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sapphires-and-silver-linings · 2 months

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The Betrayer | Chapter Ten: The Swing of Things

You fucked up. Badly.

Pairing: Albert Wesker/F!Reader, Chris Redfield/F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Violence, Injury, Death Mention

Notes: Woof. It has been over a year since I last updated this fic, and I am SO sorry. In that time, a lot has happened in my life, including graduating from college with a bachelor's degree and a slew of health (both mental and physical) issues that are still ongoing. I can't promise that my updating will be consistent or quick in any capacity, but I hope this quells you guys' fears that I have "given up" on this fic lol. My sincere hope is that I will someday finish it, even if it takes many many years. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this addition! I suppose you can consider it somewhat of a "filler" chapter, but I genuinely believe even the more fun chapters still have a degree of important plot (even if it doesn't appear that way at first, as I love adding "blink and you miss it" moments that are either call backs, foreshadowing, or easter eggs lol). Please let me know what you think and if you have any theories! I love reading those! Have a good one, y'all!

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Day 33; Haddonfield

You leaned against the shed wall as you desperately tried to regain your breath, heart beating wildly in your chest.

You were in the middle of a trial in Haddonfield with Laurie, Mikaela, and Jeff, three out of the five generators needed to power the exit gates finished, when a looming figure had appeared behind you as your group scoured for the next one.

He would have gotten you too, if Laurie hadn’t turned just in time to see him lunging for you, his kitchen knife barely missing your shoulder as she pointed behind you and screamed, making you duck.

The four of you scattered after that, losing each other as the Entity’s chosen killer for the evening seemed to pop in and out of existence due to his silent steps, the moonlight and the glow from the completed gens making his deathly pale mask somehow more haunting. It was eerie that someone so large could sneak up on you like that.

You were reminded of what your father once warned you about mountain lions:

“You won’t know they’re hunting you until they're ready to pounce.”

The thought made you shiver.

The other survivors called him “The Shape”. A name so… vague… shouldn’t have instilled so much terror in you. And yet.

But Laurie told you his real name just a couple weeks prior as the two of you were hanging your laundry to dry.

You had been chatting idly about your pasts, and you had foolishly asked her if there was a killer in the realm that was brought with her.

“Yes,” she replied quietly. You waited for her to continue, but it was silent for several moments. You looked over at her after clipping your bed sheets to the clothesline and could see her staring at the ground, brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me,” you assured her.

She jumped when you gently placed your hand on her shoulder and she finally turned to you. “Michael. Michael Myers.”

You looked at her questioningly, not recalling that name being mentioned before.

She continued, “He’s the one they call ‘The Shape’. He…” There was another pause as she swallowed, hard. “He killed my friends and very nearly killed me. Ruined my life in a single night, can you believe that? Halloween, of all days. I’ll never be able to enjoy that holiday again without looking over my shoulder. If I ever get back home to experience it, that is.”

All of the killers in the realm gave you a chill when you were told about them, but something about this silent stalker scared you more than most. More than Wesker. Hell, even more than Ghost Face.

You had been fortunate in the month since first arriving in the realm that you hadn’t faced the Shape. You supposed luck always runs out eventually. Ironic, considering your nickname.

Though facing off against any killer could hardly be counted as fortune. In the five trials you had endured since your very first, you had only survived two. And barely, at that.

You couldn’t stop yourself from recalling those nights, the memories of your deaths in particular causing bile to rise up in your throat.

The Hillbilly and his chainsaw ripped you clean in half.

The Pig’s contraption locked onto your head had split your skull apart.

The Doctor and his electric baton shocked you until you bit off your own tongue and choked on it.

But you had still survived twice. You had to remind yourself of that.

You had been beaten and hooked by the Wraith, the agony of the strange weapon (made of human bones, it seemed, though it was hard to tell in the dark) being whipped across your face and the way the hook tore through the meat of your shoulder made you feel an ache just at the thought, but you had gotten out alive.

Your run-in with the Nurse had been much more successful. She still got a hit in on you, but you managed to get out of that trial with just a nasty gash across your chest. It very nearly got infected when you returned to camp, but Rebecca’s careful hand (and Chris’s watchful gaze) dealt with that promptly.

You were getting better with every trial, and that gave you hope.

You had always been a quick study, after all.

You took a deep, calming breath and slid your spine across the chipping paint of the shed, peeking your head around to see if the coast was clear. You weren’t sure where everyone else went, but considering no screams had been heard echoing across the large (yet still somehow claustrophobic) “arena”, you took that as a good sign.

There was no indication of the massive killer, so you made your way slowly and quietly to the street, praying desperately that he wouldn’t find you again.

You skimmed your vision over the area as you ducked behind the car in front of you, the flashing lights of the police cruiser nearby hurting your eyes.

It was strange, you felt, how this seemingly normal looking neighborhood could turn into such a breeding ground for terror. It was almost nostalgic how typically suburban it appeared, and that only made it worse.

You grew up in a place just like it, after all.

There’s one, you thought to yourself as you spotted a generator nestled beside a roadblock at the end of the street. It was out in the open, but it would be easier to spot the killer with one of the exit gates at your back. He’d be less likely to creep up behind you, at least.

You made a beeline for it, surveying your surroundings to avoid being caught unawares, before skidding to a halt beside it.

You nearly leapt out of your skin when Jeff popped his head up from the other end, probably checking to make sure you weren’t the killer coming to collect.

“Hey,” came his whispered greeting as you knelt beside him, his large hands carefully but expertly going through the motions of repair.

“Hey there,” you replied breathlessly. You offered him a smile, but the expression was tight. You got straight to work.

“Have you seen the others?” he questioned after a few moments.

You shook your head. “Not since we got separated.”

He let out a quiet exhale of barely concealed distress but remained quiet as the gen got closer and closer to completion.

You liked Jeff. He was a gentle giant, and a reserved one at that. You were first acquainted when the two of you were partnered in the chore rotation, boiling the water brought in from a group of other survivors and lugging it to the barn for the very long-winded filtration process.

He had seemed like a tough guy between his large stature and full beard, but once you started chatting, he was quick to open up about his love of rock music and artistic abilities. You bonded almost immediately over Iron Maiden and Metallica and jokingly asked him to “paint me like one of your French girls”, cackling at the blush that bloomed in his cheeks.

He had shown you his sketchbook shortly after, and you were in awe of his talent, never having been much of an artist yourself. You thought of Kitty and how you and your family used to say she would grow up to be the next Da Vinci with all of her little doodles scattered around the house. You supposed now you’d never know. It made your heart ache.

The gen came to life under your touch, the noise of it fully starting up jarring you from your thoughts.

Jeff motioned for you to follow him, the two of you expeditious in leaving the area to avoid being discovered by the Shape.

You made your way down the street, opting to slink behind the row of houses instead of remaining out in the open.

You came across Mikaela bent over what the others called a totem; a horrific mix of sticks, twine, and human skulls. A rumble echoed across the trial grounds as your surroundings lit up a soft blue.

So there was magic in the Entity’s realm.

You had laughed out loud when Mikaela had first explained it to you, thinking it was some kind of prank. The severe look she gave you made your eyes widen in shock. You shouldn’t have been surprised, considering everything else you had learned of this place, but the concept of magic seemed almost silly.

But then your fourth trial was with the young redhead, and you would have bled out if she had not utilized one of her “boons”, which miraculously helped to close the wound left by the hook. Not so silly anymore.

You had asked her after that particular event why she didn’t use her supernatural abilities to heal injuries in the camp, and she explained she couldn’t access her powers outside of trials despite all her efforts.

“Right, of course,” you had replied, bitterness seeping from your tone. “Typical Entity bullshit.”

“Laurie’s inside that house working on a gen,” the self-proclaimed witch informed you, pointing at the building in question as she stood up. You noticed the cut across her arm then, watching as the skin stitched itself back together within moments.

“I’ll go help her,” you said, pulling your attention from the mind-bending sight. “Why don’t you two find another one to work on in the meantime, in case he catches us before we finish.”

They nodded at your words and crept off to do just that, leaving you alone once more.

You made your way quietly into the house and up the stairs, finding Laurie with a wrench in her hands, hard at work. She turned to you and smiled tersely in greeting as you dropped into position beside her.

There wasn’t much left to do before the machine would be repaired, and you were confident it could be finished in no time.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Before you knew what was happening, a large hand grabbed you by the neck, the scream brewing in your throat wilting as you were yanked off the generator and thrown into the wall behind it.

The wind was knocked out of you and you were dazed by your skull thudding against the wood paneling of the room. You heard yelling—probably Laurie—as that same hand came back around your throat and lifted you off the ground.

You dangled helplessly, unable to breathe, and you were suddenly reminded of Wesker’s tendrils from weeks prior.

A surge of panic flooded through you as you stared at the white mask, the flickering light of the unfinished gen glinting off his knife.

You grabbed desperately at his wrist, knowing the Shape’s strength was far too great to loosen his grip, even with your jagged nails ripping into his skin.

He brandished the knife, the blade directed right at your midsection, and you braced for the sharp pain of it slicing through your flesh.

To your shock—and relief—the killer had released his hold on you and you slid to the ground, desperately trying to suck air into your lungs.

You were able to focus just enough to see Laurie hanging from his back, trying to strangle him with her arms wound tightly around his neck. Unfortunately, he grabbed her by the hair, ripping her off of him and throwing her onto the floor.

Looking for any way to fight off the killer before he could murder Laurie, you found a screwdriver on the ground, tossed out of her toolbox when it was kicked over in the tussle. You lunged for it, gripping it tightly and ramming with your full weight into the Shape’s form. He was built like a brick wall, but you managed to stab the screwdriver into the junction between his shoulder and neck, quickly yanking it out to watch him rear back, deep voice groaning in pain as a fountain of blood squirted from the wound.

A sick sort of satisfaction rushed through you to see him suffer, even a little bit. You didn’t like that you felt that way, but you brushed it off. He had done much, much worse. It was deserved.

You had just enough time to grab Laurie’s hand and pull her to her feet before he was after you, running out of the front door and into the street to get away from the psychopath hot on your heels.

“This way!” Laurie told you, pointing at the house straight ahead. “We can split up when we get there and vault the windows on either side!”

You nodded, releasing her hand as you dashed into the living room of the aforementioned building. She rushed to the back, leaping over the window to the right, and you immediately went through the left.

Fortunately for Laurie but unfortunately for you, Michael was laser-focused on reaching you first, probably to make you pay for your little stunt.

He was uncomfortably close as you continued to sprint away from him, desperate to lose him as you weaved in and out of buildings, diving over ledges and flinging pallets to slow him down.

It only seemed to make him angrier.

To your relief, you heard the telltale alarm of the exit gates being powered up, hoping that you and your teammates could manage to escape. You made the mistake of glancing back, the massive man’s knife poised to strike the moment he could get near enough.

You stumbled, your fear locking up your legs for only a moment, but it was enough of a delay for him to reach you.

A fence was right in front of you, and you knew you only had a second to act as his knife soared through the air, aimed right at your spine. You dove to the side of the fence, his blade embedding into the rotting wood, and you scrambled up and away as he used his brute strength to rip it right out.

It didn’t grant you much distance, but it was enough.

You barrelled back onto the street just in time to see the exit gate opening, and you made a break for it, the other three survivors spotting you and desperately motioning for you to join them.

As you neared, however, you saw the horror bloom on their faces, their eyes trained on what was behind you.

You knew exactly what that meant.

“GO!” you screamed, and they heeded your words, spinning and sprinting out of the gate and into the empty field beyond it.

I’m so close, you thought. Come on! COME ON!

Your legs burned and your lungs felt like they were full of fire, unable to get enough air to properly breathe, but you knew you couldn’t stop now.

You could feel him behind you—hear the grunt that slipped from under his mask as he made to grab you, his large fingers brushing against the back of your shirt.

And then, as his dirty, blunt nails dug into the fabric…

You burst out of the gate and into freedom.

You heard the roar of pure rage and looked behind you, the Shape pressing his hand to an invisible wall that kept him from pursuing you further, his knuckles going white as he gripped his knife with inhuman strength.

You didn’t stop running.

You ran until you reached the edge of the field, engulfed in a thick black fog.

You ran until you felt like your lungs would finally burst.

You ran until a soft light pierced through the cold, wet darkness surrounding you.

And only when the mist faded, giving way to the safety of the camp, did you finally stop.

You collapsed to the ground in front of the fire, gasping for air through crazed, triumphant laughs that you couldn’t prevent escaping your mouth.

“Lucky!” Chris shouted as he made it to your side, dropping next to you and grabbing your face to look you in the eyes.

He said nothing, but you knew what he was thinking.

“I survived,” you managed to get out through heaves and giggles. “I survived the fucking Shape.”

You heard a collection of cheers from all around you, Chris grinning as several survivors approached—including your teammates—and clapped you on the back or ruffled your hair.

When you finally caught your breath, Chris helped you to your feet.

You smiled as you faced the others.

“Hell yeah!” Carlos whooped. “Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about!”

“Good job,” Leon congratulated.

“Yeah, girl, like holy shit!” Claire exclaimed from beside him.

Whether from the praise or the adrenaline still pumping through your veins, you felt a dizzying sort of joy.

You really made it out alive. And this time, with only a handful of bruises to show for it.

“Come on, Lucky, sit down for a while. Get some rest,” Chris told you, urging you over to a nearby log.

There was a buzz in the camp, everyone excitedly chatting about the rare full-party survival of your group. It reminded you of your days in S.T.A.R.S., how you and your team would celebrate another mission well done.

You could almost see Joseph in the way Carlos ribbed Steve. Richard in the way Leon rubbed the back of his neck as he talked with Ada. Edward in Felix checking on Mikaela.

It made you feel both warm and melancholic.

Chris grounded you, as he always did, by wrapping his muscular arm around you, pulling you into him. He kissed your temple, speaking lowly so that only you could hear him, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

You felt a blush spread over your cheeks, glad your recent exercise already colored your face, whispering almost shyly in return, “Thank you.”

You sat together for a while after that, the survivors settling down. Yoichi and Haddie left to start dinner and Chris only got up when they had finished, telling you to stay where you sat so he could get you your food.

You used to argue when he did this, feeling embarrassed by the special treatment. He told you early on that he wanted you to feel special because, to him, you were. The notion was sweet and no one else seemed to really care, so you agreed to let him. He had done it every day now, unless he was the one serving the meals.

How very typical of him, always putting you first.

You watched him get into the line, smiling softly at your doting… whatever he was to you.

The two of you hadn’t put a name to it yet. You weren’t opposed to calling him your “boyfriend”, but it felt ridiculous with how little it conveyed just what he meant to you.

Besides, what you had was still fairly new and despite being physically intimate, you wanted to take this slow. You had all the time in the world, after all.

You could almost laugh thinking about the morning after the two of you first slept together. It started out nice and romantic waking up next to him, his strong arms holding you close as he kissed you slowly. But you had asked to keep your little tryst to yourselves for a while—to feel out what it was you had—and he agreed.

However, that was near instantly trampled the moment you left your room, Carlos clapping Chris on the back, Jill and Rebecca sharing knowing looks, Ada complaining to you about the noise, and Claire clocking the bruise on your neck as a hickey when she saw it.

Chris was sheepish and you were embarrassed, but he had thrown an arm around you, telling you that you might as well own it.

It was strange to have something like this out in the open after years of keeping your relationships under wraps.

You and Kevin thought it better to hide what you had for the sake of the job, only letting loose in front of friends and family. The man had never been the most outwardly affectionate anyway, preferring to show you his love behind closed doors.

And you and Wesker? Well, that was a whole other can of worms.

It was nice to be shown affection so blatantly in front of other people and that Chris didn’t care if they saw him kissing or holding you.

You were stiff at first, unused to it, but the ease with which he touched you and pulled you close eventually had you melting.

Of course, the more intimate moments were hidden from view, usually in your bedroom or his, though the occasional tug inside a closet or bathroom wasn’t uncommon.

Frankly, you were both insatiable, unable to keep your hands off of each other when you weren’t burdened by chores and the daily trials.

You two were happy—as much as you could be in this place—and you wanted to keep it that way.

Your thoughts were scattered when Laurie appeared before you, gently tapping your shoulder to gain your attention.

“Hey,” you greeted jovially.

“Hey,” she replied, voice sweet, “I just wanted to say thank you for saving me in the trial. I thought for sure I was done for. I’m sorry he went after you when we split up.”

“Don’t sweat it. You saved me first anyway, remember? I think we can call us even. Besides, it’s not your fault he picked me to terrorize.”

She smiled at you. “Still, I’m glad you were there and that you got out safe. You must be our lucky charm or something.”

You laughed. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll take a win when I see one.”

Chris returned, holding out a plate to you, and Laurie simply squeezed your shoulder fondly before wandering to the back of the line. You saw Steve sidle up next to her, trying to look cool as he chatted her up.

You rolled your eyes before turning your attention to the man beside you, taking the meal with gratitude and a brief kiss on the lips. You wondered if you’d ever get used to that.

“What was that about?” he asked conversationally, digging a fork into his food.

“Oh, just talking about the trial. I saved her from the killer after she saved me.”

“How so?”

You explained to him what occurred, reminded of the way Michael’s blood spewed out of him like a fountain—the way you felt a sadistic glee that it was you that spilled it.

You kept that bit to yourself, but Chris saw the way your brows furrowed, because of course he did. He was a lot more observant now than he once was, especially concerning you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You took a breath in, unsure of how to answer, when Ace called out to the group, unknowingly rescuing you from a talk you weren’t ready to have. You both turned to face him, his arms full of various bottles of alcoholic drinks.

“Who wants to party?!”

Many survivors excitedly cheered in response, gathering around the table Ace placed the bottles and a stack of cups upon.

Carlos and Jill came up beside you, the former looking down between you and Chris. “How about it, you guys want a drink?”

You stood up, holding your empty plate in your hands as you replied, “You’re joking, right? After the trial I just had, I need one.”

Your small group chuckled, Chris standing as well and taking your used dish. “Pour me something, Lucky. I’ll go put these away.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek before walking off, and you caught the way Jill’s eyes shined and Carlos smirked at the action.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your gaze.

“Oh, nothing at all,” Jill replied, smiling wide.

“Just that you two are so darn cute,” Carlos added, pinching your cheek and cooing. “Young love, am I right?”

You smacked his hand away. “Whoa there, no one said anything about love.”

Carlos clicked his tongue, pulling away his hand as the three of you made it over to the table to fix your drinks. “Denial is a river in Egypt, you know.”

You scoffed at the stupid jest. “And you’re too young to be making dad jokes.”

“Hey, I might not be a dad,” he started before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, “but the ladies still call me Papi. Isn’t that right, Jill?”

She elbowed him hard in the side, making him yip in response. “I think you should shut your mouth now.”

You laughed as he grumbled, taking two glasses and filling one with whiskey—as Chris would prefer—and the other with rum, which was more up your alley.

Chris returned and you handed him his drink with a smile, turning around just in time to see Claire reach for an empty cup. The man glared at his sister, voice stern as he said, “Absolutely not.”

“Seriously?” she questioned with a huff. “You know I drank in college, right?”

You could see Chris bristle at that. You knew Claire being flippant about her education was something of a sore spot for him.

Their parents died when he was fourteen—not much older than you had been when you lost your mother—and the two of them were forced to live with their uncle whom neither of them liked very much and was rarely around to take care of them.

Chris had to grow up quick, and he did everything in his power to give Claire a good life, even at the expense of his own. Nearly every penny he earned from the moment he started working went towards her; new clothes before every semester, birthday and Christmas gifts, school supplies—everything she needed, plenty of things she wanted.

But he had always been lax with her, nearly to the point of spoiling her rotten. This change in demeanor was strange to you and you wondered where it stemmed from.

“Well, you should have been focusing on your studies, not partying,” he admonished.

Claire wasn’t having it, clearly fed up with her older brother’s behavior. “I can do both.”

“C’mon, Chris,” you coaxed. “She’s a grown-up now and it’s not like there’s a legal drinking age in this place. What’re you gonna do? Call the cops? Arrest her yourself?”

He rolled his eyes, but you could sense him relaxing as the logic of your words dawned on him. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. But don’t be stupid about it.”

With an appreciative smile towards you, she grabbed her cup. “We’ve got a lot in common, big bro, but not that.”

He scoffed in offense, turning to you as his sister trotted off with her spoils. “You hear that? Teenagers.”

You chuckled, raising your glass to him. “Can’t live with 'em.”

He grinned, clinking his cup to yours. “Amen to that.”

Rebecca sidled up to you, her own drink in hand. “I like to think I’m not that bad,” she teased.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a nerd and like, ridiculously responsible for your age,” you told her light-heartedly, bumping her shoulder with yours.

She gave you a faux pout before breaking into laughter, bumping you back. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t call me a nerd.”

Not everyone decided to join in on the alcohol consumption, but the survivors separated as usual, chatting amongst themselves. The teens hung out around the campfire, goofing off, and Ace even started a poker game that a few of the others joined in on.

Carlos, witnessing that, turned to your group of older adults from your world, which had settled down at a table near the medical facility. “How ‘bout we play a drinking game?”

“What, like beer pong?” Leon asked dubiously.

“Maybe Truth or Dare,” Ada teased with a smirk, making a blush rise to the young man’s face.

“No and no, though I like where your head’s at,” Carlos said. “I was thinking more along the lines of Never Have I Ever.”

“And how does one play this game?” Sheva asked with an amused chuckle.

“Someone says something they’ve never done, and everyone who’s done that thing has to take a swig. If no one has done it, the person who said it takes a drink instead,” Carlos explained. “So, who’s interested?”

“I’m down,” you offered, placing your elbows on the table in front of you. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Carlos glanced around at the others expectantly and they all agreed, some more hesitant than others.

The game started innocently enough, the whole group—except for Leon, it would seem—getting tipsy quickly.

Then, as it always did, it took a more raunchy turn.

“Never have I ever…” Sheva started, considering her next statement, “had sex in public.”

You and Chris shared a secretive look and you both bit back laughter as you took a hefty sip from your cups. Ada and Carlos did, too, which didn’t surprise you, but everyone was shocked when Jill raised her glass to her lips.

“What?” she asked defensively. “The military was a weird time for me.”

Ada leaned forward because it was her turn, thinking of her own line as the group finished reeling from Jill’s admittance. “I’ll do you one better, Sheva. Never have I ever hooked up with someone on the job. And no, Leon, a kiss doesn’t count.”

You raised your brows as Leon opened and closed his mouth immediately, looking like an embarrassed fish. You were vaguely aware they had some kind of history together, but it apparently went deeper than you initially thought. You felt your heart ache for Claire, seeing why Chris was so concerned about her feelings for Leon.

Yikes on a bike.

Without thinking, you tossed back your cup in response to Ada, the only person in the group to do so.

When you looked around with a drunken smile on your face, the expression dropped like your stomach as you realized your mistake.

It was clear that Carlos, Ada, and Leon assumed it was Chris you were referring to, and if Sheva knew otherwise, she clearly didn’t understand the problem with your revelation.

Jill, however, stared at you with furrowed brows, and you could see her trying to piece together who it might be.

You gulped as you glanced at Chris beside you, who had tensed up, his features that were previously open and relaxed turning stony as he met your gaze.

That sobered you immediately.

You fucked up. Badly.

Neither of them knew of your relationship with Kevin in the past, feeling it was unnecessary and a threat to your job security if you admitted you had a long-term relationship with your former partner.

However, it wasn’t Kevin that you had sex with at work, and you were almost tempted to lie and say it was.

Because you definitely couldn’t tell them it was Wesker.

“Well, that was fun,” you claimed as you stood, hoping you could get away from this situation before it blew up in your face. “But I think it’s time I head to bed.”

“Yeah, me too. Don’t want a hangover,” Chris said, voice gruff.

You swallowed thickly as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but it probably wasn’t good. You weren’t ready for this conversation. However, he clearly was.

Tersely, you said goodnight to the group, their expressions perplexed by the awkward tension that now fell over you. Chris gave them a noncommittal wave, following after you as you trudged into the medical facility and into your room, anxiety swelling inside of you with every step.

Once inside, Chris closed the door, not facing you when he asked lowly, “Are you going to tell me who it was?”

You took in a sharp breath, already picking at your cuticles as you replied, “It doesn’t matter. That was a long time ago.”

Not exactly a lie. It had been nearly a year since you and Wesker had done something as risky as hook up in his office. It was the first and only time, as he made very clear.

Usually, it was in the safety of hotel rooms.

Chris turned abruptly, expression appalled. “You’re serious?”

“You sound like Claire earlier,” you said, trying to alleviate the tension.

“No, don’t do that,” he warned. “Don’t try to play this off.” He stepped forward and you eyed him warily. “I thought we were closer than this. I thought you could trust me.”

“Of course I trust you!” you exclaimed.

“Then why hide something like that from me? Worried I’d judge you?” His jaw was tight and you wanted nothing more than to hold his face in your hands, to go back to before you decided to play that stupid game.

You could at least admit to being with Kevin, lie and say it was him you had sex with on the job, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Chris, I don’t want to tell you because it didn’t mean anything. It’s something I wish I could forget. Can you please let this go?” you were in near tears as you tried to explain yourself, not willing to relent and give him the information he was looking for.

This was still far too raw, and you had been more than happy to pretend your previous relationships were nonexistent while exploring this new one with the man standing in front of you, fists clenched at his sides.

He looked at you for a long moment, taking in your pleading expression and the way you tore the skin off your fingers in distress, and finally backed down. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me anything. I just… I want you to be honest with me.”

“And I am,” you assured him, closing the distance between you. “That part of my life? It’s not important anymore. In fact, I wish it never happened in the first place. It was stupid. I was stupid.”

He sighed, features softening as he allowed you to pull him into an embrace, his large hands sweeping across your face. “Alright, then. I’ll let it go.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, nuzzling into one of his palms. “And I’m sorry I upset you.”

“You’re lucky I can’t stay mad at you for very long,” he teased in a hushed voice, leaning down to press a kiss against your temple.

“You nicknamed me well,” you replied, grinning up at him as he pulled back.

He rolled his eyes, but that didn’t stop him from tugging you into his arms.

“C’mere,” he said, lips meeting your own fervently.

As you returned the kiss, the back of your knees hitting the bed while he led you further into the room, you knew your night wasn’t over yet.

***

September 14th, 1996; Raccoon City

“‘Bout time you showed up,” your brother admonished with a goofy grin, opening the front door of your family’s home to let you inside.

“Good to see you too, Tic,” you replied sardonically, ruffling his hair the moment you stepped over the threshold. “How’s school? You keeping out of trouble?”

He pushed your hand away, fixing the strands you had pulled out of shape before answering with a playfully annoyed tone, “It’s only been like two weeks, Sis. How much can change?”

You chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

Although you got along with both of your siblings—even with the large gaps in age—your personalities were as different as they could be. Tic, despite his sense of humor, was far more studious and careful than you ever were, taking his grades seriously. He was a popular kid too, becoming the rising star of Raccoon City High’s junior varsity soccer team. You often worried about his ability to juggle it all, but he hadn’t burned out yet.

Tic rolled his eyes good-naturedly at your response before changing the subject, “Anyway, I heard we’re expecting company tonight?”

“Sure are. My friend from work, Chris, and his sister, Claire.”

“No Kevin then?” Tic already knew the answer, and you could hear the disappointment in his voice. Although you and Kevin still talked occasionally, he hadn’t visited your family in weeks, and you knew they missed his near-constant presence almost as much as you did.

“No, he was busy this weekend,” you said, unsure if it was even a lie. “But hey, Claire’s only a couple years older than you. You two might get along.”

Your brother’s demeanor shifted, a mischievous smile forming. “Is she hot?”

You scoffed, gently smacking his shoulder. “She’s in college, dude. Don’t even think about it. At least until you’re eighteen.”

He fake pouted, rubbing his arm as if you’d maimed him. “Geez, fine. No need to bust my balls over it.”

Before you could comment on his crass reply, a blur of pink tulle came flying toward you at warp speed, the tiny body of your baby sister being launched into your arms.

“SISSY!” she bellowed as you gave her a big hug. “I thought you were never coming home!”

You laughed at such a ridiculous notion. “Now why would you think that, Kitty?”

“‘Cos it’s been forever since last time,” she half-whined, as typically theatrical as any seven year old girl, you imagined.

“It’s only been two weeks.”

“You’d be surprised how much can change,” Tic interjected sarcastically.

“Oh, you’re about to get the worst noogie of your life,” you threatened, setting Kitty back onto the floor before making a grab for the collar of your brother’s shirt.

“It’s not my fault you're getting too old to remember what you said five seconds ago,” he replied as he deftly dodged your outstretched hand.

“You’re only making it worse for yourself,” you warned, Kitty giggling as you chased Tic down the hall. Man, that kid was fast. It was unfair he was already taller than you at fifteen.

You were about to catch up when an evidently displeased voice called your name from the kitchen entryway, “Now that you’ve finally arrived, can you help me finish the dinner I’m making for your guests?”

Ah, your infinitely uptight stepmother was here to break up the fun, as usual. Though you couldn’t fault her this particular time. The Redfield siblings were indeed your responsibility tonight.

Your relationship with your stepmother was a… complex one, to say the least. She came at a time that was far too soon after your mother’s death, and it always felt as though she was trying desperately to replace her.

You wanted to hate her when you were younger—make her out to be some villain in your hero’s journey—because it was easier than blaming your father for moving on so quickly and becoming even more of a hardass than he already was. But now as an adult, you understood the truth.

She was simply a young woman who didn’t know how to handle a grieving child.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, quick to meet her in the kitchen and wash your hands, getting ready for whatever prep work she would throw your way.

She hummed in acknowledgement, sending your siblings off to the backyard and out of her hair before the two of you quietly made dinner.

You eyed her warily as she stood over the stovetop, the chicken breasts sizzling in the pan as she flipped them with a spatula. You continued your task of mashing the already boiled potatoes, thoughts drifting to the years of fights you had with your stepmother, and the resentment that you’d slowly been trying to chip away at now that you were an adult.

She was the secretary at your father’s job when they first met, hired about a year into your mother’s cancer diagnosis. It was only six months after your mother’s passing when your father introduced you, telling you—in no uncertain terms—that this stranger was to be your new maternal figure.

You always wondered if they just married quick so your father could push the responsibility of caring for you onto someone else or if he had moved on before your mother was even dead. After years of speculation and knowing that if you asked, you wouldn’t get an honest answer out of either of them, you still couldn’t decide what scenario felt worse.

Your disdain for the woman was not helped by the fact she was neurotic, and it always felt like she saw you as some charity case that needed “fixing”. She couldn’t stand that you were a tomboy, always forcing you into frilly pastel dresses when all you wanted to wear was your favorite jeans and your mother’s old band shirts.

You remembered when she threw them out to force your hand when you were about thirteen, and you cried so hard you puked. It was the only time your father ever intervened with her schemes and made her dig the shirts out of the garbage. You wanted to believe it was because he didn’t want the last remnants of his late wife to be taken away—as he got rid of pretty much everything that belonged to her when your stepmother first moved in—but you knew it was probably because your tantrum grated on his nerves.

You were about to toss in the butter to the mashed potatoes when the woman in question stopped you. “Only one stick of butter. You of all people should be more mindful of your health.”

You struggled not to roll your eyes, returning the second stick to the fridge, mentally grumbling about how you always used two and that you knew it tasted better that way. Instead of arguing like your younger self would have, you simply returned to the task at hand, stirring the quickly melting butter into the fluffy mixture.

No, you no longer hated her. Even with her nagging and patronizing remarks, she did mean well. The two of you just never clicked, and at the end of the day that was all there was to it. Besides, she was a wonderful and doting mother to your siblings, which was the most you could hope for.

“So,” she began, startling you from your reverie, “what is this Chris boy like?”

You considered it as you sprinkled some salt and pepper into your bowl. “He’s a good guy. Funny, friendly, and he can be pretty charming, I guess.”

She raised a brow at that, a knowing smirk gracing her perfectly painted lips. “Will he be coming to dinner more often, then?”

“I mean, probably,” you replied. “He’s become a really good friend, after all.”

“Just a friend, huh?” she teased, and although her insinuation made you scoff, you couldn’t help but appreciate the rare moment of camaraderie between you.

“Yes, just a friend.”

“A shame,” she tutted. “I was so disappointed when Kevin stopped coming around, and I hoped maybe you’d move on. I always thought you’d marry that boy, you know. How is he these days?”

Your face fell at her words, and you covered it by looking back down at your bowl of food, mixing it far more than necessary just to keep yourself preoccupied.

Marriage. It had once seemed so inevitable before it fell apart.

You sighed as you replied, “He’s doing well. He has a new work partner now that I’m in S.T.A.R.S.”

“Well, you tell him he’s always welcome here.”

You nodded sullenly. “Will do.”

The rest of the dinner preparations went by in silence, which you were grateful for.

A while later, you had just finished setting the table when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” you called to your family members scattered across the house, jogging to the front entrance to greet your friend and his beloved sister.

Your mood shifted instantly as Chris’s large form stood before you, a grin gracing both of your lips at the same time.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up,” you said to him, leaning against the door frame. “Now where’s this sister I’ve heard so much about?”

He laughed as he greeted you in turn, stepping slightly to the side to reveal a gorgeous young woman with reddish brown hair and bright blue eyes.

“Hi! I’m Claire. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, giving you a firm handshake, the strength of her grip surprising you. Her smile was warm and cheerful, so much like her brother’s it was almost uncanny. “You’re even prettier than Chris described!”

You quirked a brow at that, your eyes meeting your friend’s, who simply rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. You replied, “Thank you! I’d say the same, but I’ve seen your picture.”

It was her turn to look confused. “You have?”

“Yeah, Chris keeps a photo of you two on his desk at work. Hard to miss it.”

She laughed, gently punching her brother’s arm. “Aw, you big softy.”

He rolled his eyes but chuckled along, and it suddenly felt like you’ve known the two of them your whole life.

After chatting idly in the doorway, you finally led them inside, the duo peering at the family photos that decorated the walls. Their attention was moved when your stepmother gracefully appeared, manicured hands already perfectly clean despite cooking with them only moments prior.

She greeted them with a wide grin, gingerly shaking their hands and corralling your group into the living room.

“Make yourself at home, you two!” she chirped before turning to you. “Now come help me finish dinner, honey.”

You begrudgingly agreed, not wanting to leave your company by themselves but knowing they’d be just fine for a few minutes, following your stepmother back into the kitchen.

As the two of you finished up the meal, emptying food from their pots and pans into her nice serving dishes, she leaned over to you with a twinkle in her eye. “That boy sure is handsome. You better nab him before someone else does.”

You pulled a face at that. “As I said, just friends.”

She tsked in response before sweeping out of the room, clearly unsatisfied by your reply, and you trailed behind her. You knew she just hoped you’d “settle down”—probably because she wanted grandkids sooner than your siblings could give them to her—but it wasn’t as if you could tell her your only interest was in your boss.

Though, it wasn’t her approval you worried about.

Despite your father’s general apathy towards your existence, you knew he would be very against such a scandalous relationship. Not just due to the fact Wesker was your superior, but because of the age gap between you.

Hypocritical, you thought.

It was about the same as the one between himself and the woman walking ahead of you.

You put on a smile as you reentered the living room after placing the food on the dining table, leaving your stepmother to arrange it as she liked. You were surprised to see your father already there, shaking Chris’s hand and giving him a look that you knew well. He was sizing him up.

“Well, dinner is about ready,” you announced, trying to prevent what was sure to be an awkward situation.

Chris looked over at you and smiled, your father’s gaze narrowing. He said nothing as the group followed you into the dining room, your younger siblings already in their seats as your mother completed her artistic array of dishes and cutlery.

Seeing you enter, she wiped her still-clean hands on her apron, introducing your siblings to your companions. Your brother’s eyes widened when he met the gaze of Claire’s and was quick to avert them, the girl not seeming to notice as Kitty launched into asking her a million questions. You managed to stifle your chuckle at the sight before your stepmother caught your attention.

“Would you be a dear and get us some drinks from the garage?” she requested sweetly.

You nodded, about to do as you were asked when your father placed a hand on your shoulder. “No need, me and Chase here have it covered.”

You froze, knowing he was probably going to interrogate him ruthlessly, as he had done to Kevin years prior. You schooled your expression. “It’s Chris, dad. And shouldn’t our guest be allowed to sit at the table?”

“It’s no worry,” Chris said, clearly ignorant to the warning expression you gave him. You sighed as your father turned and left, Chris winking at you as he passed you by.

Welp, guess he’s on his own now.

You sat down at the table at your usual spot across from your brother, a chair left between you and Claire, meant for Chris.

Despite your concern for your father’s antics, you were quickly pulled into a conversation with your friend’s sister, an amiable girl through and through. Your worries were forgotten as she spoke, telling a joke that made you chuckle. Even her sense of humor felt familiar to you, so reflective of her older brother.

Your stepmother then asked her about her studies, and after she described her college experience so far, she explained that she was on the girl’s soccer team, something she enjoyed.

“Well ain’t that something,” you marveled, “Tic also loves soccer.”

When he didn’t reply, you kicked him gently under the table, giving him a look that said, ‘Now’s your chance to make a friend’. He sputtered out an agreement, the conversation falling silent as he couldn’t seem to offer anything else. Well that was new. He’d never been so awkward or quiet in his life.

Before you could change the subject, your father and Chris finally came back into the room, a bottle of cold soda and a couple of already opened beers in tow. Your group took turns pouring some for yourselves, and once Chris settled into his seat, you looked over at him.

Catching his eye, he offered a small smile, but there was a furrow to his brows you only ever saw on particularly hard missions at work. Your expression was questioning, worried your father had really said something off-color, but he seemed quick to shed whatever concern he had, joining the conversation and making a quip at his sister’s expense.

You yourself eventually relaxed, the evening going quite well despite the few hiccups.

After nearly an hour, your stepmother asked you to clear the table, and Chris immediately jumped up to help despite both of your protests. He wouldn’t relinquish the stack of plates in his hand, however, so you beckoned him to follow you into the kitchen as your sister excitedly ran to a nearby cabinet to pull out her favorite board game, easily roping Claire into playing it.

You and Chris remained in companionable silence for a few moments as the two of you began putting away any leftovers and getting to work on doing the dishes in the sink.

“Thanks for helping out. You know you didn’t have to, right?” you said as you lightly ribbed him with your elbow.

“It’s the least I could do after feeding me so well,” he replied with a shrug.

You smiled, looking down at your handiwork as things fell quiet once more.

After a few more beats, you asked quietly, “My dad didn’t give you too hard of a time, did he?”

“Not at all,” he answered, to your surprise, before continuing sardonically, “He only threatened to kill me if I ever hurt you. Nothing too crazy.”

You laughed at his sarcastic remark. “You got off easy, then.”

He pulled a face before chuckling. “I’d hate to see what him going hard on me looks like.”

“Aw, you’ve got nothing to worry about if you behave. If you don’t, though? Well, they’ll never find your body.” You said that last part deadpan, and Chris flicked soapy water in your direction.

“Well, you better get used to the idea of me haunting your ass then.”

You pretended to shiver in fear. “Only my ass?”

His responding laugh was loud, and you worried your grin would be etched into your face if you couldn’t stop it from forming.

The two of you finished up quickly, drying your hands before joining in on the game in the nearby room. Your sister was having the time of her life and your brother finally started to act more like himself as the evening continued, the two families before you meshing better than you could have imagined.

Caught up in your reverie, you didn’t realize it was your turn to roll the dice, Chris bumping his shoulder into yours, placing the two cubes of plastic on the table in front of you. “You can stall all you want, but I’m still gonna win.”

You rolled your eyes as you began your play, the group laughing at his remark. The dice clattered across the table, and you bit your lip as you all stared at the result.

“Oooh, snake eyes. Unfortunate,” Tic stated before snatching them from the table. “Better luck next time, Sis.”

You huffed in faux displeasure, and the game went on.

One hour turned into two turned into three, and no one seemed to notice or care, you least of all. This was the most fun you think you’ve had in months.

You smiled warmly at the people around you, the two halves of your life fitting together like puzzle pieces, all prior concerns forgotten.

Right at that moment, sitting in your family’s dining room next to one of your closest friends, you knew one thing to be true.

This is home.

--------------------

Masterlist | Previous | Next

#albert wesker x reader #chris redfield x reader #albert wesker #chris redfield #dead by deadlight #resident evil #dbd #re #the betrayer

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figsandphiltatos · 21 days

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tagged by @deadchannelradio! thanks!! i'll always take the opportunity to talk ad nauseam about music i'm listening to lol

shuffle your on repeat playlist (on spotify) and list the first 10 songs and then tag 10 people

1. Pigs is Pigs by Mannequin Pussy — what an incredible first pull. uhm. sorry for the screamo ass punk music but also consider that i literally JUST saw them in concert and this song goes so hard. it's not sung by their front woman (who totally deserves her flowers), but i LOVE colins' vocals. not a lyric in the song, but what he said at the concert was 'we don't need police, we need community' and fuck yes. this is such a good band if you have an opportunity to see them in concert do it holy fuck they're so good haha 😬👍

2. American Teenager by Ethel Cain — i know exactly two (2) ethel cain songs but this one goes hard what can i say. peak speeding down the highway singing at the top of your lungs music (don't speed, dive safe kids)

3. Control by Mannequin Pussy — it's gonna be a lot of mannequin pussy on here,,,,,,, lmao. this song is great tho!

4. Too Sweet by Hozier — there's probably gonna be a lot of hozier on here too lol. he released new music which always makes me ill, but also unreal unearth unheard has been sooo good for the oc's i've recently been throwing around like ragdolls in my head lol

5. I Got Heaven by Mannequin Pussy — 'and what if jesus himself ate my fucking snatch?' need i say more? this is maybe one of their best songs lol

6. Smog by Indigo De Souza — everyone go listen to all of indigo de souza's music RIGHT. NOW. thanks :)

7. Clean Slate by The Mountain Goats — this is another band that released a new album recently(ish) and i've just been a bit ill about some of the songs. the trumpets are especially fun in this one lol

8. Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain — okay so stick with me on this one. it's a great song first of all (insane that it's on the same album as american teenager lmao but go off ethel) but i've mostly been listening to it for oc purposes. this oc is kinda a vessel for working through feelings about gods and faith, and the way that both gods and the faithful need each other and shape each other. essentially,,, in a universe where gods are sustained by the faith of their followers, what happens when all but one of their followers is wiped out. in what ways do those two entities change and warp and love and destroy each other. ya know. just coping with senior year of college things tbh. anyway it's a great song :3

9. Apollo by Momma — this song has fun instrumentation, makes brain go brr. also!!! very on theme for the previously mentioned oc and thinking about gods and the weird relationships you can have with them.

10. Same as Cash by The Mountain Goats —IN YOUR CAR WITH YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HANDS AT THE FAR END OF THE WALMART PARKING LOT, TRYING NOT TO BUCKLE UNDER THE STRAIN, STRIKING A BARGAIN WITH THE IMP IN YOUR BRAIN, PREPAIRED TO TAKE ANOTHER KNOCK FOR THE SHORT GANG, BUT YOU CAN ASK ANY VETERAN RUNNING BACK, EVENTUALLY YOUR JOINTS COMPLAIN. this song is so special to me no one will ever understand it like i do (only bitches who have worked long hours at an understaffed walmart during the pandemic while couch surfing bc you just left your shitty home situation will ever understand what john is trying to say here like i do tbh. entirely possible john doesn't even understand it like i do [this is a joke. art is personal and always ripe for meaningful and individual interpretation. pls don't shoot me]). but everyone should listen to it anyway, the violins and piano are so so fun and good

hahaaaa i told you i could talk soo much about the music i like, unfortunately for y'all

@darkravenstag @thrustin-timberlake @mitebitmurderous @johaerys-writes @sabrirene @sarcasticbeanie @seethestarsalittlecloser @sleeperagentclone @notacluedo @alive-ontheinside

(no pressure ofc!!! and if you don't have spotify i say just go hog wild and talk about songs you've been enjoying no one can stop you)

#also shout out to moth tower who doesn't have their music on spotify but has absolutely been getting me thru this trying time #it's dungeon synth music which is an insane rabbit hole i could go down on its own but if you're looking for music without lyrics #i would highly recommend giving them a try #figs sillies

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mcwriting · 3 years

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His Mobius

Lol y'all gonna hate me for this one but what can I say, I'm obsessed with this ship and slightly disappointed in the season finale.

Not my normal jam so sorry to those who only follow me for T. Holland content

Picks up where ep 6 leaves off. Don't read if you don't wanna get spoiled lol.

Ship: Loki vs. Mobius M. Mobius (one-sided)

Word Count: 1212

Warnings: it's sad boi hours in here y'all prepare to have your heart ripped out for a second; also spoilers

⏰

The color had drained from Loki's face as he realized what was going on when he stared at the giant statue of He Who Remains.

With the intense branching of timelines, Sylvie had kicked him into a random, newly-born universe.

He turned back to the man he knew-

No. He didn't know this man.

This was Mobius. M. Mobius, but not his Mobius. M. Mobius.

"I... I- I- I need a tempad, please," Loki begged the not-his-Mobius.

"Don't you have one? Wait- I'm sorry, who are you again? You never answered my question," not-Mobius said with growing suspicion.

He didn't know this Loki, or seem to know any Lokis at all, but he still knew to question guys who came up asking frantic questions and requesting other agents' tempads.

Loki didn't know how to answer.

For once he wanted to tell the truth, but there was no way he'd be able to explain things to this not-Mobius. He didn't have time. He needed to find his Mobius.

With a swift glance, he located not-Mobuis's tempad and with even swifter precision snatched it from the man.

"Hey wait!" he cried, but it was too late.

Loki had already punched in random numbers and opened a portal, stepping through into the unknown.

⏰

The yellow rectangle behind Loki closed as soon as he stepped through, and he knew that with all the chaos, he probably wouldn't ever be found.

As he got his bearings, Loki started to register the sights and sounds around him, along with the humid heat that made his already sweaty skin feel even stickier.

He blinked a couple times before realizing what he was looking at.

Somewhat.

He was in a rainforest.

"Midgard. This- I'm on earth," he muttered to himself, brows furrowed.

Back before the TVA, he'd spent years plotting his takeover of the planet. The Asgardian libraries had contained books filled with knowledge about earth's nature and climate systems, something he'd used to his advantage when planning where he wanted to rule from.

While he didn't know a thing about earth customs or technology, Loki could easily tell the difference between a chimpanzee and a capuchin, or explain how hibiscus flowers were great in tea.

The real question was when is he?

Loki looked at his tempad.

Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica. 2015.

It made sense. Loki remembered that the country was known for its lush landscapes.

There was no telling what universe he was in. He wondered if he could find someone to fill in in the 3 years since the battle of New York, if that had even happened in this timeline.

He took a look around. The foliage was bright green, and he spotted a toucan on a nearby branch. There was the occasional scream of a howler monkey echoing through the trees.

A few feet away, just past a few trees, was a dirt path. Signs that people had walked this trail many times.

Of course, a worry popped into the back of Loki's head that claimed a hungry jaguar had paced there as it looked for a meal, trampling the grass in search of prey.

His fears were quelled, however, when he heard faint voices nearing.

He stepped behind a wide tree and watched carefully as a man in a neon shirt led a family down the trail.

Loki spotted 5 kids, who all looked between the ages of 8 and 18. Interspersed among them were 4 adults who looked to be in their 40s or 50s.

At the back of the pack walked two older men. A shorter guy with snow white hair who looked to be in his 70s, and a taller one whose hair was very much salt-and-peppered, likely in his 60s.

The brightly-clothed guide was explaining to them all of the wonderful things Costa Rica had to offer, from its diverse flora and fauna to the beaches, mountains, and rainforests.

Loki was about to pop out from the wood and ask if this family could explain what the avengers were up to, or if they even existed at all here. He knew he would look ridiculous with his torn up TVA clothes but didn't care.

Finding Mobius was more important.

Before he could call out a greeting, he stopped dead in his tracks, blood running cold.

That voice.

He knew that voice anywhere.

The shorter old guy had cut in to make a joke to his family.

"I need to know where to get a jet ski around here."

Mobius.

That was him, but what was he doing here?

Loki felt weird seeing what it would have looked like for his Mobius to live on earth up to this point, assuming that the TVA variants of him had been plucked from the mid-1990s.

"Daaaad," one of the middle aged women groaned.

He has a daughter. Are those his grandchildren?

"You know we brought you on vacation to get you away from your jet ski, right dad?" another of the middle-agers said, a man who looked to be the youngest in his generation group.

A son as well?

"I'll have you know that the jet ski was the greatest invention of our time, of all history, even!" old-Mobius explained light-heartedly.

The taller man next to him placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I think we can manage a week without, my dear."

Loki gasped.

That was him speaking to old-Mobius. Well, not him, but an old version of him.

It didn't make sense.

Loki was well over 1000 years old. An Asgardian diety. A jotun.

He wouldn't just age like that. Not unless he sacrificed something to do so.

Loki couldn't help but notice, though, that while old-Loki's face was considerably wrinklier than his own, the man he looked at was void of worry lines around his eyes and forehead.

He looked genuinely happy.

Loki shifted as best he could to stay hidden behind the tree as he watched what played out ahead of him.

"Oh, alright, alright. I guess I can manage going without ole Lightning for the week if it means I've got y'all to entertain me. But just know that I'm taking everyone out on the lake as soon as we get back to Texas."

Old-Mobius, or whatever his midgardian name really was, smiled at his old-Loki, placing an hand over his lower back.

"I think that can be arranged," old-Loki agreed, quickly pressing a kiss to old-Mobius's temple as he wrapped an arm over the shorter man's shoulders.

Loki didn't even realize that there were tears sliding down his cheeks until the pang in his heart made him turn away from the happy family.

Because it wasn't just Mobius's family, it was his.

He didn't know how the two had found each other, how this Loki had somehow evaded godhood to live a domestic, midgardian life.

Loki couldn't stay here. He couldn't disturb and be caught by them.

He needed to find his Mobius, maybe figure out how to start a life like that.

It wouldn't be easy, jumping through the multiverse searching for that hard-headed, sarcastic, witty, crazy TVA analyst Loki had somehow fallen for, but he had to try.

So with the coast clear, he reset the tempad and stepped through another portal.

For his Mobius.

⏰

A/N: my heart is going to explode. Why did I feel the need to torture myself in this way? Anyways, I wrote it, so y'all gotta read it.

I don't make the rules.

Let me know what you thought! I love and hate this simultaneously so I'd love some feedback. Thanks for reading!!

Once again, sorry for those who follow me for Tom Holland stuff but I really wanted to write this!

If you would like to be added to any of my taglists, please message or send an ask so I can verify that you've been added!

Not tagging my permanent tag list since this isn't my normal content!

#his mobius #justice for mobius #loki #loki tv #loki laufeyson #loki x mobius #loki 2021 #loki spoilers #lokius #mobius #mobius m mobius #loki mobius #loki oneshot #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction

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emersondarling · 4 years

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(Very Incomplete) Assclass Fanfic Ideas That I Daydream Ab But Cannot Write: Part 1

Some are kinda generic and some themes/AU's aren't exactly original lol but I think ab them all the time soooo here ya go hehe

Oh also I'm not rly writing? it's more my ideas in somewhat short headcanon form ahhhh sorry to disappoint

(If someone actually decides to write any of these, or something similar, please like message or tag me because I'd love to read them ahhh)

•••

1. Red String of Fate AU

-Y'all know this trope right

-Like you and your soulmate at connected by a red string that can be tangled and tied but never breaks

-(You can only see your own, not anyone else's)

-So basically, Karasuma never had one

-He hasn't all his life so love never interested him

-Then he starts at teaching E class

-He meets Irina, she doesn't have a soulmate either

-Why? Because he was one of her assassination targets

-Halfway through the year, the principal comes to visit again to see how E class is 'progressing'

-Karasuma gets a major migraine and goes home early

-He wakes up the next day

-He looks down at his hands

-Not one, but two red strings are attached to his pinky fingers, one on each hand

-He's very confused

-He goes to school and climbs up the mountain, noting how one string goes into the main building and one goes up the mountain

-That must mean Irina is a soulmate

-(Or korosensei but he wouldn't bet on that)

-When they meet in the teacher's lounge, neither knows what happened

-But Karamsuma isn't complaining, he supposes, maybe having a soulmate would be...more interesting?

-Until, the principal makes his way to the top of the mountain

-Karasuma is training, as usual

-Gakuhou says his name and he turns

-Karasuma freezes as the hand Gakuhou is holding up is connected to his

-E class is just looking at the interaction with interest

2. Hanahaki Disease AU

-Maehara has it

-Thinks it's ironic that he, a playboy, is coughing up flower petals

-He likes Isogai obv

-The flowers are either the color of Isogai's eyes or have a special meaning (idk which one but maybe both)

-He thinks Isogai likes Kataoka because they hang outside of their duties as class representatives

-Really, Isogai just trying to help Kataoka get with Kayano

-Lots of angstttt and a sad Maehara

-Idk the ending but hopefully it's fluffy

3. 5 Times Karma and Nagisa set up dates (+ 1 Time When a Date was set up for them)

-Karma setting up dates in the weirdest ways for 5 different couples because he's bored

-Nagisa tiredly supervising because if Karma gets his way then the world would be on fire

-At the end, the 5 couples (who knew Karma set them up, he wasn't discreet at all) come together and set him and Nagisa up

4. 5 Times Ren Kisses Gakushuu (+ 1 Time Gakushuu Kisses Ren)

-Ren kisses Gakushuu 5 times secretly

-(they are dating in secret cause of Gakuhou)

-Gakushuu kisses Ren at the graduation ceremony in front of everyone and basically comes out

-very fluffy cause i like fluff

-(Bisexual Gakushuu, Pansexual? Ren)

5. Asano Assassination Attempt

-Okay but like, can we have both Asano's trying an assassination attempt?

-How amazing would that be like holy shit

-One day Gakuhou just walks up the mountain to pay korosensei a visit

-He gets korosensei all panicky with a puzzle

-Then he goes in for the kill

-Korosensei is dodging him and then -Gakushuu fucking swings in through the window, knife ablaze

-Korosensei is like more panicky and very surprised that Gakushuu is there

-The two Asanos get most of the tentacles but not enough to kill him

-Then they both leave while insulting each other

-Class E is just like wtf just happened

6. Never Have I Ever

-Basically, during their break at school, A class plays never have I ever in an empty classroom

-Gakushuu, of course, does not want to play

-They ask him anyways and he plays

-(Note: he was physically dragged to the game by the rest of the virtuosos)

-Most of the questions were common like "never have I ever been out of the country"

-(Seo shut up no one cares about LA)

-or "never have I ever failed a test"

-(Of course Gakushuu doesn't drink)

-(They're drinking water cause they'd die if the principal walked in with them getting drunk)

-Then one boy asks "never have I ever had my first kiss"

-Surprisingly, Gakushuu takes a sip of water

-Unfortunately, that's when the principal walks in

-He then dedicates his time to find out who it was and how painful their death should be

-(Anyone y'all ship with Gakushuu can go w/ this one haha) (I had Ren cause it's hilarious when he's freaked out)

7. Ren + 4 Thiefs

-The four virtuosos stealing Ren's clothes

-He's taller than all of them so his clothes are the biggest and most comfortable

-They've been doing it for a while and

-Ren is fed up

-That's the fic haha

8. AssClass/RWBY Crossover AU

-Takes place in the ass class universe

-E class is still trying to kill korosensei

-A class is also hiding a secret, they are huntresses and huntsmen in training

-They train to kill grim, which (in this AU) only come out at night because they are made of pure darkness

-They can detect grim when a crystal they are wearing around their neck glows

-The crystals are made of pure light and so attract the grim

-Then a powerful grim attacks in broad daylight on the mountain

-A class kills the grim, getting there by someone opening a portal/rip with their semblance

-They try and figure out why the grim was able to stand the sunlight and why he decided to attack e class

-E class was just staring at them arguing

-Idk that's all I have

-This is one of my favorites tho

•••

Okay that's my first post of this? I may post a second one when I'm not overloaded with school work. Hopefully this was alright ahh

(To anyone who's a writer: please?)

Edit: How...how did this get so many likes/rbs 🥺 you guys are amazing ahh

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years

Text

Snowed In 8

y'all.... I was in a mood... I’ve had a couple glasses of cheap wine... what can I say? My blog is a place of thirst, is anyone surprised? Plz avert your eyes if you're under 18.

Pairing: Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut, all the yearning, unprotected sex, cockwarming, if you've got something against tubs? major ‘no one can find the emotional braincell’ vibes (plz hmu if there’s anything I didn’t tag I wanna make this a safe space for everyone to thirst together)

Summary: It’s the last night before they go back down the mountain 👀 some hella angsty sexy times. Im sorry the wine hit hard

Part 7 here

__________

The snow started to melt on day fifty nine.

Everyone was elated, people were buying rounds for the crowded dining room and hollering when a slushy chunk of snow slid off the eves, but not you. You told Geralt you were just so sick and tired of the assholes in the dining hall you wanted to scream. If he didn't believe you, he hid it well.

You were dreading leaving. Falling asleep curled into Geralt's side every night, sex or no sex, was safe and warm and home. You almost thought the anxiety and cabin fever would be worth it to go on with him so close.

The night before you were supposed to leave, you once again found yourself nestled against him, sitting in front of the fire. His arms were no longer hesitant to wrap around you and, though your mind still reeled, your heartbeat didn't stutter under his touch. If anything your body only felt calm in his arms.

You'd mumbled something about finishing this book before you left, it being the last of a set you were sure you'd never find outside of Novigrad, and Geralt had settled by the fire, pulling you with him without a word. As much as you enjoyed the book, you were finding it impossible to focus. Half of you wanted nothing more than to turn and kiss Geralt with everything you had, tell him you loved him, and accept whatever fate befell you. The other half was greedy and covetous. She reminded you that losing this, dignity be damned, would turn your heart to dust.

"Y/N?"

"Geralt?"

"You haven't turned the page in a while. I thought you were asleep." He gave you a gentle squeeze as he spoke.

"Oh…"

"You okay?"

You sighed, letting the book fall closed and resting your head back against his chest, "Just restless I guess…"

"Mmmm, it'd be a shame if we couldn't get a good night's sleep before our trek down the mountain." Geralt seemed to completely envelop you, his lips brushing your temple as he spoke.

You held a hand over his arms, "A crying shame." You agreed, "But first a bath, I feel gross."

You could feel his smile as he pressed his cheek to your hair, "A bath would be nice."

This was almost perfect.

Other than the fact that after this it's over.

You pushed the thought from your mind as you scrambled to your feet, gathering a couple towels and the soap. Geralt warmed the water as usual before the two of you stripped and hopped in. Or tried to.

"I don't think we're both going to fit," you giggled, one leg hooked over the side of the tub and one knee pulled into your chest, trying to make room for Geralt.

He squatted down, extending his legs on either side of your body, "Just barely." He teased, reaching a hand toward your ankle dangling over the edge. He guided your legs on either side of his hips, his touch stoking the needy fire in your belly.

The tub only allowed for you to scoot back so your knees were at his hips, which made scrubbing your body at the same time as him a little difficult, so you settled for just washing your hair. You got it all lathered up only to realize there wasn't any dignified way to rinse it. You sighed and shimmied a little closer to him so you could twist and bend back to dip your hair in the water. Geralt gripped your hips and pulled you into his lap before you could even try leaning over, earning a surprised squeak from you.

You could see the lust in his eyes, but his voice was soft and patient, "Lean back. I've got you."

You bit your lip and tried to ignore your heart fluttering at his words, leaning into his arm now wrapped around your waist. Your hips shifted, making your core brush his already hard cock, a gasp falling from your lips. He pulled you back up out of the water quickly, the way he moved you setting your body on fire.

You rocked your hips, notching his length between your folds and sighing in relief at some kind of friction.

"Mmmmmm, almost." He purred, gripping your hips and holding you steady, "unless you can't wait for me to wash my hair?"

The hungry look in his eyes was betraying his calm tone. You could break his resolve if you wanted to, but you also wanted to know where this was going.

"And what if I can't?"

He grinned sitting up a little taller and pulling you down so he could whisper in your ear, "You could always wait on my cock…"

His words went straight to your pussy, making you shiver, "Fuck, yes. Yeah I want that."

He lowered his mouth to the side of your neck, nibbling at your jugular between words, "You want me to stretch you first?"

You tried to rock your hips again, wriggling against his grip, "No," the word came out far more desperate than intended, but the last thing you wanted to do after hearing that was wait.

He let go of your hips to guide one of your hands down between his thighs, "You can't move until I say, deal?"

You nodded eagerly, your hand finding his length and lining him up with your entrance, "No moving."

He gripped the edge of the tub with both hands as you sank over just his tip, moaning as you stretched around him. You took him ever so slowly, eyes fluttering closed when he shifted to lather the soap through his hair and pushed up another inch. You gasped and gripped the side of the tub with white knuckles.

The slow stretch was marvelous. You felt every millimetre of him as you sank the rest of the way down until you felt him bump your cervix. Any twitch was felt, even the minute movements caused by his hands working through his hair. You opened your eyes looking directly into Geralt's. He didn't look away like he usually did and you almost wished he had. His eyes burned into yours, twisting something in your chest close to the breaking point.

You tore your eyes away from his after too much time to justify and realized he had yet to rinse his hair. You let out a breathy giggle, brushing some suds out of his hairline, "Is this your new fashion statement?"

He smiled and shook his head before slowly leaning back into the water. The redistribution of weight had him pushing up against you even more, making you clench and him grunt as he gripped the side of the tub. The amount of self control he had would have impressed if you weren't lost in memorizing exactly how he felt inside you.

When he sat up and half pulled out you chased him, fighting every urge to grind your hips against his, "Can I move yet?" Your voice was higher than you'd enjoy admitting later, but at this point you didn't care how desperate you looked. You needed him. Not just to move, you needed him to hold you tight to his chest and soothe the ache in yours for at least a few more minutes.

"Almost."

For a moment you forgot you were sitting on his cock, taken by surprise by that damned tone again. You furrowed your brow, about to ask him about it before he held your hips to him with one arm and moved you both back against the end of the tub, giving him more leverage and better use of his hands.

You whined at the small shifts within you, "Geralt,"

He slowly lifted your hips so only his tip was left inside you, "Slow or fast?" His face was a mix of hopeful and absolutely lost, eyes begging for something from under heavy lids.

You whispered your answer, leaning forward to brace yourself against the edge, a hand to either side of his head, "Slow."

He sighed, almost in relief, and pushed into you again in deliciously long strokes. In the back of your mind you thought that now would be the time for neck bites, hickeys, hiding your face in his clavical, but his shoulders were just under the surface of the now choppy water. Either way you didn't think you'd be able to look anywhere but his face. He was staring up at you, his gaze so vulnerable and fervent that you thought you could cry. You gritted your teeth to cut off the tears before they showed on your face, drinking up every bit of him like this as you could.

His eyes never left yours as he thrust, gradually picking up the pace. You felt yourself getting closer to an orgasm with every snap of his hips. You kept your moans to breathless whimpers or gasps, something about the moment being far too personal to broadcast to the rest of the inn. You clenched around him, not trusting your words not to ruin this feeling.

Geralt grunted, sitting up just a little more so you had your arms draped around his neck instead of holding yourself up. He let you take the pace, reaching one hand to rub your clit as the other roamed your body. You felt him twitch and clench his jaw with the effort of holding back. Your hands instinctively tangled in his hair, as you rose and fell down his length, sending peaks of water over the edge of the tub.

He picked up speed circling your clit and you let your forehead rest on his, eyes closing as you whined. You did your best to keep that flood of pleasure at bay just a little longer, wanting this to last forever, but it came crashing over you anyway.

You pulled him closer to you, barely keeping the wherewithal to keep your lips to yourself as you rocked over him, holding your scream back to a strangled sigh and squeezing your eyes shut. As soon as you came he let go, spilling deep into you. His soft moans reverberated over your whole body, almost making you dizzy with a whole different type of satisfaction. You slowed your hips, settling on Geralt's lap, still around his softening cock, forehead pressed against his.

You didn't dare move as the two of you caught your breath, reveling in the feeling of being so close to him. You knew he'd started to recover when he laid one hand over your hip under the still warm water and the other cupped the back of your neck. You took a deep breath and opened your eyes to find his still closed, just as if he were sleeping. If you hadn't been so disoriented you might have called the look on his face reverence, but you just labeled it sweet. You untangled your hands from his hair only to trail your nails over his scalp and through the rest of the length. The contented hum you drew from him almost had you lurching forward to kiss him.

His lips were mere inches away, but you held your ground. If you were the one to initiate a kiss and he rejected you you really didn't think you'd be able to come back from it. So you waited, praying he'd push forward the two inches between your lips and end the all-consuming tension.

He never did. His hand slipped from the back of your neck, over your shoulder and down your back, sending chills up your spine.

"Ready to get out?"

You shook your head with the smallest of movements, earning a chuckle from deep in his chest. You were determined to savor every moment, every breath.

When you eventually got out of the bath and into bed you curled into his side and fell asleep, dreaming of staying right there forever.

__________

part 9 here!

Tag list! Yall make me so damn happy 💕 I just love you😘

@ab-haya @fire-in-her-veinz @cavillhavoc @baliebay19

#I've lost all objectivity Ive edited this so many times it has lost all meaning #i just want it to live up to previous parts lmao #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt #the witcher smut #the witcher fic #geralt smut #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia fic #geralt fic #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia fanfic #these dumbasses have no braincell #Jaskier kept it when they went up the mountain #for safe keeping

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palepinkycat · 4 years

Text

OC Playlist

To everyone who tagged me - I swear, I didn't forget or ignore you, my life is simply a mess lol

Tagged by @mimabeann and @sleepswithvillains, thank you, I've had so much fun creating this playlist! I'm gonna post the 2nd part soon.

This one's for - surprise, surprise - Cithar ☻

On behalf of Taral, I’m asking you NOT to give Cithar a radio. Leaving the Alliance was painful enough, please, don’t let him listen to sad songs.

His intro theme: Grá by Warduna!!! It IS his song! I mean, the lyrics, oh boy... I have SO MANY thoughts after reading the lyrics... I feel like this is something Cithar would like to tell Aivela and his friends/followers if he ever had a chance to speak to them one last time. It would be both a promise and an apology. So much angst in this one lol

Your song stirs something deep within

Like chords pulling straight from memory

I can’t find the words, they still remain veiled

Yet I know it is old, I know that it’s forgotten

I remember when you roamed freely

I remember when we roamed together

I remember us before our paths got separated

I remember the ring before it broke

[...]

You may run to my forests

Roam freely in my mountains

Lead your pack to my valleys

Let us restore the ring

I shall sing you safe on your way

I shall sing you safely home

His boss battle theme: Ah yes, more angst. Boss battle, huh? You mean him fighting a boss or him being the boss, huh? Anyways, Pride by Manchester Orchestra toatally suits both options.

Finally I felt the calming breeze

Stepping out to watch the final scene

After all it's you, my pride, and me

I can't speak whatever I can speak

You see

Now I found the way to meet the means

Faker face to make the kingdom clean

After all it's me, and the king, and the beast

Whatever whatever I can't speak

A thing

His love song: So I guess I should find two songs - one for him and Aivela and the second for him and Mara. Sooo Sarah by Alex G for Cithar x Mara where Sarah = Mara?

I can't be

What you need

I am stuck in a dream

[...]

Every day

I'll make promises that plague

Sarah's heart

So I can watch her fall apart

'Cause I know

When I break her down

We'll spit on all the happy clowns

That live around this sunny town

She loves me like a dog

And when we mess around

I'll let her know the truth I found

In my own hopeless hate

And every time I wake

I second guess the game I played

Did I make a mistake?

Yes, you did ☻

And for Cithar x Aivela - I was specifically looking for a song with some ballad/medieval mood when I came across The Song of Seven Sorrows from the Kingkiller Chronicles. Now, I've never read the book so I don't really know the lore but no other song from my playlist depicts their story so well. Assuming Lyra = Aivela, Lanre = Cithar, Selitos = Izax - or basically the whole Pantheon, they all hate him lol - and Myr Tariniel = Medriaas/Nathema

Our hero of songs and stories untold

He fought not for glory, nor silver nor gold

He killed for the hands that held his heart

For Lyra, who loved him till death did them part

[...]

But Death is a tyrant who won't be denied

Lyra she faded, she paled and she died

Her fate left unknown to we who remain

Its consequence etched in misery and pain

Unable to die, to forget or to sleep

Lanre was driven to madness and grief

Myr Tariniel burned by his hand

A mercy to the people of that wretched land

Selitos roared and he clawed at his eyes

Frenzied by pride, he cursed the skies:

"Lanre you traitor, cursed be thy name,

May you live always in the shadow and shame!"

Our hero of songs and stories untold

Now wanders these roads, alone in the cold

He dreams of the hands that held his heart

Of Lyra, who loved him till death did them part

Sorry for all my calculations 🤠

His sad times song: Oh, the sad times. Who Killed Mr. Moonlight by Bauhaus

A broken arrow in a bloody pool

The wound in the face

Of midnight proposals

Someone shot nostalgia in the back

Someone shot our innocence

In the shadow of his smile

[...]

All our dreams have melted down

We are hiding in the bushes

[...]

All our stories burnt

Our films lost in the rushes

We can't paint any pictures

As the moon had all our brushes

OR Kingdom's Coming , also by Bauhaus

Madness in the wind's got something to say

It ripped you apart

It will always be that way

It said kingdom's coming, causes chaos

Will cut to pieces the film you saw today

It's your big bad secret

Your crown of thorns

Can't take it easy, you can't turn back

The sky will open soon, could be today

Forget your bastard ego, get it off your back

[...]

You want it all, but it's on the run

A song that reminds him of a better time: Times with Aivela, huh? 👀

The Stable Song by Gregory Alan Isakov

Remember when our songs were just like prayers

Like gospel hymns that you caught in the air?

Come down, come down sweet reverence

Unto my simple house and ring

And ring

Also, I just couldn't skip that part, it's soooo fitting

Now I've been crazy couldn't you tell

I threw stones at the stars, but the whole sky fell

He should get it tattooed on his stupid forehead so that in the future, everyone will be able to tell.

A song that calms him down: Y'all probably noticed but it really bothers me that the OLD Republic era is basically the same as the prequel/sequel era 626271182772 years later. So I pretty much headacanon it to be more of a Star Wars middle ages, like a mix of Vikings, LOTR and Game of Thrones lol Besides, Cithar is a character from my Dragon Age/Star Wars crossover soo if we're not talking about lyrics that describe him but instead about songs he'd actually listen to, I think it'd be some traditional Sith music he'd stumble upon while wandering among the common folk on Medriaas. Something that reminds him of home. As much as he hated its corruption, there were many things he loved. I imagine it would sound similiar to Sacrifice by Sharon Lyons.

A song that gets him hyped up: What's a better song to start a rebellion to than Svanrand by Heilung???

*No lyrics this time since it's just a list of names of valkyries, but imagine ancient sith reciting the names of their gods before entering a battle??? 👀*

A song that fits his aesthetic: Music that fits his aesthetic - Postaci by Dzivia

And lyrics that fit his aesthetic - The Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel

In restless dreams I walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone

'Neath the halo of a street lamp

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light

That split the night

And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing songs that voices never share

And no one dared

Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools, " said I, "You do not know

Silence, like a cancer, grows

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you"

But my words, like silent raindrops fell

And echoed in the wells, of silence

His own favorite song: The same as the one that calms him down.

The song that plays at his funeral: Would there even be one? Helvegen by Warduna

Who will sing me

Into the death-sleep sling me

When I walk the road to Hel

And the tracks I tread

Are cold, so cold

[...]

You will be free from the bonds that bind you

You are free from the bonds that bound you

#that one bauhaus song is like #forget your bastard ego get it off your back #and cithar's just #NO.#i just noticed #i always roast cithar?#even when i try to create a basic playlist #i love him to pieces but i also love making fun of him #i cant help it #i've skipped a few promts tho #was super confused lol sorry!#oc:cithar #swtor #oc playlist #Sith Pureblood #zakuul #aivela #SWTOR OC #my art

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tired-but-motivated · 4 years

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A TAG GAME HAS APPEARED

Boy do I miss these

I was tagged by @morifinwes and @xiaoxuqiu , thank you<3 Anyway;; here we go

1. flowers or chocolate?

flowers, chocolates make me feel extremely guilty upon sight. flowers are pretty.

2. between day and night i prefer:

though I used to be afraid of the dark, my body happens to stay awake and productive at night. I prefer night, then.

3. my favorite drink:

can't choose between green tea and coffee.

4. between sunrise and sunset i prefer:

sunset. I'm not sure I've ever enjoyed watching the sun rise. means I've got work to do.

5. between dogs and cats, i prefer:

dogs, cats are also very cute and relatable but I simply fear the claws.

6. the vegetable i hate most:

bittergourds(?) I'm not sure what they're called in english.

7. my favorite sound:

those vocals that make you sound like you're being taken by god when you hear them

8. the first thing i notice about people:

height. I'm tiny, okay?

9. what would you prefer, horror or fantasy?

horror. it's harder to handle. I like things like that.

10. what city or town would you like to live in?

uh. I don't know. (Just kidding, I'm pretty sure I have an emotional bond with Tianjin, China)

11. what i value most in life:

nothing. everything disappears at some point, I don't need to get attached or work too hard for only one aspect.

12. if i could learn any skill, it'd be:

I want to learn how to play instruments from different cultures and/or tribes,, I find them interesting. I'd also want to learn to draw better.

13. between beach and the mountains i prefer:

mountains. you'll never see me again.

14. my hidden talent:

singing? I guess? I mean, I don't like singing in front of a definite audience. I also took acting and dancing lessons as a child.

15. rainy day or sunny day?

rainy!! much relax.

16. how i relax after a hard day:

sleep. or I'll draw plants, then sleep.

17. how many piercings i have:

do ears count? I don't know, I've never considered getting more piercings.

18. i like makeup:

oh god no.

19. my height:

I AM 156.3CM. YES. I AM SMALL.

20. My age:

13-17 uwu

21. my birthday:

December 10

22. video games or social media:

okay, I have decided, social media;; I'm very awkward but I usually can't focus most of the time. I have learned the hard way that I tend to space out with games.

23. i've visited outside of my country:

I have never left my region.

24. do you follow some celebrities' fashion?

no!!

25. what do you think about your fashion sense?

Absolute Trash 1000™ (also I never go with trends)

26. you can do your makeup properly:

I never wear makeup, but when I need to, I guess I can do it decently with focus.

27. you go or used to go to school with makeup on:

I'd never. it's not allowed.

28. what color suits you best?

sadly, I've been told that white and pink suit me. also black, but I tend to look like a ghost when I wear black.

I am tagging:

@yeetji (are you still alive?) @daffodils-dandelions-and-such @dramaqueenweeb1469 and @the-ultimate-oof and any of my mutuals who want to do this, I don't want to disturb y'all, and if I did, I'm sorry

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backofthebookshelf · 5 years

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Book Recs for Magnus Archives Fans

I was just rambling in tags the other day about how my avatarsona was "the Archivist, but a public librarian: Oh, you like dirt?? Let me tell you all the dirt stories I have!!!!" so, uh, here I am I guess.

I'm gonna spare you all the M.R. James and Algernon Blackwood and House of Leaves and Blindsight; you know all that already. These are my horror backlist recs.

The Bone Key by Sarah Monette Y'all. Y'ALL. Kyle Murchison Booth was absolutely the Archivist before Gertrude. He was poached from the Parrington by the Usher Foundation and the Eye glommed onto him at once, because the Eye loves disaster queers who can't people right (and also Gertrude). This I believe to be true, and so will you.

Kyle Murchison Booth is an archivist at the Parrington Museum, which is somewhere in New England, sometime in the early twentieth century. He also has a lifelong entanglement with the supernatural which is almost entirely not his fault, and he would very much like it to stop, but he also feels responsible and he can't just let evil mirrors and cursed necklaces and possessed dressing gowns randomly eat people who have no idea what's happening. Even if it means he's going to suffer for it.

(This collection doesn't contain all of the Booth stories, so here I am going to link to "White Charles", which happens to be my very favorite Booth story.)

For you if your favorite part is: honestly everything about MAG, from the modern sensibilities about early twentieth-century-horror, truly eerie ghost stories, to suffering eldritch librarians (thanks to whoever tagged my most recent fic with that you're so valid), monsterfucking and soft gay pining. No happy endings here, sorry.

Bedfellow by Jeremy C. Shipp You may or may not have heard that Macmillan-Tor is launching a horror imprint, and I don't know how long it's been since a major publishing house has had a horror imprint, but I am EXCITE. This book is part of the trend that's the reason why: Tor.com has been publishing these kickass novellas for a couple years now, and their horror books are top notch.

One night a stranger knocks on a family's living room window and asks to be invited in. They ask him to stay the night. He's an old friend, after all, he needs a place to stay. You can't kick out your twin brother when he's just gotten divorced, no matter how much Gatorade he spills on your two-year-old hardwood floors.

For you if your favorite part is: the Stranger, this is all Stranger, it's terrifying and good.

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll A graphic novel, some of these were originally posted as webcomics (have you seen His Face All Red, and if not, why not???) and the only disadvantage to having them in book form is they can't blink at you. Probably. Very folktale-ish, with all the death and violence that implies, and also the slightly eerie feeling that you know this story already, and then it turns around and slaps you.

For you if your favorite part is: looking over your shoulder when the foley gets good; Once Upon a Time in Space (I know that's not technically part of the Magnus Archives but shush)

Universal Harvester by John Darnielle I am not usually a fan of artists who jump media. Just because you can write songs doesn't mean you can write novels. Apparently writing good songs doesn't mean you can't write good novels, though, because John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats (pretty sure that's his full name at this point) wrote Universal Harvester and I love him for it.

Jeremy works at a video rental place in Nevada, Iowa (it's pronounced Nah-vey-da, and yes it’s real, I've been there, and yes, it's probably haunted). It's the 1990s, and someone's been returning their VHS tapes with something on them that isn't just the movie. Footage that includes a barn that he recognizes, just outside of town.

Fair warning: this is not the kind of mystery that gets tied up in a nice bow at the end.

For you if your favorite part is: Jon losing it with paranoia in S2, The People's Church of the Divine Host, the Lonely

The Good House by Tananarive Due If this author's name is unfamiliar to you, RUN, do not walk, to your nearest internet bookseller and purchase every single one of her books immediately, you will not regret it. She also just came out with a documentary on black horror, Horror Noire, on the Shudder streaming service. They've got a free month if you aren't a horror movie person, it'd be worth your while. This book summary sounds like it's full of tropes. It is, but Due has the cred to write them well.

Angela Toussaint hopes to salvage her suffering marriage and her troubled relationship with her teenage son with a trip to her grandmother's house, a home so beloved the locals in small-town Washington state call it "The Good House," but tragedy strikes instead. Two years later she returns and finds that the tragedy isn't over, and it's not going to stop on its own.

For you if your favorite part is: the very practical statement-givers who know what's happening to them and Will Not Put Up With This Shit, the Desolation, the Hill Top Road statements

The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins Is this horror disguised as fantasy? Found family disguised as horror? Grown-up Neil Gaiman? Less grimdark George R.R. Martin? Honestly I have no fucking idea, but it's amazing. Fair warning, unlike Magnus Archives, this deserves all kinds of trigger warnings, including but not necessarily limited to: sexual assault, torture, mental manipulation, dysfunctional families, incest(?)

Father is missing, and his twelve children (though extremely talented in their own ways, and not strictly speaking children any more) are at a loss without him. But also, without him, things are starting to seem different. He might be God? They might not be human? (They were probably human once.) He might not be God but maybe one of them might be next? If any of them survive.

For you if your favorite part is: slowly turning into a monster, the relationships between entities and avatars, monsters hot (not kidding about the trigger warnings)

The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley I have to keep reminding myself that Magnus Archives isn't really folk horror, there are two separate (if related) strains of British horror here and folk horror is not the one we're on, but at the same time I really want a good creepy rural pagan cult to show up in the series, you know? Anyway.

When he was a child, our narrator used to go with his family on an Easter pilgrimage to shrine on a bleak stretch of Lancaster coastline locals called The Loney. His Catholic mother was searching for a cure for his older brother, and she was convinced if they kept going long enough she would be granted her wish. The locals, however, are not huge fans of her annual visits, and even less so when the boys become involved with the goings-on of a pair of glamorous tourists.

For you if your favorite part is: the Lukases, I didn't realize until I was writing this up that I'm picturing Moreland House in the exact place described by this book

Eutopia by David Nickle One thing I love about the historical statements in Magnus Archives is just how truly historical they are. There's almost nothing in "The Piper" that isn't historically accurate - yes, Wilfrid Owen spent several days in a trench underneath the shredded bodies of his fellow soldiers. Like. You can't make up horror worse than that. But then you add monsters and it gets good. And I'm a sucker for early-twentieth-century history, it's such a bonkers time.

It's 1911 and the new Eugenics Record Office is sending agents out to catalog the disabled, infirm, and otherwise undesirable members of society so they can figure out what to do about them. In the utopian town of Eliada, Idaho, Dr. Andrew Waggoner runs from the racism of American society and straight into the influence of Mister Juke, the most troubling patient in his new practice. (Trigger warnings for, obviously, a whole lot of ableism. Treated like the monstrousness it is, but there's a lot of it.)

For you if your favorite part is: learning history through horror, the Flesh

A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay I hate male writers writing about teenage girls, so you are going to have to trust me when I say that I had to check, several times while reading this book, to make sure that Paul Tremblay is actually a dude. He's very good. This book was kind of his breakout, so if you follow horror you've read it already, but if you don't necessarily then please do not miss it. His newer ones, Disappearance at Devil's Rock (Stranger, Spiral) and The Cabin at the End of the World (Slaughter, Extinction), are also good but not as good as this, I think.

Fourteen-year-old Marjorie is having a rough time - outbursts, hallucinations, paranoia. Treatment is difficult (and expensive) and her family ambivalent; they turn to a local Catholic priest, who recommends an exorcism and, to help manage those medical bills, a production company who's interested in filming a reality TV show about the process. Fifteen years later, Marjorie's sister deconstructs the now-famous show and wrestles with her own memories of childhood. Trigger warnings for ableism on the part of many of the characters, but not the narrative.

For you if your favorite part is: the Spiral, metafictional analysis of horror tropes

#the magnus archives #book recs #there's a lot of other things i could tag this as #but i wrote it for this fandom #is this a transparent excuse to get more people to read booth stories??#it is #it really is

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memory-bees · 5 years

Text

Dear Two-Bit

Pairings: Two-Bit/Darry

Warning: Slight angst

Authors note: Sorry this took so long to get out smh I'm useless lol

Darrel Shaynne Curtis Jr. was a wonderful man, and somehow he felt enough for Two-Bit Mathews to write him a letter in this notebook filled with secret emotions, and that fact was enough to make Two-Bit want to scream like an excited school girl. He was way too happy about this, and he didn't even know what the letter said! Darry could be denouncing him and damning him to hell, and maybe five hours ago he would have thought that, but now he understood that Darry kept this notebook sacred. Only for people he loved.

And the fact that somehow Darry loved him enough to write him a letter in this notebook, that made his heart swell. He had grown fond of the older man in the hours it had taken him to read all of the letters in this notebook. How you could fall in love with someone without even looking at their face was a mystery to him. But, he guessed that he had loved Darry for a lot longer than just a few hours. The notebook had just finally opened his eyes to the deeper feelings he held for the man.

He took a few deep breaths and shook the excitement out of his arms and began to read the letter. He didn't have much time before the Curtis' got home.

"Dear Two-Bit,

I've made the horrible mistake of falling in love again. And somehow, I've made the horrible mistake of falling in love with you."

Two-Bit took a second to laugh giddily. Darry Curtis was in love with him! He wanted to scream it from the tallest mountain peak, he wanted to tell anybody who would listen that Darry loved him.

He swallowed his spiked nerves and started to read again, letting himself get lost in the graphite scratched onto the cheap paper.

"I don't wanna get hurt again, Two. I couldn't handle it, now, I don't think you would hurt me, but my head won't let go of that slim chance that you will hurt me. I want to be with you, Two-Bit, but I'm so damn scared.

I don't even know why I like you so much... Okay well actually that's a damn lie on my part. You're funny, you can make me laugh harder than most people, even with your god damn puns. You listen to me when I just need to be listened to, and that's something almost scary, Two-Bit. I've always been the listener, never really had someone listen to me and my problems, and I appreciate that a whole lot more than you probably realize."

Two-Bit had to pause his reading again. When had he become so entranced with this wonderful, beautiful, intelligent man? He rubbed his chin with his knuckles, a shit eating grin on his face.

"Take that Paul," He thought, "He loves me now. You didn't deserve him anyway."

He shook away the voice in the back of his head that hissed, "And neither do you smartass."

He quickly went back to reading, wanting to soak up as much of the letter as possible.

"I just... You're such a good guy, Two-Bit. You probably don't realize what you mean to me. And I'm sorry to say, but I'll probably never confess to you. I've had too much heart ache recently to even think of dating. But good God do I want to have the courage to say something to you.

Maybe I'm just a coward. Oh well, I guess Shakespeare was right. Nothing comes out of nothing.

Love, Darry."

Two-Bit started to laugh again, he felt high, and he hadn't even had one sip of alcohol that day. Good god, what had Darry done to him? He was head over heels in love with Darry, and he hadn't even seen his face yet that day. Oh god, he wanted to wake up next to him, he wanted to make him feel safe and loved and-

And then the door to the room creaked open, revealing an increasingly shocked Darry Curtis standing in the door way.

——

Tag list even tho y'all don't really care skskksksksks

@ponyboyvhs @g-a-y-b-a-c-o-n @thequeendesi @golden-sun-rises @reddieformileven @cherryswitchblade @sizzlingponyalmond @liam-thewhore-senshi @lovingderika @daviddobriksleftnut @staygoldponebone @meggels921 @insanitycaver @theoutsidies @yadayadayadahuman

#The Outsiders #Darry Curtis #Two-Bit Mathews #Dar-bit #darbit #writing #my writing #:p #DCNB

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thinger-strang · 4 years

Text

top 10 songs I've been listening to

(in no particular order)

tagged by @gideongrace who I love 🥰

Personal Lies Djo

Crush Culture Conan Gray

baseball Hippo Campus

Bad Decision Chromeo

Motion Sickness Pheobe Bridgers

Ralphie Post Animal

Phone Ludic

1980s Horror Film II Wallows

(writing a fic based on this one btw)

This Year The Mountain Goats

Sports Beach Bunny

(honorable mention: Watermelon Sugar-Harry Styles, I can't stop thinking about it)

(fun fact: these are all from my djo playlist and the only playlist that I have that isn't 70's, 80's, 90's music!)

ANYWAY listen to these if you haven't heard them! I love!

tagging: @harringrovesfawcettspray @kyrosh @grabmyboner and anyone else who hasn't done it (if y'all have been tagged already sorry)

#rambles #lemme know if i introduced you to a new song/artist! i love these songs a lot!!!#also the playlist is called 🤘qexcitable music🤘 but that's irrelevant

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damienthepious · 5 years

Text

tuesday time for soft and angst and soft (and kisses)

No More Changes (I’ll Still Love You The Same) [Chapter 4]

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [ao3] [chapter 5]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, (tho not THIS chapter certainly), Curses, human!arum, (but not… because he WANTS to be), (it ain’t good y'all), Panic Attacks, Overstimulation, Rilla Is Queen Of Comfort, Damien Does Not Consider The Consequences Of His Words, The Keep Is Best Mom, Body Dysphoria

Summary: Lord Arum and his Keep have fought off curses before, but they have never dealt with one quite like this. They have never dealt with a curse while having a couple of humans around to help them, either… though it remains to be seen exactly how helpful Arum’s lovers will be, in the effort of restoring him.

Chapter Summary: Self-care is vital in times of crisis.

Chapter Notes: We all needed a little soft. And therefore this is. the LONGEST chapter so far. Chapter title from the song Riches and Wonders, by The Mountain Goats. However the song that best fits the general tone of the day is Soft, by Babygirl.

Chapter 4 - Guardians of a Rare Thing

Rilla steps through the portal and emerges on the other side in Arum’s workshop. She sighs in frustration, ready to scold Arum for trying to work in his current state, but as she glances around the workshop she realizes it’s empty. Is the Keep really that disoriented by all this? Did it bring her to the wrong room? “Uh, Keep? Where’s Arum? I need to see him.”

The response comes slow, and maybe a little softer than usual, but Rilla can hear the warning in its tone all the same. Of course. After Damien… Of course it would be afraid for Arum- afraid of Rilla, and what she might say to him. If he’s really as upset as Damien said…

“Keep, please. Let me see him. Damien made a mistake. You have to let me see him. Please, he has to know that we’re going to fix this. He can’t think that-“

She cuts off as the Keep lets out a relieved sigh, and she hears the shifting of vines. She watches as the Keep carries a mass of vines and leaves over to her and deposits it gently at her feet. She can see the shape of Arum curled up, nestled and tucked into the bramble. She can just barely see his face through the tangle of foliage, and his (painfully plain) gray eyes refuse to meet hers.

She gives a relieved sigh of her own, setting her bags down and moving closer to the vines.

“Arum-”

"Has he sent you to convince me?" Arum says, low and bitter, only half his face visible through the Keep’s embrace. "To present me with some ultimatum? Some simple human mathematics to bolster his case?"

"Arum, you know-"

"I suppose the numbers add up, when you truly simplify it, don't they? The happiness and convenience of two humans held against the desires of one monster- oh, and the monster's home, as well, but it isn't as if there is anyone left to understand and translate for it, so it does not really matter what opinion the Keep holds on the matter, does it? And besides, I am sure we are all well aware of the relative value placed on the wishes of a monster, anyway. Or- ha, or do my desires count for more, now that I am one of you?"

“No. Listen to me-”

Arum laughs, or chokes, she can’t quite tell. “A more effective curse than even they intended, I would wager. Weaken me, mute my bond with my creator, force me to face the conditional nature of human affection-“

“Arum. Damien is an insensitive ass, and he fucked up.”

Arum’s eyes finally meet hers, then, and it nearly breaks her to see the pain and hope shining there, the redness from the tears already shed, the shine from those that might still fall. Saints, oh saints but he doesn’t deserve this-

“What?” he says, suspicious, and Rilla sighs.

“I’m sorry,” she says gently. “I know- I know that Damien said some just- profoundly callous things to you. He’s- he’s just-” she shakes her head. “I just shouldn’t have left like that. I’m so sorry you and the Keep got stuck alone like this. That wasn’t what I wanted for you.” She pauses, biting her lip. “Are you- are you gonna let me in, or do you wanna have this conversation through branches? That wasn’t a judgment- whatever makes you more comfortable is fine by me.”

Arum looks away again, working his jaw soundlessly for a moment before he mutters something she can’t quite hear. There is a pause, and then the Keep shifts the vines around him, creaking them apart but not away until it opens a little window. She can see him a little better, then, see him shrunk in on himself, curled into an even tighter ball inside the embrace of his home.

She plops down on the floor beside him, because she'd rather die than try to pull him away from the Keep right now, and he tilts his head just slightly, though he does not move either towards or away from her.

"If the Keep is giving hugs, mind if I get in on that? Group hugs with mom are honestly the best," she says mildly, and it startles a weak laugh out of him, and after a moment or two he lifts his arms and the vines part a little more, widening the cozy space inside the tangled thicket. Relieved, Rilla slips in beside Arum, and the steady softness of the moss and leaves around the both of them is almost too comforting for Rilla’s worried mind to bear.

When she’s settled in the small space, her arms safely around Arum, she sighs, her brow furrowing. Arum very clearly doesn't know what to do with himself. He keeps moving his hands, slipping them from her shoulder blades to her arms to her lower back, unsettled and uncertain, and she realizes after a moment that he can’t settle because he wants to be holding her more tightly. He wants to hold her as he usually does, and he can't, now. He only has half the hands he is used to holding her with.

"I'm so sorry, Arum,” she says, and this close she barely has to do more than whisper. “We're gonna fix this, though. If we can keep from killing each other over methodology, we can figure out anything, right?"

Arum sags against her.

"I..." he hisses through his teeth, a pale shadow of the noises he should be able to make. "I intended to say that I have overcome worse. I do not actually know if that is true, this time."

“I mean, we’ve both almost died more than a few times by now, so…”

“And yet,” Arum mutters, his soft blunt fingers fluttering against her shoulders. He sighs. “Amaryllis, I…”

“I’m sorry, Arum,” she says again, steady as a boulder, soft as moss. “I’m here, now. I’m here.”

For a moment, he’s glad he’s slumped into her, that she can’t see his face. The line between crying and not-crying is becoming blurrier, and Arum is so, so tired. He can't even tell, anymore, if he's crying because of the near-pain, or out of relief because he knows that it's going to be okay because Amaryllis is here now and she’s promised they’re still going to fix this, that she understands how hard this is for him, or if it’s because even despite his relief at her presence, his thin belief that they will somehow make this right again, that still doesn't mean any of this is okay now.

"Of course-" he tries to straighten up, but she can feel the way he's trying to accommodate for a tail that is no longer there, and she has to force herself not to wince, not to let the heartbreak show on her face. "Of course, you are the only human whose mind I would trust with a task such as this. Brighter than the lot of your entire tepid species."

Normally she would poke him in the snout for a comment like that. Right now she just scowls, the look in her eye indicating clearly that she knows he's being snarky on purpose. "And you're not so bad yourself, obviously. We'll figure it out. We'll get your real body back."

Arum closes his eyes, sighs, nods against her shoulder.

"We need to get you more stable before you start trying to do science or magic, though, Arum," she says, and he grumbles but he is shaking, just a little, and he knows her stubbornness too well to protest, just now. "And... and then at some point, we need to talk to Damien."

Arum flinches, his eyes flying open, and then they narrow disdainfully. "No."

"Arum-"

"He- Amaryllis, I cannot bear to look at him. I cannot- Amaryllis he looks at this body- this stranger, and his eyes shine, already wondering at all the ways this will fix things, will fix his aberrant affection for such a horrible monster-"

His cheeks are wet, again. Rilla can feel her own heart cracking, and she wishes she could parse out how much of this is just the strange new body, and how much is the hurt. It wouldn't help to know, but- "I know. I'm sorry for that, too, but you know that he loves you, Arum. He does."

"Then why? Why look at me that way? Like he is already living in the future, where his days with a monster are past and forgotten? Why yearn for proper kisses, as if every affection passed between us was some poor imitation?" He scoffs. “He loves me. Perhaps. But it is always in spite. In spite of everything I am. Despite the fact that I am a monster, he loves me."

“Arum,” she says softly.

"He loves me and feels it as a flaw in himself,” he continues, sneering. “He loves me and feels himself broken because of it. That has- that has been thrown into stark relief today, Amaryllis. And I cannot push the question from my mind- if this is how he l-” he squeezes her tighter, and the pressure is all wrong, halved and without the cool touch of claws, and when he tries again, his voice has gone so very quiet that she would not be able to hear him if she pulled away another inch. “If this is the way he loves me, Amaryllis, in contempt of everything I am, is that- is that love at all? Is that anything like it? I have very little practice in this arena, certainly, but it cannot be- it cannot be this.”

Rilla can’t help but press a soft kiss to Arum's brow, not wanting the touch to be overwhelming but unable to clamp down on the need to soothe. "He's still caught up in how the Citadel expects him to be. He does love you, Arum. He loves you so much, just like I do, and he's trying. And when I talked to him he- he knows that he's messed this up. He knows he hurt you. And I know that none of that makes this any better, and I know that you’re really vulnerable right now and he tripped right into that, Arum, but-" she feels her heart clench, "but even if you can't forgive him." She stops again, and dammit she's not going to cry too. She's not. "Even if this is how this thing breaks, I think you owe it to him and you owe it to yourself to tell him exactly how you feel. To tell him yourself how he hurt you, and if he wants your forgiveness he can ask for it then."

He doesn't respond right away. She imagines the ticking rattle that usually accompanies his slow thoughtful pauses and it burns like a hot coal in her stomach, and then Arum presses his face into her collarbone and clenches his jaw.

"Please," she says, just quietly. "We don’t have to do it right now, and honestly it’ll probably be better to let things settle a little bit first, but I don't... I don't think you really want the last things you say to each other to be... to be that."

Arum sighs again after a long moment. "I don’t… understand. You are just as human as he is," he mutters. "Yet you seem as eager as I, to restore my proper body. Certainly it would be freeing," he sneers, "for you as well, to love another human. That is- that is what I find most painful, Amaryllis. The longer I consider his words the more I fear he may be right. I only make your lives more difficult, do I not? My own pain and discomfort aside, would your lives not be so much simpler if I were human? We would not have to hide, you would not have to lie to protect me or yourselves-“

“But you aren’t human.” Rilla scowls, and she feels hot with anger. “It doesn’t matter what they did to you. You are not a human. You are Lord Arum, He Who Rules the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms. You are a monster, and that’s exactly who we fell in love with. Not some human. You. We fell in love with you. We fell in love with Lord Arum.”

Arum sinks further into her embrace as she speaks, his breaths slowing, growing more even.

"Love is always complicated," she continues, voice softer. "And yeah, loving a monster is new for both of us, just like I bet loving humans is new and strange for you. But it’s… harder for Damien, to let go of the way he thought before. I was never like Damien, though. I never wanted to fit into the Citadel the way he did. There's a reason why I'm still 'of Exile', Arum. I chose to keep that, and I chose to be with you. I chose to be with a magical construct with gorgeous scales and four arms and a tail and a bad temper, and I'm not giving you up without a damned fight."

Arum pauses for another long moment, and then he swallows roughly. "Amaryllis... I- you know that I- I love you," he rasps. "Very dearly."

Not going to cry. Dammit. Dammit. "I love you too, Arum." She closes her eyes, pressing her face into his neck, missing his frill, trying to let his arms and the vines of the Keep around them steady her. "I'm sorry we can't seem to catch a damned break," she says with a weak, wavering laugh.

"If..." he hesitates, "if you think I should... speak with him again, I will... I will trust your judgment," he murmurs, eyes downcast. "If you believe he will listen to what I need to say. Truly listen."

"I think he will," Rilla says softly, and then she kisses his cheek and lets herself smile. "And if he doesn't? I'll just go ahead and kick him in the shins, and then the Keep can dump him in the wettest part of the swamp to think about what an asshole he's being for a little while."

The Keep gives a satisfied sort of warble as Arum half chokes on a laugh, and if it sounds like a sob on the back half Rilla's certainly not going to mention it.

She cups his face in her hands. "Whatever happens, I love you and I'm with you, and we'll figure the rest out together. Okay?"

"... Okay." Arum leans up, hesitates, and then presses the line of his mouth against the edge of her jaw, and it's strange and stiff and awkward and she is not going to cry, no matter how much her heart is breaking for the casual nuzzle of a scaled snout. They're going to fix this, so there's no reason to cry about it. "Okay," he repeats. "I believe you. Despite my better judgment."

“Okay,” Rilla says, her hands gentle upon him.

“It’s not as if I could stop you anyway,” he mutters. “I think the Keep can hear you better than it can hear me, just now.”

Well. That hurts too.

“Alright,” she says. “Alright, we’ve done enough collective moping for today, huh?”

Arum makes a noise, and she imagines that he’s attempting to growl. “I am not moping, Amaryllis-”

"No, no, I think we both were, for a minute there. But I’ve had about enough of it, I think. And as cozy as it is cuddled up in here - thank you, Keep, I really needed this too - I think we need to get you a little bit cleaned up, maybe.”

“Cleaned-” Arum hunches, defensive, and swipes his hand across his face again.

“First thing you did in this body was to fall in the dirt, Arum, and your hair has literally never been washed before. And, yeah, I think you’ll feel better if you can wash your face, too.” She smiles, as best she can. Little things, just little things until she can shift her focus to fixing the one big thing. “That sound good?”

“I don’t need you to- to coddle me,” he mutters, but he makes no move to push her away.

“Look, it won’t fix anything, but you’ll feel better if you’re not all grimy and stuck in robes that don’t currently fit you.” She shrugs. “If you wanna call that coddling, fine, but I just want you to be as comfortable as possible right now.”

He considers that.

“Fine, fine. Keep,” he pauses, mouth pressing awkwardly closed for a moment. “Keep, can you… hear me?”

Another pause, perhaps a little shorter than before, and then the Keep sings around them, light and attentive, and Arum exhales in obvious relief.

“Prepare a bath, if you would,” he asks, soft, and the Keep chimes a clear affirmation, the leaves of their small shelter shivering around them. “Good. Yes. Th-thank you.”

Rilla holds Arum gently for another moment, then releases him so she can press her palms against their shelter, and the tangle surrounding them slowly creaks outward until they can clamber out. Rilla carefully helps Arum back to his unsteady feet, making sure that he’s leaning safely against her as she leads him through the new portal the Keep has provided to the washroom. It’s heartening, that the Keep is stable enough to do so without explicit instruction.

“Alright,” Rilla says as the enormous cupped-leaf basin that serves as the Keep’s bathtub fills with gently steaming water, “get your robes off, and then when we’re done I’ll find something that fits you a little better for the moment.”

Arum- flinches, clinging to the soft purple cloth covering his unfortunate new frame despite the way it still overwhelms his senses. “I- but-”

“Arum, I’m a doctor, I’ve seen like, hundreds of naked human bodies. It’s not even close to a big deal.” She glances away, and then back towards him with a painfully understanding look, and she does not say that she knows he does not want to look at himself like this, not bare and vulnerable, but he knows that she knows, all the same.

He huffs, but then he rolls his eyes. “I suppose that makes sense,” he grumbles, and then he steels himself and starts to pull the robes off, wincing as he goes, gritting his teeth as the cloth slides over his sensitive skin, shuffling it down and baring a decidedly uncomfortable amount of this soft terrible skin to the open air.

“Oh- dammit, Arum, hold on-”

Arum blinks and freezes as Rilla comes close, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and angling the limb so she can see his forearm. With no small degree of bewilderment he sees a distinct scrape, speckled with grit and purpling dark with bruise beneath the redder parts of the wound.

“I- when did-”

“Probably right when you first changed- when you fell,” Rilla says, her brow furrowed with irritation. “You must’ve hit a rock or a root or something, and you didn’t notice because of all of the rest of it.”

Arum huffs, gritting his blunt teeth together. “Ridiculous fragile body cannot handle a fall of a few feet? Absolutely absurd-”

“Hold still, would you?”

Her medical bag is still at her hip, and she starts methodically pulling out what she needs to treat the injury as Arum stands and scowls and shuffles his feet. Now that he is aware of the wound it feels sharp and strange, much more present than a similar scrape would have been on his scales. That would have merely been superficial, and certainly this must be as well (humans cannot possibly be fragile enough to take permanent damage from so small a mishap, they simply cannot), but regardless it feels so vivid. To feel an injury this much in his proper form, it would need to truly pierce his scales, not- bruise him.

There is a safety in the look on Amaryllis’ face as she attends him, though. A familiarity. In matters of healing her focus is always unwavering, a universal force he trusts without needing to even consider it. By the time the bandages are safely wrapped around his new skin, his new injury (do bandages always itch on human skin?), he feels reassured for more reasons than just the treatment of the wound.

Amaryllis solves problems.

Foolish as it may be, he trusts that she will help him fix this one.

“There,” she says, voice soft and steady, and instead of letting go of his arm, she simply slips her hand down to take his, brushing their fingers together with barely any pressure at all. “Now. Let’s get you in the water, okay?”

Her grip on his hand is a bit tighter as he dips his toes in, and it’s a good thing, too, because these damned feet have no grip, no claws or scales for traction, and he nearly slips on the edge. She keeps hold of him, though, and with no major incident and only muted grumbling he settles into the mellow warmth of the water. It is still… somewhat overwhelming, but less so than the cloth of his robes, and at least with the water in the way he doesn’t really have to look at his current form. He cups his hands in the water first, then, and splashes his face, as if one sort of water can pretend away another. He does… feel marginally better, after even just that little bit.

Rilla sets her bag aside and settles to sit by the edge of the basin behind him, taking the basket of soaps and other mysterious jars and oils that the Keep dutifully hands to her with a smile, and Arum tries his level best not to feel like a damned helpless hatchling, forced to rely on Amaryllis and his Keep for something so very simple as bathing himself.

The frustration must show on his face, though, because Rilla’s expression goes infuriatingly sympathetic again, and she sets the basket down and reaches out, gently nudging him forward.

“Lean back for me?” she says, soft, and he gives her a suspicious look. “Gotta get your hair wet before anything else,” she elaborates, and Arum works his jaw stubbornly, still feeling so unutterably humiliated for a tense moment before Rilla exhales sharply. “C’mon, you’ve helped me wash my hair before, just- let me do this for you. I want to do this for you, Arum.” She pauses. “Please.”

Arum looks away from her, his throat feeling tight, and then he leans into hands, allowing her to dip his head into the bath, the bizarre sensation of warm water on his scalp making him shiver.

“Okay,” she murmurs when he’s up again, and then he hears her uncork something, and then she says, quite seriously, “You have to let me know if it feels like too much, Arum. Okay? Last thing I want right now is to make anything worse.”

He grumbles something wordless, not really wanting to acknowledge the idea that a simple touch might push him past some limit, but she does not touch him yet.

“Promise me you’ll tell me, Arum,” she says behind him, and Arum is absolutely certain that he has never in his entire long life done anything to deserve this degree of care.

“Fine, Amaryllis, fine, I will inform you if this pathetic form is overwhelmed by soap, are you happy?” he gripes, and he is satisfied to hear her laugh lightly at his back.

He sighs, settling an inch or so deeper into the water, covering his shoulders, and then he feels her hands, just light at the nape of his neck, slipping up into his unfamiliar mess of hair, and Arum’s eyes slip closed without a thought.

It feels-

It is intense, certainly, especially when whatever soap she is applying starts to foam, and when she starts to work her careful fingers through the tangles, attentively working them out, her blunt nails dragging along his scalp, he understands why his humans- why Amaryllis enjoys it so, when he runs careful claws through her own hair.

“So, obviously, this whole situation is rough,” Rilla says suddenly, without preamble, and Arum scoffs at the understatement as he pulls his knees towards his chest, curling into a more awkward ball. “I'm not going to pretend that it's not, Arum, and I don’t expect you to be happy about any of it. That being said, though… you know, it doesn't have to be all misery and gloom. You've got a pretty unique opportunity, here!" She grins, pulling a hand from his hair and rinsing off the soap so she can touch his shoulder, stroking her thumb over the crook of his neck and watching the way that makes him shiver. "We'll get your body back. Obviously." She shrugs, as nonchalant as she can manage even though he’s still facing away, even though he can’t see her. "But in the meantime, you get to have, just, a bunch of unique new experiences that it's unlikely that any other monster has ever gotten to have!"

"Such as... what, precisely, Amaryllis?" He glances at her suspiciously over his shoulder, but he is leaning towards her as he resumes his former position, allowing her hands back in his hair and obviously more curious than he wants to let on.

Which. Saints bless. It's been so hard to see him this unsteady, this upset, and if she can just draw back some of the fire in him- well, he deserves to at least have some good in this horrible ordeal. Plus, gauging his reactions to new stimuli might turn out to be helpful in figuring this mess out, too. Rilla is a big fan of tasks with multiple purposes.

"Like... right now, like how you’re getting first-hand experience in how it feels when you play with my hair." She grins, and Arum’s posture goes a little stiff, his face a little blank, because it feels as if she has plucked that thought from his very mind. "You can see how it feels to us, to touch things with our fragile human skin. I can show you how kissing like a human feels, just for comparison." She pauses, and he glances over his shoulder again to see the slightly awkward tilt of her smile. “If- if you would like that, I mean.”

“A-ah.” He flushes dark. She misses the frill pretty acutely, for a moment, but it's interesting to have confirmation of her perpetual suspicion; Arum blushes easily.

Her smile softens again, and she cups his cheek very, very gently in her less-soapy palm. "We'll fix this sooner rather than later, so you'd better see what all this being human stuff is about before we change you back, right?"

“If… if you say so, Amaryllis.”

“I do say so,” she says, and he assumes that the smugness in her voice is a veneer. He can respect that. Her hands scrub across his scalp with just slightly more pressure and he- he cannot give the gentle throaty rumble he wishes he could, but he can sigh, at least. “Lean back for me again?”

He does as instructed, indulging the herbalist with a mild frown, and when his hair is submersed her careful touch works to rinse the soap out, and even if it feels just on the bare edge of overwhelming it is the most pleasant sensation he has felt in this body so far.

Damien always loves to say that their herbalist has healing hands. Arum abhors hyperbole, but at least in this assessment, Sir Damien speaks with precision.

He lifts out of the water again, and Rilla works something new into his hair, something smoother. Then she holds out a cloth over his shoulder, for him to take. “Here. Help me multitask and we can get you out of there before the water gets too cold.”

Arum takes proffered cloth from Amaryllis, but as she hands him the bottle of soap he fumbles it. His grip is all wrong, he no longer has to accommodate for sharp claws, and so his loose grip and stubby fingers are not strong enough to hold the nearly full bottle. It falls into the bath with a loud splash, and he snarls automatically and flinches away from the water that splashes up into his face. This- this absurd body, these hands. The frustration- the frustration he cannot even find words for, of trying to reach, trying to catch with limbs that are no longer a part of him, and he feels so useless as Amaryllis gently reaches around him to pull the bottle up out of the water and pour a bit of soap onto the cloth for him.

He bites back a snappy remark about how at least she trusts him with a cloth, if not a soap bottle, because she’s… trying. This is difficult and frustrating for him, but that doesn’t mean he has any right to take it out on her. She’s trying so hard to make this better for him. He knows she’s not… judging him for this. He hates feeling pitied (Damien’s voice in his mind, overly saccharine and indulgent and eager: I am sorry you have been so maligned, darling, but no curse could ever-) but Rilla doesn’t make him feel that way. Of course she’s sorry for him and he knows that, but she never makes him feel uncomfortable. She’s always rational and logical, never overwhelming him with emotions like… well.

He shakes his head to clear that thought and focuses on the feel of Amaryllis’s hands in his hair again, slow and easy. After a moment, he takes the washcloth and begins to run it over his arms. As he runs it over his left arm - careful to avoid getting the fresh bandages wet - he notices the skin there, just above his elbow, is unmarked. The scar that he’s… grown accustomed to, since his first meeting with the little knight, is gone. As if it never happened.

It’s… fitting, he thinks bitterly. He can almost imagine what Sir Damien would think of this new development. You see, my love, just as this new form brings a new kind of freedom to our relationship, so, too, are the old injuries and mistakes erased.

He bites down a laugh he would be unable to explain to Amaryllis. How Damien would thrill at the idea of that old injury merely ceasing to exist. How happy he would be, to know the harm he had caused could simply vanish from the world as though it never occurred. The harm, yes, and also- also the erasure would absolve Sir Damien of his heresy, that blasphemous mercy his Citadel would only ever condemn him for. As if it never occurred.

It would never occur to Damien that the mark he left on Arum would be… significant. A reminder of exactly why he lo- of where his interest in Sir Damien began. A single act of mercy, and with it a promise. A promise that Arum’s monstrous nature was not enough on its own to condemn him to death. A promise that Damien wanted him, a monster. Wanted him alive, if nothing else, and then more than just that.

Now even that simple, meaningful mark is gone. Just as Damien-

Well. Amaryllis does not wish for him to wallow in misery in gloom, does she? Why he is even thinking of the poet now- it’s ridiculous. He is being ridiculous, and all the while Rilla is steady behind him, hands holding him as safe as he can be in this form, and he should allow himself to enjoy that, shouldn’t he? He cannot say how much longer he will be allowed it, after all.

Because even if Amaryllis is correct, even if they can overcome this, even if this time tomorrow Arum is wearing his own skin again, he cannot say what will come of his- his relationship with these humans he has allowed into his home. Into his- into his heart. His two partners were intertwined long before they knew him, after all. If he breaks from one of them-

How could he expect the other not to break as well?

Arum feels his throat clench again, feels the tension in his chest that he is unfortunately becoming quite familiar with.

Arum- Arum needs to let her know. To let her know it’s okay. She has offered so much- so much gentleness and care, more than he could possibly deserve, and-

He may as well say it now, he thinks. He may as well say it while her hands are upon him, while he needs not look her in the eye. He does not think he would have the bravery to say this, otherwise.

"I know you have promised, Amaryllis, to... to assist me in this. To help restore my form." He pauses, and she doesn't, her hands steady and soothing in his strange new hair, working some mysterious softness through his dark locks. "But… but I will understand, if Sir Damien and I cannot reconcile-" he swallows, and forces himself to continue. "I will understand if you and I must part as well, in turn."

Her hands finally stop moving, and she pulls them away to rinse off in the water before she tilts his face back towards her, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "Arum. What?"

"I would not ask you to part with your betrothed," he says, and he still cannot meet her eye because if he does he will dissolve again to nonsense, because all he wishes to do is draw her closer and closer until she can never leave, because he is selfish. "If he and I- if we cannot endure this together, I do not expect that you will humor me alone after you are finished with the task of restoring me to myself. I would not ask this of you."

Her breath catches, and it doesn't sound quite like a laugh. "Arum. Do you really think that I would just-"

"There would be a symmetry to it," he murmurs, very suddenly unwilling to hear her confirm his suspicions. "A symmetry- you came into my life because I needed you to heal my Keep- if we parted after you helped to heal me- yes, it would be a rather logical arc-"

"I'm not going anywhere,” she says, her voice thick, and when he glances to her in surprise her eyes take on a determined glint. She pushes closer, lifting her leg over the edge of the basin and slipping into the warm water beside him fully clothed, despite his surprised yelp of protest, and she wraps her arms around him, squeezing tight. "I'm not giving you up, you absolute idiot."

"Amaryllis- I- I know you feel the need to- to comfort me,” he says, his new voice shivering wild like an aspen in a light breeze, “and I- I admire your kindness, you commitment, but-"

"Idiot," she hisses. "I don't know how things are going to work out between you and Damien, Arum, and yeah, I'm not going to pretend that doesn't break my heart. I'm not going to pretend it's not going to be hard, no matter what else happens. But I love you," she presses her face into his neck, the pads of her fingers digging sturdy and solid into his shoulder blades. "I love you. And I already told you, I'm not going to give you up without a fight."

"Amaryllis this… us. It's all so new, and difficult, and... Damien and yourself- you fit together so perfectly already, as though you were made for each other. I do not… I do not belong with you the way that he does."

"I don't believe in fate, Arum. I believe the choices we make create our fates. And I chose you, just as much as I chose Damien."

Arum squeezes his eyes shut. Why she chose him, he’ll never understand. After all he did to her, after what he almost did to all of them-

"And... to be honest, Arum? If... if Damien can't see how much he's hurting you-" Rilla pauses, and Arum can feel the tension in her frame, can feel that she's holding herself rather tightly. "If he really has convinced himself that this could be better for you, somehow, if he's really willing to be that selfish, and that cruel… I have a hard time believing he's still that deluded, but- if he really is... I don't know." She exhales, her shoulders drooping. "I don't know. I- it would be... hard. It would be hard to- to be with him, after that. I feel like I would need some time- that he and I would need some time away from each other, at least. To figure out how I feel about that."

“But-” Arum’s mouth hangs open for a moment, “I-” he pauses. “And if- if Damien and I- if we cannot reconcile, and Damien remembers that he does not wish to share you with some- some monster any longer?”

She scoffs, her expression going wry. "Frankly, Arum, I don't respond all that well to ultimatums. If I actually felt like I was in a position where I absolutely had to-" she makes a noise that's not really a laugh, "to choose between the two of you, I don't have the first clue what I would do with that. I love both of you. I love both of you so much, I don't know how I would- how I could possibly-" she pauses, inhaling sharply and visibly centering herself. "But. And honestly I very much doubt that Damien would ever do this, but if for some reason he thought he could come and try to twist my arm in some tacky "it's him or me" scenario- well, let's just say that I don't think that would end particularly well for him."

Arum cannot speak, not for a number of breaths after that. Rilla doesn't speak either, but her silence feels more deliberate. "A-Amaryllis," he says eventually, uncertain and unsteady. "You- you should not be forced to toss aside your bond with Damien, not for my sake-"

"I wouldn't be," Rilla says, and her own voice is even, now, her cheek resting easy on his shoulder. "I’m not saying I’m gonna snap my fingers and say goodbye, but depending on how this breaks- I might need some time to think about whether or not he’s the person I think he is. And- and if that's the way it works out, it will be a choice I make for myself."

There is no response Arum can give to that. He can hold her, though. He can hold her, even if it feels like a half-measure, less secure with two less limbs, as if she could slip from his grasp with barely any effort.

She does not want to, though. He reminds himself of that.

“You’re gonna get all pruney if we stay in here much longer, though,” she sighs, squeezing him and then pulling back enough to meet his eye. “Did this help? Even a little?”

“You helped,” he mutters, glancing away and feeling strange heat in his cheeks. “You always help.”

She makes a noise, and when he looks towards her again, she-

There are tears in her eyes.

“Amaryllis,” he breathes, and she laughs strangely, lifting her hands and brushing the heels of her palms beneath her eyes.

“I know, I know,” she says in a thick sort of voice. “I’m sorry, ridiculous human emotional whatever, I’ll have a handle on it in just a second-”

“Amaryllis,” he says again, and he draws her closer, lifting a hand and almost, almost touching her cheek. “No, no apologies, Amaryllis. You-”

She has been holding herself so carefully, he realizes. Spine straight, hands gentle, smile sturdy. And she has been doing so for his sake.

“No,” she says, sighing as if the tears are an irritating sort of imposition, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, just gimme a sec, here-”

“I love you,” Arum says, helpless against the tide of it, and her breath hitches as he cups her cheek and thumbs away a tear and he- he hates this curse all the more, that it is hurting her, too.

She looks up at him (less up than usual, but still), her lips tilting wryly, and Arum-

Arum sways towards her.

He is accustomed to brushing the thin, inelastic line of his mouth across their lips in request, accustomed to allowing the humans to lead a ‘kiss’ as they desire it, but this time when his mouth meets hers he has even less idea what to do than he normally does.

He understands the fondness they have for the act, though. Why this gentle human curve is so intensely sensitive is beyond his understanding, but the strange sharp tingle of even this unpracticed, unsure kiss is like some sort of wildfire. Skin. However humans manage not to collapse from the intensity of every touch is a mystery.

He also realizes, with some mortification, that he does not know at all what to do next.

In his own body, he would-

He parts his lips, nipping Rilla’s bottom lip with these odd blunt teeth, and she laughs in surprise, pulling away just enough to meet his eye before she dissolves into laughter again.

That is like wildfire, too. Her laughter. The brightness it kindles in his own heart. He smiles when she collects herself, and she shakes her head at him.

“Ridiculous lizard,” she mutters, breathless, and Arum can’t help but laugh along with her.

#elle's writing #sky's writing #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #the keep #this one is SO LONG OOPS #also please god please tell us what you think i'm dying

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timelordthirteen · 5 years

Text

Killing Time 4/?

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Mature

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: Flashback: Weaver and Belle get a start on the case.

Notes: Meanwhile, back at the hall of justice... You didn't think I was going to give up the bed sharing goodness that soon did you? ;) Okay, I am in the next chapter, but I need to balance present with past. I might try alternating chapters if that seems reasonable? IDK. I'm winging it here y'all. For the Writer's Month prompt #7: sports.

Warnings: Nothing much for this chapter, just the usual references to the crime. Please see AO3 for complete warnings and tags.

[AO3] Previous: [1] [2] [3]

12 weeks ago...

“Sports? Seriously?”

Weaver rolled his eyes and dropped his head back to look up at the ceiling before he turned around. He pointed at the television mounted on the wall of Belle’s office with the remote that was still in his hand.

“You said ‘no news channels’ because they’re too distracting,” he snapped. “Movies with guns and explosions seemed inappropriate, and if I have to listen to another home renovation show I’ll fucking shoot something. The city only pays for basic cable. That makes our choices the Weather Channel, that will repeat the same useless, and probably wrong, forecast every half hour, or...”

He paused to gesture exaggeratedly at the TV as though he was displaying it on a game show. “Premier league.”

She huffed and stalked to her desk. “Fine, but keep it down so I can think.”

He gave another brief gaze up to the ceiling and then set the remote back where he found it, echoing her with a quiet but annoyed, fine.

“Court today?” he asked, noting the slim, navy pencil skirt and suit jacket she was wearing, with what she always referred to as a ‘standard issue’ white blouse.

Belle sighed audibly and dropped into her desk chair. “Yeah. Branson’s lawyer is filing everything he possibly can, so I spent all morning fielding that, and then I covered a continuance this afternoon for Mal. But starting tomorrow, my caseload is officially down to just this.”

She swept her hand towards the stacks of boxes and the large, blank whiteboard.

Weaver stood by the leather sofa, his hands on his hips as his eyes moved over the veritable mountain of evidence they had to go through. All they’d managed that first day was moving things around in her office and dragging the largest whiteboard they could find up from storage. That had been trickier than anticipated when they discovered it wouldn’t fit in the elevator unless they squeezed themselves into the corners and put it diagonally. Of course that took them a solid fifteen minutes of arguing to achieve.

If they couldn’t even get setup without being at each other's throats, he wasn’t sure how weeks of building a case was going to go.

“Where do you want to start?” he asked finally.

She frowned and sagged a little in her seat. She was already tired and done with today, but they needed to get started sooner rather than later. This case was the kind that could make or break a career, and there were far too many victims and victims families depending on her, a whole city in fact. It was something she kept trying not to think about, but that succeeding in keeping her up half the night.

Stretching her arms up, she bent to one side and then the other, trying to work out the knots in her spine before she answered. “The board?”

He nodded slowly and then moved to the whiteboard. There was a large pack of markers sitting on the ledge and he wasted no time in opening it and dumping them all into his palm before turning and holding them up like playing cards for her to see.

“Pick a color, any color.”

He wagged his eyebrows, and she laughed in spite of herself. “Red.”

Three hours and thirty dollars in Chinese takeout later, they had managed to get through one half of one box, and about a third of the information they had on victim number one.

“Oh come on!” Belle exclaimed, popping up off the sofa and bouncing on her bare feet. She’d ditched her heels almost immediately, and then her stockings about an hour into their work. “I cannot believe it’s going to end in dual red cards and a fucking tie. What the hell?”

Weaver watched her, bemused, and leaned back on the sofa. “I told you not to cheer for bloody Arsenal.”

She shot him a glare and then sat down, reaching for one of the takeout boxes. The chopsticks rattled around inside it, and she tipped it towards her to find it empty. “Did you eat the rest of the noodles?”

He held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Don’t look at me, oh, Queen of the Spicy Peanut Sauce.”

Her feeble swat at his leg only made him snicker. He relaxed against the sofa, and watched her from the side as she stacked the containers and tucked them back in the plastic bag they’d been delivered in. They’d spent so many nights like this, both at work and at home. If he closed his eyes, it could almost be four years ago, when another case introduced them and eventually brought them together, but there were far too many miles between then and now.

Weaver had lost the leather jacket minutes into their work, and rolled up his sleeves. It should have distracted her all that much, but for some reason it did. There was a weird intimacy in seeing someone be comfortable in your presence and your space. She wondered if he thought the same of her, and then pushed it aside, dumping the bag into the trash bin by her desk, and then turning to face the board. She read over what they had posted and arched her back, pressing a hand against her spine in a vain attempt to crack something.

Overall, it was going to be a fairly standard case board, with a picture of the first victim, a woman named Molly Macreedy. She was everything people loved about cases like this; she was young, pretty, and full of hope. Even her name sounded good, with a nice little bit of alliteration that made it easy to stick in people’s minds. It was a sad but true fact about anything like this, it helped when the victim was likable. They’d taped a picture of her at her college graduation under her name, written in red, and listed out all the particulars of the general crime scene, and a brief timeline leading up to when they believed she was killed.

That was the crux of the issue.

Nick Branson had been caught red handed - quite literally as his hands were covered in blood - trying to dump the fifth victim’s body. Later, they found Henry Mills, unconscious and tied up in Nick’s apartment. It was easy from there to tie Branson to the others, but his lack of confession meant they needed to work out the details of each murder on their own. DNA was great, but it wasn’t always enough. People wanted to know the where, when, and how. They wanted the existence of the DNA explained, and, in their minds, why any of it happened in the first place.

As if it was possible to find reason in something so senseless.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Weaver said.

His voice was soft, and Belle blinked, only just realizing that he’d turned off the television. She sighed. “I’m not sure they’re even worth that.”

He ran the back of his up and down her arm, shoulder to elbow, a light soothing motion. She wanted to lean into it, let his knuckles press just a little harder and ease some of the tension she’d been carrying all day. That was something he’d always been willing to do for her, a neck rub here, a foot massage there, purely for the sake of touching her and being close to her.

“There’s just so much,” she said finally. “I don’t know, you know? How to get through all of it.”

Weaver resisted the urge to put his arm around her. He knew she meant more than she was saying. It went beyond how to physically get through the boxes and folders and reports. It was how to survive the whole exercise, how to read about blood, injuries, wounds, and causes of death, and go home at the end of the day not feeling like you’d been through it yourself. It was how to live with it, and how to move on from it when it was all done, if any of them every really did in this job.

He swallowed and let his hand drop to the sofa, a hair’s breadth from Belle’s. “The same way we always do.”

Except that was a bit of a lie. Sure he’d probably finish of most days with a scotch, neat, but it would be at Roni’s instead of home, and there wouldn’t be a second glass with red wine in it for Belle, or the comfort of cool sheets and a warm body. But they would both still understand, still be able to look at each other and know from the dark circles and endless pots of coffee, the toll it was taking on the inside.

“Yeah.”

Her voice was barely above a breath, and then he felt something touch the edge of his hand. He glanced down to see her pinky brushing against his, and he turned his hand over to catch it between his thumb and index finger. She looked down suddenly, and then her eyes flicked up to his face. He tried to hold it back, but his lips twitched in amusement anyway, and she smiled.

“Sorry.”

He shrugged, letting go of her finger, somewhat reluctantly. “Don’t be. You always fidget when you’re thinking.”

“Yeah,” she said again, her head dropping for a second. Then she looked up, her stare fixing on Molly’s picture as she took a deep, steadying breath. This was the most civil they’d been to each other in a while, and also the longest amount of time they’d been in the same room. They didn’t even sign the divorce papers together, just shuttled them back and forth between lawyers.

“We need a plan,” she said.

Weaver pushed to his feet and walked over to the rest of the boxes, still neatly stacked under the window of her office, organized by which ones went with which victim.“Divide and conquer?”

He looked back at her over his shoulder at Belle, with raised eyebrows. “I’ll do the timelines, you do the lab results?”

“And we’ll do the autopsy reports together?”

She sounded almost hopeful, as if looking at the grittiest details together might lessen their blow on the psyche. It wouldn’t, but at least they’d weather it together.

His mouth curved crookedly. “Whatever the lady wants.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #woven beauty #woven beauty fic #my woven beauty fic #killing time #fic #i has a banner now

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