#lovelieswrites

[amlovelies]

an interlude

fandom: fhr pairing: julia ortega/f!sidestep (cynthia basri) warnings: retri spoilers, but no real warnings, canon typical stuff words: 483 read on ao3

this has been sitting in my drafts forever as part of a large thing (and me trying to write smut) which is never going to happen, but I like this part so might as well share it here. this isn't cyn's canon but still.

Fate certainly has a sense of humor. After so many years of pining, so many years not allowing yourself to cross that line with her

You keep waiting for the disgust to show on her face, for the shock to wear off for the knowledge to settle in. You aren’t human, you never have been.

It hasn’t happened, if anything her attentions have grown more heated, her kiss lingering in a way which leaves little doubts about what she is thinking. What you are thinking too.

It’s hard not to remember that night. Hard not to replay it while you try to hold sleep and the nightmares at bay.

No more secrets inscribed on your skin to keep you apart, just the casts on your legs.

You should have known Ortega would find a way to get creative.

Her kiss starts out gentle, holding her weight off you making sure not to put undue pressure on your abused limbs,

Her lips soft and plush against yours, pulling back to look into your eyes as she brushes your hair back from your forehead.

The smile on her face is fragile, and you have to close your eyes. A pair of feather-light kisses to your eyelids and her fingers trace familiar paths on your face. A pattern you would remember anywhere, you would feel it sometimes back at the farm, the phantom touch of her thumb on your cheek, and for the briefest of moments the oppressive static of the dampeners morphed into something comforting. The illusion never lasted, fading away in the face of the stark solitude of your cell, of your existence.

You’re afraid to open your eyes now. Afraid that this will all shatter and this will all have been a dream that her love will be nothing but a foolish dream. You close them tighter, trying to keep the tears which threaten at bay.

“Did I hurt you?” Concern evident in her voice as her weight shifts to move away from you.

That’s enough to get you to open your eyes, to reach out and pull her back, not ready for her to leave your side again, not with the memories so close on the horizon.

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“Are you sure?” she hesitates before she retakes her position on the edge of the bed, hands hovering over you instead of touching, like you might break at any moment, she isn’t totally wrong.

“I never thought . . . you shouldn’t . . . “ the words escape you. “I never thought I could have this.” You finally admit. Honesty. More than you usually give but you’re already at her mercy so what does a little more vulnerability cost?

“Neither did I.” She leans forward, her forehead pressed against yours, your breaths mingling, as her fingers lace between your own. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, letting her breathe pull you back to the present. It feels like only a moment, it feels like seven years

#lovelieswrites #if: fhr #fhr ortega #julia ortega #oc: cynthia basri #ship: you'll be her ruin #retribution spoilers #fic: cynthia basri

[falltumn]

🎨? Maybe? (No pressure!) lovelieswrites is my tag and my master list is linked in my bio/pinned post

ooo i’ve been meaning to read more of your fics so this is convenient >:~) i’d have to say my favorite would definitely be illuminated ! adam isn’t my first choice to read fics of, but this one really stuck with me!! i Love the dialogue and the back and forth inner fight with adam, and the pain at seeing kira kiss someone else was :’~D and then for him to do her paperwork as a gift... UGH it’s painful but wonderfully so.  i also really like the like. setting and concept of a bday party and spin the bottle to fill the prompt!! it’s a very unique and interesting option. td;lr Very Enjoyable

#asks #amlovelies #ask games #i literally think about this fic from time to time randomly. You May Have The Honor of writing the only adam fic that lives in my brain #also @ everyone else who sent asks- i'll get to them slowly!! i'm combing thru and waiting till i can Articulate since y'all deserve it

[babycracker]

🎨 🥺 maybe? no pressure (my writing tag is lovelieswrites and there's a link to my master list in my pinned post)

ALRIGHT. i’ve spent all day on and off stalking your writing tag, as you know, and i’ve decided on a favourite. i think. idk, it was a hard decision. i’m in love with just another liability in general, but chapter 13 especially, omg are you kidding me??

i loved everything about it, from the awkwardness when they first see each other, to the tension when agent greene is talking, but then THE SPARRING and the bit afterwards ahhhh. i love that you have a detective AND an oc, and i love that neither of them are giggly soft idiots. i love serena and the hints at her backstory, and i love hers and mason’s relationship so much, but at the same time i want to slap mason for being a jerk to her. but not in this chapter. in this chapter he’s just the right amount of sweet and he’s there for her in exactly the perfect way and gives her exactly what she needs and i’m here for it.

let me gush about how amazing you all are!

#ask games

[amlovelies]

caught in the cyn/julia feels again so here's some half written sidestep days angst I hurt myself with

It’s a new concession, another concession, letting her know where you live. Just like letting her know your name, to see your face. Ortega always pushing and you just keep giving in. It hard enough to fight her stubborn ass especially when you don’t really want to. You want this to continue. You wish you could invite her in and let her fulfill all the promises held in her gaze, in her kiss.

You dream about it sometimes, waking up to tangled sheets and knotted thoughts, face heated with embarrassment and an ache between your legs.

It’s hard to face her after nights like that. Hard to not react to the casual way she touches you. A hand on your thigh in the car, always standing too close looking at you like she knows. You’re once again grateful there is no other telepath on the Ranger’s team. Chen’s disapproving looks are bad enough. Though maybe Themmy’s encouragement is worse.

This dream is different. Still the same heated caresses, the brush of her hair as she kisses a trail down your body, but the body is different. Always your skin was clear in your dreams free of the tattoos that mark you but this time they still lined your body, covering you like caution tape a warning to stay away.

One she ignores.

You cry when you wake up. Hot wet tears Never something you had dared to picture before, to even imagine. Your hands shake as you light up a cigarette, inhaling deeply, letting it flood your system and try and ease the shakiness of your limbs.

Just a dream, it’s just a dream.

#I have so many wips #but I've lost the ability to write #so they just languish in my folders #so here's a little peak #lovelieswrites #oc: cynthia basri

[amlovelies]

this is from a prompt I shame deleted in early 2021 and am now filling in mid 2022 because I write at a snails pass

#17 things you said that i wish you hadnt  from this prompt list

Too honest

fandom: twc pairing: Nate Sewell/F!detective (Riley Jordan)/Morgan rating: M (really like older teen but I’d rather err on the side of caution) words: 1.2k read on ao3

             The bar was not a place Nate could easily picture Riley. He had grown used to their long afternoons together in the library. To her face buried in a book, a pad at her side as she scribbled notes, ink covering her fingers and occasionally her face when she had to readjust her glasses. It’s a pleasant change, for all of the noise and bustle and whatever passes for music now days. She’s all smiles and laughter, catching up with old friends.

               It’s a short walk back to the detective’s apartment. The streets of Wayhaven are peaceful, light gathering in the pools of rainwater, shimmering along the asphalt and painting the night in softness. Painting her in softness. It has been growing harder and harder for Nate to ignore the feelings Riley elicits within him: longing, regret and most of all guilt. Guilt that he should be feeling this way when she so clearly had feelings for someone else. Not just someone else, Morgan.

               Morgan who he’d never seen like this before. Morgan who moved on so quickly, always seeking new pleasures, new distractions.

               What sort of man wished a heartbreak on his friend? Wished that Morgan would fall back into her old patterns, and maybe just maybe there might be more than friendship in those long afternoons with Riley. He’d often wished for a companion, a partner, but never found someone he could envision that with, until now.  

               Fate was nothing if not cruel.

               At least he has moments like this, walking in comfortable silence. She’s humming something he doesn’t recognize under her breathe. Steps a little unsteady from the wine she’d been drinking, or maybe just from dancing with the song in her head.

               He opens his mouth preparing to ask about the artist, to horde more details of Riley and her life, but before he can her steps slow and then stop in front of the bakery.

               Her eyers study her own reflection in the window. One hand reaches up to brush her cheek, contemplative, a small frown marring her features.

               “Is something wrong?” He can’t sense anything, no dangers lurking in the shadows, something else must be going on.

               Her voice is halting, quiet, “do you think I’m pretty Nate?”

               “Riley, I think you are one of the most stunning creatures I have ever beheld.” He answers too quickly, without thinking, more honest than he intended.

               She turns surprise evident on her face, “you’re full of it.” Brown eyes searching his face trying to gauge his sincerity.  

               “I assure you I am not.” Perhaps he should have gone for a more teasing tone. One that is light and friendly, but it’s hard to do so.

               There’s a long list of things it is hard to do. Or hard not to do. Right now, Nate would like nothing more than to sweep Riley up in his arms, to kiss her breathless, to stare into her eyes, to make her understand how beautiful she is. How is he supposed to keep his tone light when it weighs so heavy on him?

               “Oh,” she’s looking at him and he can hear the way her heart is accelerating, and hope sparks to life within him. “Nate, I--” she reaches out a hand placing it against his chest. Can she feel how his heart his hammering in his chest?

               A long moment where she searches for words and Nate waits with baited breath. Wants to say something, to sweep her off her feet, but he can’t. She’s been drinking. He can smell the wine on her breathe, strong now with her this close. This moment, whatever it is, wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

               He must do the right thing here. For Riley’s sake, for Morgan’s sake.

               Her hand is small in his, delicate as he pulls it away, the cool night air rushing in to fill the void where her touch had once been. The urge is there, to place a kiss on the back of her hand, but he swallows it down and instead gives it a brief squeeze before releasing it.

               “It’s late; we should get you home.”

               Riley nods, eyes not meeting his and he mourns the loss, what he wouldn’t give to lose himself in their warm depths.

               He only has a moments warning, the sound of familiar footfalls, before Morgan steps out of the shadows, “am I interrupting something?”

               A small shriek erupts out of Riley, her hand flying to cover her mouth, “Morgan! You scared me half to death!”

               He should have sensed her sooner. Too distracted by Riley, and what if she had been another supernatural? One intent on hurting Riley? He needs to be better, to be more careful, to not lose himself in far-fetched dreams and longings.

               He didn’t expect her here, she still has a few hours of patrol left. Had she heard their voices and come to say hello? She never would have bothered with any of her old flings. Just more evidence that this is something more between them, something he shouldn’t get between.

               “Sorry, sweetheart,” Morgan drawls as she wraps an arm around Riley’s waist, “that’s not how I intended to make you scream.”

               “Morgan!” Nate splutters, words failing him as his face heats. Wishes he could say it was just indignation and embarrassment at Morgan’s words, but he knows its more. “That’s highly inappropriate.”

               “I am highly inappropriate,” she responds with a dry chuckle, “but Nate is right, we should get you home.” She doesn’t wait for a response, just starts walking, her arm still around Riley’s waist.

               Nate watches them walk away unease sitting heavy in his stomach. How much had she overheard? They will have to talk after this, clear the air.

               “Aren’t you joining us?” Morgan calls over her shoulder, her grin wicked, and he knows she overheard it all.

               A small squeak escapes Riley, her eyes darting back between the two of them. Her heart rate skyrocketing, her skin heating, a hundred other small changes his vampire sense allow him a peek into. One he wishes he could ignore.

               Has Riley thought about it? The three of them together? Images too easy to recall rise in his mind, walking in on them in the library. Lace against Riley’s skin, Morgan’s lips travel along her collarbone. . .

               A raised eyebrow from Morgan as she waits for his response. He knows it’s no good trying to hide it from her. They’ve known each other too long, and their senses are too strong too attuned to each other after almost a century.

               The smile grows larger across Morgan’s face and he needs to redirect this somehow.

               “You’re more than capable of getting her home, no need for me to tag along,” he tries to keep his voice neutral, to push those thoughts away, to slow the rapid beat of his pulse. He doesn’t wait for their response, turns on his heel and retreats, but he can still feel the weight of Morgan’s gaze long after he is out of sight.

tag list: @agentnatesewell @rosarx @lord-king-saint

#the ending is probably rushed #but I'm sick of looking at it so bon appetit #the wayhaven chronicles #nate schmidt #specialist agent morgan #n/detective/m #twc poly #if: twc #twc n #twc m #lovelieswrites #oc: riley jordan #fic: riley jordan #ship: to make a melody

[amlovelies]

Cynthia, Julia, 77? (For the playlist thing :)!)

thank you friend 💜 full disclosure I haven't written in months, but I'm trying not to over think things and maybe just the process of posting this will help me get over my writer's block

77. arsonist lullaby - hozier

pairing: julia ortega/f!sidestep (cynthia basri) warnings: allusion to sexy times and some suicidal ideation words: 300

You have to remind yourself that you have a mission. Something bigger than yourself, bigger than you and her. So many things that need to come crashing down, there has to be collateral damage, and you didn't care when you figured it would just be you.

You were hoping it would be you. A light at the end of the tunnel of getting through each day. A reprieve from every memory which haunted you, from the prison of your hated flesh.

It's hard to hate it now with Julia pressed against you, hands making lazy circles on your back, warm and real and pressing you close to press a kiss to your temple, hunting in the dark to find your cheek, the tip of your nose, your lips.

It was so much easier before she found you and made you real again. Not just a ghost with a mission, the fire of retribution driving you forward, but a person once again.

You can feel the flames flickering, smothered under her caress, hands weighty and sure on your skin.

You wish you could let her. Let her smother the flames, wish that you give up and let yourself just bask in her warmth.

You pull back, letting the empty night air fill the space between your bodies. Pull back and slip out of the bed even as her hands reach out to pull you back.

She was your sun once. Filling your sky and your life with her stupid smug grin and laugh. But then you spent years in places the sun can't reach, it was only your fire, your mission which kept you alive.

The day will come when she learns the truth, and you'll need your fire then, even if in the end it leaves you in ashes.

Send me a pairing and a number between 1-100 and I'll write a short scene based on my Spotify Top 100 playlist

#set a time for half an hour and here it is #is it terrible? #undoubtably #but I need to just get over myself and start writing again #trying to think of it more of practice and study like with art #thank you for the prompt #sky answers #lovelieswrites #oc: cynthia basri #fic: cynthia basri #ship: you'll be her ruin

[amlovelies]

waves

for @interactivesummer day 1 ☀

fandom: our life: beginning and always

pairing: cove holden/f!mc (Molly Lucas)

warnings: mention of anxiety

words: 450

read on ao3

               It’s another perfect summer day in Sunset Bird. Warm, but not sweltering, just enough heat for you to seek relief in the cool waters of the Pacific.

               You’re laying back on your surfboard, you can hear the waves crashing against the shore, but you’re far enough from the breakers to just bob peacefully as the swells pass underneath you. If it wasn’t for the cries from the gulls wheeling overhead you could almost fall asleep.

               “Thanks for joining me,” Cove’s voice breaks through your sundrenched haze. “I know surfing isn’t your favorite.”

               You turn to face him, hand raised to block out the glare of the afternoon sun. He’s not wrong. Even living feet from the beach, you’ve never gotten the hang of surfing. Coordination had never been your strong suit, and a day on the waves usually was more frustrating than fun.

“This part isn’t too bad, and besides, you love it.” And you loved Cove.

               Not that you can tell him that, especially not with the end of summer looming on the horizon.

               A small frown creases his face, and you wonder what you’ve said wrong. “You don’t have to do things just because I want to.” His voice is serious enough to make you sit up.

               His blue eyes are watching you intently, so concerned that maybe he pushed you into something you weren’t comfortable with. It had happened more than once, but Lizzie was usually the culprit. You’d gotten better at saying no, but it was still a struggle at times.

               “I’m having fun Cove, I promise. I always have fun with you.”

               His frown softens, “me too, Molly.” He sighs deeply, “I wish summer would never end.”

               An old wish, oft repeated, but carrying new weight this year. August marked not simply a return to the strictures of school and routine, but your departure for the East Coast and your dream school.

               Right now, it felt less like a dream and more like a boogeyman causing you to lay awake at night as anxiety churned in your stomach. Everything was going to change; Cove would still be here, but you would be in a new town with new people.

               You don’t feel ready. You wish you could stop time, let this afternoon stretch out into infinity, but life doesn’t work that way. Just like the waves crashing against the shore, time will continue to march on, and you would have to try and find your balance.

               Cove’s hand on your shoulder shakes you from your twisting thoughts, “Wanna go get ice cream? My treat?” he asks.

               “That sounds perfect.” You make your way back to shore determined to not let anxieties about the future ruin the present.

#not actually super pleased with this but whatever #lovelieswrites #oc: molly lucas #ship: you pick me and I pick you #fic: molly lucas #interactivesummer #vn: olb&a #cove holden #our life beginnings & always

[amlovelies]

If it’s not too late could you do 8. “The way cold glass fogs when you press your hand against it for” a Sidestep?

not me filling this almost a year later 😬 just a little scene not long after cynthia returns to los diablos

from the sensory prompts lists

I almost do

fandom: fhr pairing: Julia Ortega/f!sidestep (Cynthia Basri) rating/warnings: none, light angst words: 646 read on ao3

It’s almost like living in a new city. You stay far away from your old haunts: the corner store where you used to get your smokes, that taco truck with the best al pastor you’ve ever tasted, the thrift store off Sepulveda where you found your favorite jacket. You find new places, busy places where you don’t get noticed. No more friendly banter with the sales clerk, you’re just another easily forgotten face.

                A new Los Diablos for a new you.

                You almost believe it. You spend months creating new habits, taking new roads, always avoiding the dangers zones that spiral out from the city center, until it becomes second nature.

                It shouldn’t be a big deal then, taking this bus. You convince yourself it will be fine and realize how wrong you are as the familiar shape of the Ranger’s HQ comes into view.

                You’ve been able to avoid it for months now, it’s not like the city center holds much for you now. You’re back on the outskirts, back with the forgotten and the cast off, spending your days on the edges.

                You’re safely anonymous on the bus, just passing by, hood pulled low to cover your features. Maybe you should move away from the window, but you can’t bring yourself to, some sick needs making you watch the building grow closer as the bus makes it way down the congested street. It looks larger than you remembered, familiarity making it shrink in your memories, into somewhere safe, somewhere close to home.

                Even this early there is still traffic, still too many cars, too many souls crowding the clogged streets. You can feel them beating against your shields. Exhaustion, frustration, rage pressing in on you. Its an almost welcome distraction to the tightness in your chest as a red light causes the bus to stop in front of the doors.

                You can’t help yourself, face almost pressed against the glass,

                You could hop off now. Walk through the door and what?

                Your heart twitches in your chest.

                Tell the receptionist you’re an old friend of Ortega’s stopping by for coffee?

                Would there be any recognition if you gave your name? It’s not like you could say hi I’m Sidestep back from the dead, but Cynthia?

                Cynthia wouldn’t mean anything to anyone but Ortega, and even that is a maybe. 

                What if that name means nothing to her anymore? What if you don’t mean anything to her anymore? That would be for the best. Better for her to move on. Besides what was there to move on from? A few stolen kisses? You never let it go further, never let it be more, and it’s not like you were the only one she was kissing, of course, she would move on.               

                You’d spent so long waiting for her to save you, hoping hoping hoping, but she never came. No one ever came for you and why would they? You are just a thing. A tool to be used by others. There isn’t even supposed to be a you. Every memory every emotion you felt over those years was a manufacturing flaw.

                Wasn’t it?

                It doesn’t feel that way, not when you can see the stupid R on the door handle, almost hear Themmy’s laugh beside you. If you closed your eyes now you know you would see Ortega, beckoning you forward leading you back into the life you thought you had. The chord is rough between your fingers and you don’t even remember reaching for it. All you have to do is pull, tell the bus to stop, to throw caution to the wind, but you resist. Instead, your hand comes to rest on the cold glass of the window, fog blooming under your heated skin until the building is swallowed up and obscured.

It’s just a fantasy. Themmy is dead, and so are you.  

fhr tag list: @lilyoffandoms @rosarx @plotbunny-bundle @stealthbaguette

#thank you 💜 #sky answers #I take forever with prompts sorry for who I am as a person #anon #sensory prompts #julia ortega #chargestep #fallen hero #fhr #if: fhr #fhr ortega #ship: you'll be her ruin #oc: cynthia basri #fic: cynthia basri #lovelieswrites

[amlovelies]

wip whenever

I was tagged by the wonderful @sidestepping and @gingerbreton (thank you both 🥺) tagging you both back as well as @rosarx @wayhavenots @griffin-wood @coldshrugs and @nerdferatum (no pressure of course💜)

got plenty of wips to choose from still nothing close to finished. here’s some vesper and ric I’ve been working on forever

              “What do you want?” you hiss as you answer.

               “Bui?” he sounds tired, strained.

               “Who the fuck else would it be?”

               “I didn’t think you’d pick up.”  If you didn’t know better you would say he’s embarrassed, but you know he’s incapable of shame.

               “I can always hang up.” You should. You shouldn’t have answered in the first place.  

               “Please don’t” his voice is quiet, weak.

               You try to pull some snark to the surface, some dumb comment but it’s hard to when you can hear his uneven breathing on the other line, hard when you feel so uneven yourself.  

               “What do you want, Ric?” you ask with an exasperated sigh.

               “I couldn’t sleep.”

               “So, you figured you’d wake me up?”

               “I didn’t though, did I?” You can hear the smirk through the phone. That stupid charming smile of his when he knows he’s right, when he’s backed you into a corner. Bastard. It’s just a lucky guess. You and insomnia are old friends.

               “Do you want to grab some breakfast?” The question takes you by surprise.

               “You can’t be serious. It’s three am.”

               “So? We’ve done it before.”

               “Yeah, when we’re drunk.” A lifetime ago. Bar crawling after a good fight, or a bad one, nursing wounds with a drink and bravado and eventually pancakes.

               “We can do that first if you’d like.” He’s grinning, you can hear it in his voice. “I think I have a bottle of your gin stashed somewhere.”

               “That’s a terrible idea.”

               “Which one, the drinking or the breakfast?” the last thing you need is to drink around him considering how hard it was to keep your hands to yourself even sober. Can’t have another slip up like that, no matter how much you think about it.

               “Just text me an address idiot” it’s a bad idea, but you’ve already answered the phone, can’t back down now

#thanks for tagging me 💜 #lovelieswrites #wips #oc: vesper bui #ship: under the skin

[amlovelies]

countdown

this is 110% some self indulgent au angst inspired by this ask about how cyn would act if she knew she only had a month left to live

fandom: fhr

pairing: Julia ortega/f!sidestep (cynthia basri)

rating: heavy heavy angst some suggestive language

words: 1.2k

read on ao3

              You’ve failed. Ran out of time. There will be no justice, no moment of truth, no reprieve for your fellow regenes.

              Just another ending.

               You know the signs well enough, know how quickly it would progress. There’s a cost to be paid for the way you were created. Cells told to split and grow at an unnatural rate, and some kept going even after your decanting.

               You estimate you only have a few weeks. Can already feel yourself weakening, losing the stamina necessary to be Retribution. Exhaustion tugging at your limbs, your reactions are dulled. A slower death this time, but more final than a plunge out of a fourth story window.

               There will be no justice. No righting of wrongs, at least not for you. You gather everything you’ve collected. Every scrap of evidence, of the corruption that is the foundation of this city, of the ties to the corporations, to the special directive, compiled and organized and ready to be delivered.

               Only one thing left to do, and you know you’re being selfish, know this isn’t the way to do this. She deserves better, she always has, but you can’t help yourself.

               The surprise is clear on Julia’s face when you show up at her door. You’ve been avoiding her since that night, too close, you can’t trust yourself. Guess that doesn’t matter now.

               You stop her questions with a kiss, arms pulling her down to you. Needing to memorize the feel of her, the softness of her lips and the firmness of her arms under your hands.

               She lets you take her by the hand pulling her towards the dark sanctuary of her room.

               You cry after, cradled in her arms in the darkness, her hands tracing lazy circles across your skin. You wish the pattern of her touch could erase the patterns already inked into your skin. You already feel so marked by her. It would be more fitting.

               “Not that I’m complaining, but this was a bit of a surprise.”

               There’s a question there even if she doesn’t ask it. Concern coloring her voice. She’s right to be concerned, not that you’ll tell her that.

               It’s easier to take her face in your hands, kiss her until both your breaths come out in heavy gasps, her touch no longer lazy but firm and unyielding, as she rolls you onto your back. She knows that you are distracting her, but she wants this badly enough herself to not say no.

               You let her make love to you again knowing she’ll hate you tomorrow. Your final act of villainy.

               She holds her questions, though you are sure they are still swirling in her mind. She holds her questions and she holds you tight to her chest. Small endearments bubbling from her lips as she kisses your forehead, carefully navigating your features in the dark to place a kiss on each eyelid, the tip of your nose, the edge of your mouth. Her thumb running over the scar. She doesn’t need sight to find it anymore. Just muscle memory.

               You grab her hand and pull it to your mouth trailing kisses around the edge of her emitter and your lips buzz from the contact.

               You’ve been waiting for death for so long, wishing for it, you should be happy to know this will all be over soon, but you wish it didn’t mean losing this.

               It’s time to leave. Exhaustion is pulling at your eyelids, and you can’t risk falling asleep here, not like this, with her bare skin pressed against yours.

               It’ll be easier on her losing you this time. Knowing there wasn’t anything real to actually loss. Just this facsimile of a person, this machine trying so hard to be real          

               It’s hard to tear yourself away, the little sigh escaping Julia as you slip out of the sheets. “That time already?” forced lightness in her voice, trying to be casual.

               You pull the layers on one by one; you wish she would talk, would yammer. It’s too quiet in the darkness, too quiet and you can feel the intensity of her stare on your back, can feel her eyes and this will be the last time.

               The last of your clothing secure, and this is where you should reach for the lamp let her know it’s safe now. Break the stillness of her bedroom make this moment end. Really the last time this time.

               You reach out hand rattling the pull chain and something breaks within you. You can’t do it, can’t pull the chain and make this moment end. You aren’t ready to say goodbye to her.

               Damn Ortega. Damn her for making this hurt worse. You don’t mean that. She’s the only thing that made any of this worthwhile. The only bright spot.

               You don’t turn the light on, instead you return to the warmth of her arms. She’s surprised, but it only takes her a moment to adjust, to pull you hard against her soft skin,

               You shatter, tears you’ve held back cascading down your cheeks. Wet against the skin of her chest where you have buried yourself. Trying to memorize the feeling, the smell, every little detail.

               You knew you were always going to lose this. That you could only steal moments with her, there would be no future of nights spend in each other’s arms, lazy morning waking up to her voice in your ear. A lifetime together. That’s something humans get. Not for you.

               Your stolen time has run out.

               “Please,” she begs, panic cracking her voice to smithereens, “please talk to me, Cyn.”  She knows something is wrong. Has probably known from the moment that you showed up at her door.

               “Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” It’s not a lie. Not really. She doesn’t believe you. You can tell by how the tension hasn’t shifted in her body at all. Grips you tighter and there will be bruises on your skin tomorrow from her fingertips. One last thing to remember her by.

               You sleep, face against her chest listening to her heartbeat. She keeps her arms around you, loosening slightly, but never losing contact. For once you have no nightmares.

               You wake before she does, manage to slip out into the dark of the pre-dawn street.

               You leave a note under your mug in the kitchen counter. She deserves more, deserves more that the quickly sprawled I love you. Deserves more than a last-minute confession. You’re too much a coward to say it to her face, too much a coward for many things.

               The broadcast will go live in a few hours. All your deepest secrets exposed to the entire city. Even if some networks get shut down quickly, the net you’ve cast is wide. Carefully compiled dossiers sent to every newspaper, to every journalist with a shred of integrity. Community leaders, major shareholders, no one will be able to claim ignorance now. The truth will be out there. You can’t control what happens now, not that you ever really could.

               Ortega will know the truth about you. Know that you are Retribution, know that you aren’t human. She’ll hate you then. All the love and concern you felt last night evaporating in the arid summer heat.

               Cynthia Basri will be dead, the illusion ruined.

               Then you’ll just have to wait for the sickness to finish off the rest of you. 

tag list @lord-king-saint @rosarx @plotbunny-bundle @wayhavenots

#here have some cringe #very self indulgent #lovelieswrites #if: fhr #fhr ortega #oc: Cynthia basri #fic: cynthia basri #ship: you’ll be her ruin

[amlovelies]

Hit me with that julia grave angst

this is one I've written in my head like a dozen times, but everytime I try to get it down on paper I can't word properly. Basic idea is Julia visiting cyn's grave and talking to her, finally confessing what she didn't when cyn was still alive. here's a rough snippet:

You replace the flowers, peonies this time. She’d never shared what her favorite was so you bring a different one each time. Maybe that would make her smile, but she would probably call you an idiot, overly-sentimental. She wouldn’t be wrong.

                Why else are would you be here?

                “We’re finally moved into the new headquarters,” your voice breaks the quiet. It had felt so stupid when your therapist had first suggested it, but it’s grown easier with time, like a lot of things. Beside you were always good at talking.

                “It’s very snazzy, you should see the locker room. The sauna is fantastic, might even tempt you.” You continue in that vein for a while, listing the virtues of the new facilities, as if she would ever get to see them. Like she would be joining you next week on the training mats, or you might find her stealing food from the fridge in the breakroom.

wip ask game

#thank you 💜 #sky answers #mutual kitbug #lovelieswrites #wips #wip ask game

[amlovelies]

AFTER UNDER THE SKIN 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

I've been working on this one so damn long and rewritten it so many times. basically the next time vesper and ric interact after under the skin and the whole tattoo reveal thing. featuring late night pancakes

Force the smile into a scowl as you ask, “should I even bother looking at the menu, or did you order that for me too?”

                “Just the coffee. That’s one thing I know hasn’t changed.”

                “Probably the only thing.” He frowns, and you smile.

                Instead of your usual scramble you order the French toast. Just to drive the point home. You aren’t the old Vesper anymore.

                You’ve buried them down too deep. They were weak and foolish. All that you can do now is avenge them. He needs to quit trying to resurrect them. You need him to quit trying.           

                Loud laughter erupts from the group, they’re still drunk, full of cheap booze the bravado of youth. Still finding joy and excitement in life, idiots. They’ll learn, just like you did.

                “That was us once,” his voice draws your attention back.

                “A lifetime ago.”

                You have more than enough time to move your hand but you let him take it. Let him entangle your fingers together. The emitter is cool against your palm, a harsh contrast to the warm of his eyes.

                He could kill you right now, and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. Pretend that is the reason your heart is hammering in your chest. Tell yourself it’s fear you feel right now, an easier emotion to understand that whatever is flooding your veins now, catching in your lungs and tightening your chest.

                The food arrives, giving you a reason to pull back.  

                The conversation gets easier as you begin to eat, Ortega doing that thing he does, putting you at ease. You’d almost forgotten that things used to be easy between you. That was the danger of it, falling back into old habits. Old habits like wanting him, like trusting him. You can’t make that mistake again, no matter how nice this feels.

                Hard to hate him when he looks so tired, eating familiar food and surrounded by good memories.

                You’re hungrier than you realize. When was the last time you had a real meal? Something that wasn’t instant coffee or stale cereal? You can’t remember.

wip ask game

#thank you 💜 #sky answers #mutual rx #lovelieswrites #wips #wip ask game

[amlovelies]

wip whenever

thank you so much for the tags @chroniclesinlacuna @wayhavenots @starrypawz and @th-ink-first 🥺💜 tagging all of you back as well as @punkrangerdraws @achilleanwizard @griffin-wood and @impossible-rat-babies (no pressure)

here is some julia choosing violence and going to see a hero film after heartbreak. not sure how much more I’ll do with this, might try to clean it up today and posted or I might ban it to the shadow realm, only time will tell 🤷‍♀️

               Cyn had hated it. Hated seeing any version of herself on screen, even when it was only as a small background character. Julia can only imagine how much she hated the later more focused films; the ones where Sidestep was a hero in her own right.

               Movies like the one flickering across the screen.

               Ortega might be drunk, and this might be a bad idea. Okay, not might, she is drunk and this is a bad idea. It’s still early evening, well before five, but she’s been drinking since morning. Wishes she could say that was a rare occurrence, but it’s not.

               Too many days passing in a blur.

               She shouldn’t be here, but she couldn’t help it. Can’t help but want to watch this facsimile of Cynthia jump around the screen.

               They don’t get anything right. The actress playing her is too tall, her voice too high. Missing that familiar rasp. The one that made Julia worry whenever she pulled out her cigarettes. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Perfect skin. Missing the scars, missing the twist to her smile.

               She’s all wrong. Not Cynthia at all, but there are moments when she can squint. When she can pretend.

#thank you for tagging me 🥰 #wips #lovelieswrites #this has been in my wip folder forever

[amlovelies]

Flowers for ric pls?

so this is some post catastrofiend stuff for vesper and ric. its also the origin story for the tattoo ric gets in under the skin. vesper going to visit ric in the hospital after he almost dies and he jokes about them not bringing him flowers.

I mostly have dialogue for it:

                “Get your nurse to read it for you. I’m sure she’d be happy to.”

                “Now I just know it’s something embarrassing.

                “Of course, it is. Some shame would do you a world of good.”

                “So much for not kicking a man when he’s down.”

                “Don’t try that sad puppy look on me Ric.” A flash in their dark eyes, anger? Fear?  “I told you to wait, but you didn’t fucking listen.” Their volume is increasing. Stalking closer and he can see the tension in their body, the shake to their hands and the dark circles under their eyes. “I don’t know why I bother. You keep doing dumb shit.”

                “Don’t worry so much, Bui. I made it out fine.”

                “You made it out fine because I kept you from bleeding out.”

                “I said thank you, didn’t I?”

wip ask game

#thank you 💜 #sky answers #punkranger #wip ask game #wips #lovelieswrites

[amlovelies]

Hi Sky!! I would love to know more about "old me romi" 👀👀👀

thank you for indulging me pd 💜

old me romi is a little bit of a confrontation between ortega and romi and her letting a little bit of her past self rivalry shine through.

You shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t keep showing up at HQ, falling back into half remember patterns, hanging around the Rangers in your free time, waiting for Danny to finish up with the media team.

                Except back then you were waiting for Ricardo, and for what? You can barely remember. Like look at reflections on moving water, you can almost make it out but the details are lost. Just an impression, the movement of light, friendship, desire, longing.               

                It’s different now, you’re different now.

                Maybe it’s an addiction, like the craving for something sweet, that first bite into the candy bar, the surge of energy through your veins, the warmth of sunshine in your mind.

                Daniel, soft, sweet Daniel. Safe, maybe that’s what you’re really addicted to, the way you can fall asleep in his arms, the way his thoughts blanket you like an armor protecting you from the harshness of the outside world.

wip ask game

#thank you 💜 #sky anwers #mutual pd #wips #lovelieswrites #wip ask game

[amlovelies]

Ooh what about 'kick me out tattoo reveal' pls? 💕

thank you for indulging me soso 💜

this is another chargestep prompt piece that I'm taking 12 million years on, an attempt at a possible regene reveal wth cyn and julia. I don't have very much for it but here's a snippet

You can’t breathe you can’t fucking breath. She’s staring at you and her brain is just static. No answers. Is that look surprise on her face? Disgust? Anger? You can’t tell, your fingers trying to dip into her thoughts and sliding off the static, can’t know can’t interpret.

                You’ve thought about this moment a hundred times, a thousand times, dreams and nightmares. She’ll hate you. She’ll rage and spark and maybe that’s one way to end this. Make her do it (no other way you’d rather go than at her hands).

                She’ll hate you and then you can stop this farce. This performance of humanity of a relationship. Stop wishing for it to be real. It can’t be real if you aren’t real.

wip ask game

#thank you 💜 #sky answers #mutual soso #wip ask game #wips #lovelieswrites