry Dad,” he turned red but saw Hermione smiling into her glass of juice. He switched plates with Hermione and worked to finish off what she didn’t eat.

“So I signed the contract Monday” Ginny got up from her seat and picked up her parcel, taking off the cover, “and by Friday I had the galleons to buy this beauty,” Ginny passed the brand new racing broom – the Firebolt 3 – around to her Dad at the head of the table. Ron turned a bright red at seeing such a masterpiece of craftsmanship in their home. “I’ve not had a chance to try it out since I only picked it up from Quality Quidditch Supplies before coming here. The makers said it’s balanced for my weight but I dunno about that. They couldn’t give me off the rack since I’m not what you call a standard sized Chaser.”

“How much did it set you back?” Ron asked over the remainder of his chocolate cake sitting before him, forgotten since Ginny brought the broom out from behind the door in the kitchen. “Since that model hasn’t been released yet to the public, it had to cost a stack of galleons.”

Arthur handed the broom to Molly who glanced at it before handing it to George for admiration. He whistled long and low at the magnificent broom in his hands. “I know I didn’t loan you the galleons to afford this work of art.”

Ginny gave George a dirty hand sign. “Shove off, ya git. I actually negotiated a deal for it. Since this is the prototype of what is coming out next year for the International Leagues, I get it for a discount if I can give them feedback but also agree to some marketing for it later this year.”

She helped hand it over to Ron.

“Still set you back some serious gold there, sis,” Ron hoisted it up and whistled. “The balance on it is incredible,” He inspected the twigs and frowned. “So it only cost you, what, a thousand galleons and not 5000.”

“Something like that,” Ginny muttered and Ron turned bright red again. “One thousand, actually, off the top from my contract, and a thousand comes out from my vault over the course of the year. They’ll probably sell somewhere between five and ten thousand.”

“That’s how much they are going to charge for them once they are released? Christafuck!”

“Ron Weasley, we don’t use that language at this dinner table,” Molly huffed.

“Sorry, Mum, but that is so much money for a broom.”

“The team told me they’d sign me only on the condition that I had to get a better broom than the Nimbus I borrowed from Harry for the tryouts.”

“Better than a Nimbus? What the hell?

“Ron, language,” Hermione chided.

“It is an International standard broom, Ron. It’s supposed to be expensive. Do you think that anyone would want to watch professional Quidditch riding Shooting Stars and riding Cleansweeps?”

“Damn it, though. Why do they have to be so bloody expensive? Only poncy gits can afford it without going into the poorhouse.”

“So you’re saying I’m a ponce now, ‘cause I have an International Standard broom for Quidditch?”

“I never mentioned you, Ginny. Besides, it’s brilliant to get that enormous discount.”

“Guys, enough about the bloody broom,” George and Hermione said in unison. The siblings looked from one another to the others and scowled.

“Ginny put your broom away ‘til after dessert.”

“But I was going to take it out back and let this git of a brother take it for a ride.”

“It can wait until we’re finished.”

“Fine.” Ginny did as her Mum asked and she returned to her seat. Ron was staring at his sister, ignoring Hermione as she was running her hand up and down his thigh.

“You’re going to let me ride it?”

“Yeah, if there’s still light out after dessert. I can’t stay long, though. I have to be at Holyhead early.”

“Wicked.”

“Look, you were there pushing me to do this, about getting a great broom. I owe you one ride on it, at least.”

“I only mentioned it because I overheard you grousing to Harry about how much better everyone else was flying at the tryouts.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. They were looking for three people to test them out in the league and somehow I got one of them.”

“Harry probably pulled some strings,” Ron said under his breath.

“I didn’t ask, Ron. But if he did, I’m glad he did.”

“So tell us about what you have tomorrow, dear. We’ve not seen you in two weeks.”

Ginny started talking about the grueling practices, the intense conditioning she had to perform to even make the first cut, and many other things. Ron kept looking at his plate, frowning.

“Something’s bothering you,” Hermione whispered in his ear, squeezing his knee. It wasn’t like Ron to leave his dessert plate filled with chocolate cake.

“Yeah, it is, but it’s stupid.”

“Fancy a walk for a few? They might be finished when we get back?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Hermione got up first and then Ron. “We’ll be back in a moment,” she said quietly. George and Ginny, along with Molly, looked confused. Arthur, though, nodded in mutual understanding. When Hermione turned, she had to rush out the door to catch up with Ron, with his extra-long legs and fast stride.

“Ron,” Hermione yelled while trying to chase after him in the evening twilight. He crossed the backyard and onward towards the small treehouse, out next to where Fred was buried. “Ron, wait up.”

He finally stopped under the Oak tree out on the edge of the woods, huffing and panting.

Hermione skidded to a stop and saw him fighting back emotions. “Tell me. I might not get it but let me try and help. Please, don’t hold it in.”

“It’s not about Quidditch, Hermione.”

“Oh.” She reached for his hand and held it a moment before he pulled it back from her, running it through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s pointless and stupid,” he muttered.

“So? Tell me, please.”

Ron stared up towards the house, his eyes blazing in the dwindling afternoon sun.

“I’m sick of it,” he grumped, working his lips raw with his teeth. “Everything I wanted, I had to make do, or have less, or using a passed down wand when she got a new one,” he muttered. “Fuck, sometimes what I needed, I had to do without, so she could have, too.”

“Ron,” Hermione tried to interject and he cut across her.

“I’m working two bloody jobs to make ends meet, and help George, saving Harry’s arse, and running myself ragged. She’s able to drop serious galleons on a broom. A bloody broom. Fuck, I can’t even afford to take you out for a nice dinner, much less save up for five years to afford a broom half that good.” He turned, burning a hole in Hermione. “Fuck, I can’t even afford an international portkey to take you on a holiday. That right there would cost two hundred galleons, just to get to France. The rates are atrocious. Greedy bastards.  But my dear sister is buying an International Standard broom, fresh out of Hogwarts, and I’m scraping two Knuts together to afford beans and toast.”

“You have one, Ron, for work, too. You train on it weekly with Harry and Hemera and the others. And you are eating better than beans and toast most days. Harry mentioned it in letters, sometimes.”

“It’s a bloody Keeper’s broom, designed to move at the barest touch, but it’s slow as fuck!” He turned and sniffed. “And the only way I will be able to afford to take you out every so often is working more shifts with George. Shit, I could use that broom in my job but there’s no bloody way I could afford one, not on what I bring home.”

“Ron, what is it? Why are you so unhappy at her good fortune?”

“Merlin, I’m happy for her, I really am, but I’m so – She always gets everything she wanted and I have to bloody well work my arse off for hand-me-downs and second-hand and ‘can you make do one more what-the-fuck-ever!’”

“This isn’t about the broom, is it?” He shook his head violently, fighting what he desperately wanted to explode about.

“Ron, please,” Hermione said.

“Even now, they dote on her and I have to practically beg!” He roared before sitting down hard on the ground. “Hell, even waiting to have dinner until she got there, even if she was an hour late.” He huffed again. “Damn fucking locket,” he said under his breath.

“Locket, love? Is this about what happened with the Locket?” Hermione waited patiently for Ron to talk about it. Harry was mum and told Hermione not to push him, that he’d tell her when he was ready.

His face and neck turned red. “Didn’t have to tell me,” He said. “I was already thinking it.”

Hermione sat down across from him, waiting patiently. It was a bit of a struggle but she’d learned a little this past year to let him work through what he was thinking and speak on his own terms. She worried her hands in the grass attempting to wait patiently.

“If anything happened ‘tween us, they always fussed at me, not her. She got away with everything,” he grumped. “She got new clothes, which I get that, but everything else was new, at least for her.”

Hermione scooted closer, knocking her knee up against his. Ron leaned over and plucked some long strands of grass and started shredding them in his bare hands.

“She never got in trouble, I did. She got jumpers in the color she wanted; green, while I had to make do with maroon. I despise maroon. She got new clothes and I got Bill and Percy’s hand-me-downs. She got pretty robes and a new wand and I got nothing.”

Hermione put her hand on his knee, fighting hard to not speak up and over him.

“Look, I know it was hard. I get it. I do. And it’s not like we ever went hungry. We might not have had enough of what we needed,” He recalled the revolting tinned corned beef his mum would send with him often, “or what we wanted, but it was enough. Or so I thought.”

Hermione nudged closer, close enough to take his enormous hand in her smaller ones.

“Shit, Mum was always chasing after the twins, trying to keep them from burning the house down, or setting my hair on fire, or hundreds of other things they were conniving. Sometimes she’d join them, gang up on me, and I’d be the one in trouble if she complained at all.

“And now, she’s dating Harry, signed a professional Quidditch contract, off to see everything, make galleons hand over fist, and bugger all the rest of us who have to scrape the fuck by.” He turned his head, facing towards the granite stone on his right. “Probably won’t lift a finger to help either, not like I do,” his voice trailed off.

“Ron?”

Ron looked up and saw his girlfriend – better yet, his best friend – sitting there, holding his hands.

“How much are you giving your parents?”

His jaw dropped and he stuttered a moment. “How’d you -  “ Her look pierced him. “200 galleons a month. Bill deducts it before I even get to touch it.” He rubbed the back of his neck while his face turned bright red in the fast-growing darkness.

“Ron! That’s almost half your month’s wages.”

“Look, I know, all right! It’s my parents, ya know? Why do you think I pull so many extra shifts, with the Aurors and George? Food’s not cheap, even if we get a break paying Harry rent and paying Kreacher’s wages. And having to wear nice clothes for work isn’t cheap either, not when they get grotty so fast while training or out on a mission.”

“Why, Ron? Ginny’s the last one at home and probably not much longer. They can do better, now.”

Ron sniffed before yanking his hand across his face. He turned towards the pond on his left, intentionally not looking at Hermione. “Bill told me that Charlie and Percy couldn’t afford to help, not on their incomes, and the twins sunk every dime of profit back into the shop their first year. They couldn’t afford to help either. And then all the shit went down, and Bill spent almost everything he saved in his vault, saved up to keep everyone afloat and fed, all ‘cept the Prat. He let it slip that Mum and Dad were scraping by on beans and toast for months, especially after Dad couldn’t go to work.”

“And you – “

He turned to face her, his eyes burning like the coldest part of the North Sea. “It’s one thing if I have to scrape two Knuts together to get a slice of toast but I’ll be arsed if my parents have to again. Fuck that. They sacrificed enough.”

“So you think it’s your responsibility to, what, pay for what they did for you? You think you owe them?”

“Well, yeah. No one else ‘cept Bill is. Ginny’s gonna need – ”

“You’re so full of shit, you arse!” Ginny stepped from behind the tree. Ron stood up immediately, towering over his sister. “I can’t believe you’re like this. After all the shit we’ve been through. You think I’m not going to help? You think I take them for granted like that?”

“You have to pay for that bloody broom for work, Ginny. And it’s not like they signed you for all the galleons in Gringott’s. Merlin, you just finished at Hogwarts last bloody week.”

Ginny put her hands on her hips with the wind blowing through her long ginger locks. “Actually, you sod, you stormed out before I could mention that. When I signed the contract this week, it was for a considerable amount annually. Why do you think I was willing to even pay that much for a broom for Quidditch, huh? Because I would be able to easily pay that back in short order. And for your information, you idiot,”

Ron crossed his arms, trying to keep from fidgeting yet pulling a face.

“I already spoke with Bill last weekend. Harry was with me and can back me up.  Bill and Harry, they paid for Dad’s last pay raise, courtesy of Bill, and Harry has been helping out, too. You’re not the only one, you twat. I insisted that 10 percent of my contract immediately went into our parent’s vault. It’s not like they won’t ever know but fuck that, you think that you’re the only one helping?”

Ron snorted.

“Look, you might have missed the last two matches, and missed tryouts because of work, but face it, brother of mine, I am that damn good. I signed for a contract 25% better than the league minimum. You know what the league minimum for this year is?”

“Oh and yeah.” He turned almost aubergine.

“Gwenog mentioned I’ll probably start as third chaser since their last two signed away elsewhere and they are short in the position. I’m that good.

“But you’re so damn hung up on me getting new things that you missed the biggest thing of all, you ass. You got to have your friends over every bleeding summer. Every single summer, Harry was here and so was Hermione: every single summer; every single Christmas break; every single bloody Holiday. Did you see Percy have that, huh? What about the twins? Fuck, did you ever see me having anyone over? No, you git. You’re the one who got to have your friends staying all bleeding summer. You’re the one who got to have fun with them, even if you had to do chores and other stuff. After my first year and all the shit that went down with Tom and the school, no one would dare want to be my friend, all ‘cept Luna and then I’d have to go over and visit with her for a few hours then come home. Her father wouldn’t let her come here at all, not after what happened.”

“Oh.”

Ginny huffed. “Look, you wish you had everything I had, and I wish I’d had everything you had. Face it, we’re both a bunch of envious sods jealous of what the other had. All right? Does that make you feel better?”

Ron looked at Hermione and saw her nodding along with Ginny.

“Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t realize it.”

“So now you can either keep giving Mum and Dad all your galleons or you can cut back, take this witch out on more dates and save yourself, like a ring you were harping on last week, and let me help Mum and Dad too. Sorted?

“Yeah, sorted.” Ron rubbed the toe of his boots into the dirt under the trees.

The two of them stood toe to toe, refusing to apologize.

“You want a ride on the broom or not?”

“You mean it, after everything?”

Ginny nodded. “Look, I have to be on the pitch, at practice, at six am. I have to be at Holyhead at 5am at the latest. A minute late and I’m running the stands for an hour. So yes, I mean it. Come on, you.” Ginny held her arm out and while it was comical, seeing Ron towering over his sister, even in her flying boots and attire, Hermione could only remark now painfully similar the last two Weasley siblings actually were.

Ron rubbed his knuckles on his sister’s head, earning her ire and a hearty chuckle from him.

“Ya know, for a git, you’re probably my favorite brother.”

“Bah. You tell all of us that.”

“Not true. I don’t tell Percy the Prat that, even if I did thank him for helping on the contract.”

Hermione came up on his other side, hugging him close to his magenta robes. “Well this one is my favorite, for sure.”

[sonderei]

I got bored and answered one of those 100-questions things so if you ever wanted to know a stupid amount of useless information about me read on, otherwise enjoy whatever content is in the next post!

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? Spotify

is your room messy or clean? my room is a mess, the rest of the apartment is pretty clean

what color are your eyes? brown

do you like your name? why? its grown on me. I used to get teased a lot in school “hey Ariel, where’s your best friend Flounder??” but now I work on Disney property and it’s on my name tag so I get to make a lot of kids (and adults) happy

what is your relationship status? been dating a small mess of a person for 4 years, whom I love dearly 

describe your personality in 3 words or less basically a cat

what color hair do you have? brown, or like a really dirty blonde if I spend enough time in the sun

what kind of car do you drive? color? a black 2013 hyundai accent hatchback (named Jazz)

where do you shop? where I shop: target, forever21, H&M, BoxLunch, Garage where I’d LIKE to shop: ModCloth, ASOS

how would you describe your style? I once bought an oversized Polariod windbreaker and I wear it everywhere I can??? I also love passive aggressive crop tops (”no thanks”) I wore it to a mandatory meeting at work at 9am and any time my managers asked me a question I just pointed to my shirt. So idk that should tell you something

favorite social media account I think I enjoy Instagram and Tumblr equally?

what size bed do you have? queen

any siblings? one full brother (5 years younger), one half brother on my dad’s side (13 years younger), and one half sister on my mom’s side (18 years younger). 

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? idk because I haven’t traveled anywhere I’d actually like to live. I love the idea of living northwest US (Seattle, Portland) or in NZ or like Scotland or somewhere with beautiful scenery but like...never been so can’t say for sure?

favorite snapchat filter? flower crown

favorite makeup brand(s) NYX is pretty much all I use but I also do like bare minimum with my makeup

how many times a week do you shower? typically every other day unless I’m super gross

favorite tv show? too hard. Steven Universe, Game of Thrones, A:TLA, and Adventure Time?

shoe size? 7-8 depending on who makes them

how tall are you? smol. Like 5′3″ or so? 

sandals or sneakers? sneakers, unless going somewhere involving water and/or sand

do you go to the gym? nah. I’m up and down stairs at least 20 times a day, usually while carrying stuff. that’s my exercise.

describe your dream date sitting in front of the Ocean Voyager exhibit at the Georgia Aquarium all day. like literally that’s it. and my date lets me without asking to move on, and ideally enjoys it as much as I do.

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? uhhh like $25 because that’s how much you have to have to open a new bank account which I’ve been meaning to do for like two weeks now

what color socks are you wearing? not wearing any, but I was wearing shark socks all day

how many pillows do you sleep with? just one, super soft and squishy

do you have a job? what do you do? I'm a server at a restaurant in Disney Springs at Walt Disney World. Its challenging and often frustrating and stressful but I get to meet some really cool people so it evens out. (Pat Sajak from Wheel of Fortune was in last week, I didn’t ask him if I could buy a vowel because I have some dignity)

how many friends do you have? like true friends, would drop everything for me if I asked them / needed them to? I’d say 3. But my social group is like...maybe 10 people? That I actively try to hang out with semi regularly.

whats the worst thing you have ever done? I honestly don’t even know. I forgot a woman’s ketchup last week at work and apparently I ruined her entire Disney vacation so

whats your favorite candle scent? usually anything with jasmine, so long as it isn’t overpowering

3 favorite boy names Nathaniel, Sebastian, Milo 

3 favorite girl names Riley, Maisie, Phoebe

favorite actor? robert downey jr probs

favorite actress? tessa thompson?

who is your celebrity crush? ugh. tom holland, tessa thompson, rdj? 

favorite movie? Spirited Away or Howl’s Moving Castle

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? I used to, before I worked at a bookstore. For some reason that killed my love for reading. But favorite books were the Bartimaeus Trilogy and Abarat.

money or brains? brains

do you have a nickname? what is it? Skip (long story short, its a Cabin Pressure reference because I’ve always wanted to be a pilot)

how many times have you been to the hospital? for myself? 5? maybe 6?

top 10 favorite songs in no particular order Evolve by Phoria Put ‘Em Up by Priority Cleopatra by The Lumineers Feel It Still by Portugal. The Man Miracle by CHVRCHES Dissolve by Absofacto Taro by alt-J Lavender by Two Door Cinema Club Dinosaurs by The Maccabees Ambling Alp by Yeasayer

do you take any medications daily? nope

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) ehh a bit on the oily side

what is your biggest fear? losing the ones I love

how many kids do you want? NONE ZERO NADA ZIP ZILCH FUCK NO

whats your go to hair style? pull it back, messy bun if possible

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) a p small apartment (but not tiny, I think it’s like 800-900 sq ft)

who is your role model? Steve Irwin

what was the last compliment you received? a guest at one of my tables told me I looked like one of the recent Bond girls

what was the last text you sent? bailing on a few friends who were going to Blizzard Beach because I was exhausted from having my dad in town for the last two days so I wanted to sleep

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? like 2 or 3. not very old

what is your dream car? realistic? a nice Subaru or Audi. Maybe a Tesla unrealistic? bugatti veyron

opinion on smoking? cigarettes? ew gross not around me also poor life choices weed? don’t care, just not around me please and thanks my other half is allergic

do you go to college? I did, graduated two years ago, still haven’t done anything with my life / degree

what is your dream job? anything working directly with animals, especially marine mammals, big cats, or non-venomous reptiles

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? big city. right in the middle of it.

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? not usually, I have specific stuff I use for my hair that’s a lot nicer than the stuff at hotels

do you have freckles? not like a ton but yeah

do you smile for pictures? if I feel like it? also depends on who’s taking the picture

how many pictures do you have on your phone? I’d say somewhere in the realm of like 650-800?

have you ever peed in the woods? yep, used to go camping a lot as a kid

do you still watch cartoons? hell yeah, I usually prefer them to anything else. Steven Universe, Adventure Time, Voltron, A:TLA, Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends...that shit is my jam

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? mmmm Wendys but I usually don’t get c nugs from anywhere

Favorite dipping sauce? chick fil a sauce or ranch

what do you wear to bed? just underwear

have you ever won a spelling bee? no but I came close in middle school

what are your hobbies? not many tbh. I have a few reptiles that I take care of. I collect / trade Disney pins. I love swimming but don’t do it all that often. Uhhh...seeing how many times I can ride Kilamonjaro Safari in a row before the cast members begin to judge me?

can you draw? not really, no

do you play an instrument? nope, I can’t even read music and I can barely hum

what was the last concert you saw? uhhhh...I think Death Cab for Cutie and CHVRCHES?

tea or coffee? tea

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Starbucks for drinks, Dunkin for food (donutssssss)

do you want to get married? yeah, eventually. I told the SO that ideally before I’m 30 and that we’re not having a wedding but we’re gonna elope instead because fuck weddings I don’t have the money for that or the patience to plan it

what is your crush’s first and last initial? not really a crush but more of a “current-and-potentially-forever life partner” but DU

are you going to change your last name when you get married? no idea. D wants to change their last name but idk if they’d take mine or they’d just change it to their middle name and then I’d take that? honestly it doesn’t really matter to me each way so long as I don’t get their current last name (because of bad associations)

what color looks best on you? no idea honestly. I prefer dark, muted blues?

do you miss anyone right now? my parents and siblings, and two of my best friends

do you sleep with your door open or closed? open, otherwise the cats would never let us sleep

do you believe in ghosts? nah, not really. I grew up in a town that had a bunch of history and by extension ghost stories, so it was more a part of “tourist culture” than something that seemed legitimate to me

what is your biggest pet peeve? I never know until someone starts doing it around me. but uhhhh I hate loud chewers, people that refuse to even try to see your side of an argument, and when you’re sitting somewhere in public like on a bench or something and there’s plenty of other empty seating options nearby and yet someone comes up and sits RIGHT NEXT TO YOU nope you know what that’s it I fucking hate that and it happens to me all the time at Disney

last person you called` I think my mom?

favorite ice cream flavor? cookies and cream, unless I’m at one of those places where you can basically make your own flavor in which case I will ALWAYS do a rose-infused ice cream with pistachios 

regular oreos or golden oreos? please don’t make me choose

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? rainbow!

what shirt are you wearing? not wearing one ;)

what is your phone background? just a basic stock photo of some ferns. kinda boring but I like simple backgrounds

are you outgoing or shy? its pretty even but if I had to say one over the other I’m probably slightly more outgoing than I am shy.

do you like it when people play with your hair? only people I know and allow. don’t just come up and start playing with my hair unless you KNOW that I’d be okay with it

do you like your neighbors? haven’t met them! we moved in like a month ago but we still haven’t seen anyone that lives on our floor

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? if I remember, but honestly I’m really bad about doing it unless I’m in the shower in which case it’s every time I take a shower

have you ever been high? nope

have you ever been drunk? sadly no. I have a ridiculously high natural alcohol tolerance, so I get sick to my stomach before I can even manage tipsy.

last thing you ate? pizzaaaaaaa

favorite lyrics right now idek and that’s a lot of effort so sorry here’s me “free pass” I’m using it on this question next

summer or winter? ugh winter always I can’t stand the heat there’s only so many layers you can take off

day or night? night

dark, milk, or white chocolate? milk or white. milk for straight eating, white for flavoring other things

favorite month? october

what is your zodiac sign leo!

who was the last person you cried in front of? my significant other