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the-firebird69 · 19 days

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Halfway decent day already the mall is kind of vacant and that's why it's still a little firming around and senile people sick people but they're kind of hanging out and making the best of it going on to another top it hopefully

-super race change and they don't believe in being organized that much or having it together and they kind of get lit on their own and it kind of looking around for people who are doing it started latching on to our son and he said not really and put on a few major directions and they did not do it and acted too and they found they require tons of maintenance and then playing everybody else no matter what what he says is so that's what we say

-there's other things going on they are pretty big one of them is about Donald Trump what t-shirt said I could s*** a better president that was Ken and he is in court and his trial comes up in the 15th criminal trial for bringing an election and attempting to and they're doing Cherry selection and he has two gaggers on him and he's violated both and he's going to court today and they intend on holding him and for committed crimes and the guy has a blustery criminal I mean he is everything about him is brings a lot now and he's terrible he doesn't mean anything people have rules these guys have rules and he doesn't want to pay anything and nobody wants that

-on top of this is to push to do it and he naturally doesn't anyways so he's screaming what he's going to do and he's screaming what he's all about and people all over the planet are saying we don't need it that loud we see what you're doing and he just keeps doing it I'm going after this in the eastern hemisphere they're screaming what they're up to absolutely screaming and it is more or less destroying them they're stashes and caches it's midday it's through the night halfway are at about 45% of what they were several months ago and getting worse the pseudo empire is also attacked their bunkers are at 35% of capacity which is poor their top side bases land-based 35% of capacity that's very poor the laser bases are at about 30% of capacity all of which is very bad and still be a Counter-Strike and the idiots are going to take it on the nose and don't get it

-here in the Western hemisphere the warlock gearing up and they're going to fill up Alabama and Georgia and I'll get emptied again by tomorrow morning we think it might be another 1.5% or even more because they're going after Oregon and Washington and they're going after the bunkers invases in areas of operation all the same time.

-there's a few more things to consider on this life of ours is our sons as well and he said it's torturous they're so damn cheap that they should follow dead in front of him for what they're doing it is so criminal that they should turn the whole town into a prison and it's true they're just heinous losers all of them are threatening him for stuff and it just does not work they've lost more stuff than anybody that's ever existed it's pitiful so we're putting a different programs now maybe see what he's saying it's going to change soon and they want to blame us but really it's coming and it's just pushing them out it's odds at the mall is empty there's tons of them are really around and they're trying to figure out what to do and it's a better idea it really is going to work much better and coming in walking around and being a fart face LOL still time for that we see a lot of people buying campers right now millions that came down from Orlando Tampa into the ocean on the East Coast and all around Tampa Brandon every place he could imagine they're coming down and buying campers and trucks and they're being shipped down here by the truckload they're all buying a certain model to get a truck it's like a 20 ft camper and they go and it's really probably the best size for F-150 or f250 smaller is better but that's probably the way you want to max out at and that's what they say and it's really true and that's what they're doing it is common now there's also a lot of that particular Coleman I think it's a 17 and it's close to 20 but it's very lightweight and they're buying tons of those it's very sturdy too huge numbers of campers of all different types are being bought and sold should I have numbers of them are taken out of the Midwest storage huge numbers today and it all coming down here no but they're going to the east coast into here huge huge numbers and what the intend to do is to build up forces to get stone chips and take the country back and all that stuff and they want to use minority more luck and everybody and they're probably will try

-additionally there are large number of folks coming down who appear to be warlock minority and they're not and people tell them to take the makeup off and they're slowly doing that it's a huge huge day because most of them are trying to find a way out of here and so we just came from up there as hell in how you supposed to get by and I think all the campers are to stay here with so you find out that people just drive out the road and our son was right after time they start worrying about getting damaged and they're watching it huge numbers I'm going to leave I always say that it's not a massive Exodus but it's the leaders

-this war happening because of the buildup that they want to leave in the day and it's not not started building up too much yet usually it starts around 8:00 p.m. so they have that window so we're going to publish

Thor Freya

Olympus

There's a ton of people in Walmart and they're getting food and supplies to the campers huge huge numbers of them are buying kerosene and LPG all types of it mostly the Blue rhino and we ship so many in we thought we were going to get killed and it wasn't enough they keep coming it is just non-stop and we can see it but holy cow is it's incredible and who that love this idea and we don't know why we need campers so we do and we have to get out there and get situated and it's a pain so we're getting all this together and we're moving out there and we're going to Arizona summit New Mexico not much a little in Texas not really a bunch in California and the rest of the South and we figured out something these guys are saying why don't you get out of there it's true we're taking ourselves it's utter nonsense so I'm giving orders out today for people to evacuate and they're moving it out and they really should this place sucks can't do anything with anyone for anyone it's very restrictive and they're using power and it's gross he's a good guy said you got to be kidding me it's another week of this s*** not to make sure that day and they're thinking of years or something

Trump

That's true all across the board they're very strange I'll be blowing it we got to get out of here we do see what happens they are going into the diamonds on more than just three I think it's 8:00 and it's true and they are very aggressive and they're pushing people out as a cruise come down they work shifts and it's going to be a huge influx down here

Bja

We are pushing pretty hard and we need the living space and people are moving out and we're leaving New England as we're leaving we see people trying to take the apartments and losing versus foreigners and some Max and some big fellows

Mac daddy

He says maybe the Norwegian no

It's cuz a huge army we need to respect them more nobody gives a s*** they're just dumb he says Lady Gaga says it all the time and she's a wicked rancid b**** there says we were born this way.. good they have a way of dealing with it

...

Really get this going no it's going pretty good said what about the train put a few more cars on there and get them the hell out come back with stuff in the cars and I thought about that and really it's not that feasible the train only takes like a thousand people so why not bring the train down to Walmart and s*** yeah we do that already I serious saying you take that housing lot and fill it with containers full of s*** then you bring the container out when it's emptied and use dust control you might actually do that I'm not going to live here there aren't

Mac

Well I'm up top and my son and daughter in there and yeah we are thinking about this kind of stuff you need to get some logistics people and Dave did and some others but really it's a mess there's other things happening

-we really think people should bolt stuff down and skinny to be that time and I'll send you his help bolting things down right now people are moving all over the world and was sending alerts. Today is going to be a really big day most of it is just moving around stuff and but there's a war in the eastern hemisphere and the pseudo empire is defeated. Stan wisinski is still running and he is going into the populace and getting in trouble so for him no he's in trouble too he's a wise ass and has clones that are normal and it's a problem and they couldn't beat up by everybody and it's horrible it's going on Timmy d is going out and getting beaten up and the information is getting lost to Big parties about 75% of the headquarters overseas it's their areas of operation are 50 to 60% destroyed and the rest of it is evacuating now and we mean all of the group's clans this it might be it for them in the Eastern hemisphere and people say it but we don't think so they have a lot of other places no they have several bases left and bunkers they're down to 35% across the board but it is going to take a Time for that not too long ago but they have ships and they can regain stuff a little bit but they're taking they're taking a beating a big one and the numbers are going to be big tonight

-also along with the pseudo empire taking a beating the morlock are taking a hammering they are getting smaller and smaller by the minute the rate is now 1.0 an hour for Mac morlock and the others are not faring that bad mostly their attitude sucks and it's forcing them to evacuate beautiful and alert out and take a break

Thor Freya

Olympus

The alert is good we need it now

Hera Zues

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doyoueverfeelme · 4 months

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04.04.2024 - 2128 - King of Losers

Yes, thats me. king of the losers. i lost everything. i lost. im the loser. i have this aching pain in my chest, now that i accept, i lost. im a loser. i lost so hard in love. i even lost count of how many times i lost. am i ugly?

i'm listening to karma police now. i couldnt find a song named king of the losers but maybe i should make that song myself. as soon as i got my dj set, i will make a song named king of the losers.

im horrible, horrible, horrible, feeling horrible, horrible,horrible. why why why.

no answers, no help again. im back to my 16. i was seeking for help desperately, no one came to help me no one came to save me. now im 24, again im in need of big help. now only difference is that i know no help is coming, no one will save me, now i know so my pain is colder. not as hot as 16. but still hurts. and people make babies. retarded people. who wants to live through all these pain? why would i sacrifice my beloved child by giving birth to it. why would i create another human. to get through all these suffering? cruel and im not gonna be cruel to my own child. so no babies.

im listening radiohead. arabesk rock. lol.

this year, i think i failed 15 relationships. im not sure about the exact number. first one lasted 4 months and i left him in a random they where i understood we're not compatible.

then i find a few narcicst psychos, each lasted 1 month max. then i left them all.

then i fell in love in june, hardest love of my life. i was sure he loved me back, but he left me. then i went to him again, just to see he has a girlfriend now. my heart shattered. why did you ask to be with me again if you have a girlfriend, why do you touch and hug to my soul and rip inside my heart, if youre not gonna love me properly. people are so cruel. im so soft. i tried to kill the soft in me, sometimes it comes back to life. but my soft has to die, so that i can live. i can't survive in this horror world as a kindest softest soul.

then this asshole, i just learned that he has a girlfriend too and wants to be with me as well, this asshole is someone i know for 5 years. i left him too. i dont think looking back after this point ever.

no body deserves my greatness. but im so alone. so alone. im okay with being alone, but im scared of myself. my mind is trying to drive me crazy. my mind wants to be lost. my mind is scaring me. im scared of myself. im scared of my capabilities. all therapist are retarded losers and they all suck. i couldn't find a threapist that i trust. i couldn't find someone to be with. i couldn't find good friends. i always thought im the issue but i dont think this anymore. im truly great. maybe i did mistakes, but this is not what i deserve.

is everyone this lonely? do i have to suffer all my existence? i had suffered from my own thoughts since the beginning of my conciseness. i'm strong, very strong. but its so hard. its ripping me apart. this is so so hard.

i keep praying, but god never answers. im not sure if someone hears me, i keep talking to myself. there is no one in and out of me. i keep falling and falling, getting up and falling again. getting up just to fall back again. im so tired of gettin up myself. so tired of holding my own hand. even tired of eating drinking sleeping and breathing. this life is a prison. my mind and my body is a prison. existence is a torture. i can but i cant at the same time. im so sad. so sad. so sad.

my heart is burning like a fire

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tangiblejournal56 · 10 months

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7/2/11

Only a few hours since my previous entry, Max texting me at 4:19am, “Still up?” Our conversation circled around his night with his brother, then on to his refusal to sign for another year on the lease at he & Z’s house & the repercussions of that rebellion. His rage at still being in this state of stagnation, then slowing slipping into a flirtation with leaving. “Or maybe something let’s do something. Yes? We’ve got to find somewhere to go,” he rang out. I asked him if this was real, if he was serious about this. “Um, well, I want to go. I think I want this.” I asked him if he wanted me to come along, or if this was a move he needs to make alone. “Nah, I’d go with you,” he assured me, “I think I would like you along.” The more we discussed it, the more it seemed to bolster his resolve that this was the right decision. I was shocked, then ecstatic beyond all measure. He had to work at ten & it was already after five, so our conversation ended, but despite the late hour I began researching Portland, marking down some points to relay to Max later. I am overwhelmed with excitement at the thought that by this time next year Max & I could be ensconced in our own private world, across the country from anyone who knows either of us. No oppressive parents demanding everything & giving nothing in return to him. No overwhelming responsibility toward everyone. He can write & I can visit the sea, & save up til I can afford my houseboat. Then we can walk around the city, eating in cafes & browsing bookstores to our hearts’ content. Perhaps then, he could be happy, & once realizing his content state, he will see that I can make him happy, that I’d do anything for him. I wouldn’t even need that much; just for us to live together, in harmony, compatible. I couldn’t envision a better scenario. He is all that is good & lovely in the world, & all I’d want is to sit at his feet, listening & devouring every word. Not exactly hero-worship, he wants to hear me as well.

Only having relocated a month ago & already I’m thrilled at the idea of shedding this scene for a brand new one. This Austin is not the one I left four years ago, it is humorless & completely lacking in the sheen & excitement it once held. All darkness in spite of the constant glare of the sun. I feel as if I’ve traded one prison for another. At least my previous cell had a job, & it had Max. I worry my distaste for Austin that I’d previously adored is really the inability to be happy anywhere. I also wonder if Max’s sudden panicked need to get out of Iowa when he was once so reluctant has to do with the fact that I’m no longer there, making it bearable for him. I repeat that thought like a mantra in my mind, he needs me, he needs me. Like I need him. Oh, Max could survive the pain of any situation, grit his teeth & bear it. He is also able to push someone he loves away, if he believes it to be best. But there is a world between us, a system of trust & acceptance, & I can’t believe he’d ever push me totally away. He would’ve already done so, when I told him I’ll never stop wanting to be his. At his feet, without end.

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stonersolana · 3 years

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i don't think people who make movies/shows about women getting revenge actually understand what it is the audience wants.

we don't want to see her end up dead or in prison. we want to see the guy she's punishing to suffer, we want the catharsis of the victim finally giving the piece of shit the justice they deserve. i want to see the piece of shit scared and ruined, or even end up dead so they can't hurt anyone ever again. i want the woman to walk away feeling finally at ease, justice having been served. i want to see her moving on, healing from her trauma, i want the piece of shit to be hurt in a way that they'll never heal again.

i don't care if it's not "realistic", if a woman finally goes feral and decides to dole out justice against monsters i don't want to see her dead or in prison by the end, i want the catharsis of knowing that justice was served and that it actually helped her move on knowing she protected others from being hurt.

#sunbun speaks #i REALLY hate this trope #i cannot explain how much i hate this trope #i want 2 hours of the abuser/rapist's pain and fear and suffering #i want the woman to live and get away with it #i want to see someone doling out justice and finding a release of pain from it #why the fuck - as an actual victim of abuse/rape - would i want to watch the woman finally standing up for herself die??#i feel like directors really forget that in movies like that there's supposed to be catharsis at the end #fuck i'm so tired of this trope #i just rewatched promising young woman and i'm still salty as hell #cause idc if she wouldn't have realistically gotten out of that place alive #i wanted to see her claw and fight and bite her way out while leaving a trail of bodies and a river of blood in her wake #i didn't want to see her SUFFOCATE TO DEATH BY HER FRIEND'S RAPIST #in the end the rapist didn't get justice - he only got arrested #and we all know how good police are at gathering evidence against rapists and actually convicting them #let alone putting them in prison #maybe for a few months at max if they ever even see prison #the law does nothing to actually punish rapists #i want to see Rosalie from Twilight's backstory in a 2 hour long movie #ugh whatever i'll just add the idea of this post to the story i'm writing #watch out for a story about a bunch of feral traumatized women getting revenge and getting away with it!#also feel free to reblog this

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lipstickstainz · 3 years

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true lies - s. r. (14/15)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

Chapter Summary: Leaving is the only option - right?

Warnings: angst, blood (but not much), break up, drug addiction (mentioned), alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: hello lovies. I'm back and my mind is full of ideas! I hope you like it! gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

previous chapter

You watch the coffee in your cup as if it has all the answers for the future hidden in the caffeine. It's eight o'clock in the morning, and this is already your third cup of the sacred liquid, and you're sure it won't be your last. The shadows under your eyes are a sign of your nightmares that haunted you last night. The fact that you have them doesn't bother you, after all, you've been going through the procedure for months. What bothers you is the fact that you couldn't wake yourself up this time. You've gotten in the habit of pinching yourself when it would get too painful, but something stopped you last night. And the fact that you don't know what exactly bothers you the most.

"Y/N." Emily's voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you have to tear your gaze away from your coffee. "What do you think?"

All eyes are on you and out of nervousness you'd like to slide around in your chair, but suppress the urge. You haven't been listening for the last few minutes, too busy with your own thoughts and problems that you can't answer her. The case is supposed to be your last, and you're trying hard to enjoy it and value the time with your friends, but really you're just waiting for it all to be over. Most of all, you want to pack your things and leave.

You barely noticeably shake your head for Emily to continue, and turn your attention back to your coffee, which must be cold by now, but that doesn't stop you from drinking it down to the last drop. Without saying anything, you get up from your chair to get another one, paying no attention to Emily's annoyed look. As you fill your cup in the precinct kitchen, she stands right next to you.

"You're not being very helpful, Y/N," she says coolly as you take a sip. You know her manner is all pretense, because in reality she's incredibly concerned. She only needs to look at your face once to know what's going on in your head, but she doesn't address it. She knows you'll talk to her when the time is right. But you're not sure that will ever happen. "I've already assigned the tasks. You stay here and work with Spencer to gather all the important information that may be relevant to Penelope's research." The look on your face says it all. You don't want to spend any time with Spencer, and certainly not alone, but Emily gives you no choice. Before you can say anything back, she disappears out the door with the others.

With your coffee, which you now wish had a strong shot of vodka in it, you make your way back into the conference room, where Spencer is bent over the table, passing pictures and notes back and forth. You stop in the doorway and watch him for a brief moment, and only then do you notice the narrow, red scratch on his face that stretches from his cheek to his neck. You squint your eyes. It hadn't been there yesterday after all.

"What happened?“, you ask as casually as you can as you sit down and set your cup down on the table. As Spencer looks at you questioningly, you point to his face. "Looks bad." Indeed it does, though it's just a scratch. There's bloody crust in a few places, contrasting in color with his pale skin. Something really got to him.

"Cut myself shaving“, he replies curtly, glancing again at the pictures in front of him. You haven't seen him in two years, don't actually remember who he is exactly, but you still know when he's lying. And when to stop asking and let it go. When Penelope calls, you discuss some stuff and you see Spencer scratching over the wound until it bleeds, which he doesn't seem to notice, which is why you stall Penelope on the phone and grab his hand as soon as the line goes silent. Astonished, he looks at you before looking at his fingers.

"Come with me“, you say briefly and don't even wait for him to follow you. You approach an officer and ask for a first aid kit, which is immediately made available to you. Spencer follows you uncertainly into one of the washrooms, where you already put on the disposable gloves from the box - you don't want any bacteria to get on the wound - and wet a towel from the towel dispenser. Reluctantly, Spencer leans against one of the sinks, waiting for your instructions.

"Tilt your head to the side a little, please." You take the damp cloth and gently dab along the scratch to remove the dried blood. Spencer has to swallow at the touch and you see his Adam's apple bob, and really it shouldn't be that attractive, unfortunately it is anyway. You have to concentrate because this is the closest you've been to him in years. You breathe in his scent, feel his warmth through your gloves, and can barely stifle a deep breath.

"How do you know how to do that?“, he asks softly as you disinfect the wound, and Spencer has to pull himself together to keep from reacting to the burning from the alcohol.

You look at him briefly before turning your attention back to the scratch. „Experience“, you reply, spreading some wound healing ointment over it before taking off your gloves and disposing of everything in the trash can. You then put the first aid kit back together. As you turn around, Spencer is standing right in front of you.

"You didn't tell me you were having nightmares“, he whispers, and confused, you look at him. There's concern in his gaze, and if you're not mistaken, a little affection too, but you push the thought aside, not letting yourself have hope. Hope has only harmed you lately you have not moved forward a bit.

You look once more at the scratch, and then into his warm eyes. "You didn't cut yourself shaving“, you count one and one together and clench your jaws. He doesn't need to answer. You did this to him, you just don't remember. The reason you didn't wake up is Spencer. He was probably holding you, reassuring you so much that your body turned off its protective mechanism. It had certainly been the last time he did that, and you hadn't been awake to enjoy it.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?“, he asks, wanting to reach for your hand, but you take a step back. You don't want him to touch you. You'd prefer it if you weren't in this situation at all. You'd prefer that you hadn't come back at all. None of this should have ever happened.

"It's none of your business anymore, Spencer." Your tone is cool and something in his face changes.

"I thought we were friends."

You have to suppress a laugh. Two years ago, you could have lived well with being friends with him. You were prepared for it then, wished it on him, and meant it sincerely. Only lately you've been through so much that you can't even imagine it anymore. The two years had been hell, but you are sure that you can't live next to him without being able to be with him. You can't watch him and Max be happy together, and even though his happiness is everything you want, you'd rather he be happy with you. But you can't tell him that, it would be unfair and selfish. So you just look at him.

Then you reach for the small suitcase and push past him towards the exit.

You're glad when the case is over and you arrive back at Quantico. It's been a week since you and Spencer spoke, and luckily for you, you've continued to be spared nightmares, for which you're quite grateful. Not that Spencer is going to join you in bed one more time to calm you down.

As you walk from the airfield back to the building, you fall back a bit, watching the team joke and laugh with each other despite their fatigue. Most of all, you'd like to leave right now without saying goodbye. Rip off the band-aid, without anesthesia. Short and painless. But your plan is foiled when Emily suddenly walks up beside you and puts a hand on your arm.

"We're going for a drink." She raises an eyebrow expectantly. Apparently she's waiting for you to decline the invitation, and all too gladly you'd like to meet her expectations, but it's almost certainly the last night you'll see each other, at least for an extended period of time, and short and painless wouldn't be fair to her - your best friend.

You smile at her. "You're paying for the first round."

Her eyes widen in delight, but before she can say anything back, Luke, who has overheard your conversation, interferes. "We're going out for drinks?" A grin spreads across his face, almost reaching his ears, and suddenly the rest of the team pricks up their ears. Luke's gaze is fixed on you. "I bet I can drink you under the table by now, Y/N."

„You can’t“, Matt replies, and you see Rossi smile to himself. "Last time you did that, you almost passed out after four shots."

"JJ got the drinks. Maybe she mixed something in“, Luke tries to defend himself, but the blonde raises her hands.

"I'm not responsible for your kindergarten drinking. But I'd love to see you try to drink Y/N under the table." She smiles at you and winks, and you can't help but grin. It feels good to know that all is well between you and the team, even though they know with a high probability that you won't be staying. You'd understand if they were mad at you, but that doesn't seem to be the case. JJ looks at Spencer, who is being less than forthcoming. "You coming, Spence?"

He risks a quick glance in your direction before adjusting the bag on his shoulder. He knows this will be your last night. And that you won't see each other again after this. "I think I'll sit this one out“, he replies curtly, but JJ nudges him and he gives her a dirty look.

"You can't avoid it, Spence."

You'd rather he'd gone home.

The first drinks are on Emily, as promised, and the ones after that are on Rossi, and it's actually not long before Luke is sitting at the table with a glass of water, wishing he'd slowed down. You grin at him from the dance floor where JJ and you are swinging your hips, and he sticks his tongue out at you before putting his head in his hands and sipping water through the straw in his glass.

JJ reaches for your hand and pulls you close before wrapping her arms around your neck. "I'm going to miss you“, she almost yells so you can hear her over the loud music. You smile weakly at her. There's a glint in her eyes, probably from the alcohol, and only now do you realize how much you're really going to miss her.

"I'm going to miss you too“, you reply, risking a quick glance in Spencer's direction. He's sitting next to Luke, looking completely out of place. You look back to JJ and without further ado, she puts her hands to your cheeks and presses a kiss to your mouth. When she pulls away from you again, she just grins at you. "What was that for?"

"I want you to know that we love you. We all do. Remember that when you're lonely, and call if you need anything. You are and always will be a part of our weird family."

You wait a brief moment before pulling away from her and disappearing into the ladies' room. As soon as the door slams shut, tears stream down your cheeks and you have to hold onto the edge of the sink to keep from breaking down. You were aware of how much the others would miss you, but hearing it from JJ only makes it more real. By leaving, you're not only leaving Spencer behind, but everyone else as well, and that's so selfish of you that bile rises inside you and you almost throw up. You wish you hadn't had those last two drinks.

"Y/N?" You don't have to turn around to know it's Spencer. You recognized his voice and can see him in the mirror above the sink.He's standing behind you, unsure of what exactly to do, which is why he buries his hands in his pants pockets and looks at you silently.

You wipe the smeared mascara from under your eyes before turning and leaning against the basin. "This is the ladies' room, Spencer. You're not supposed to be in here.“

"I'm right where I'm supposed to be“, he replies, but doesn't move from the spot. He watches you brush your hair out of your forehead and wipe at your hot face to get rid of the tears. "You don't have to go. You know that, right?"

You look up from your shoes, straight into his eyes. "Yes, I do."

You want to leave the washroom, but his fingers curl around your arm, holding you back. "Y/N ..."

"I can't stay, Spencer. I can't look at you without knowing that someone other than me is waiting for you at home. I can't watch you be happy without me. It's okay, really. It's just that I don't have the strength to watch it anymore." The words just bubble out of you, and for some reason you can't stop. But it feels good to say it out loud, even though you certainly shouldn't. "I love you, Spencer. I'll always love you. But I'm at the end of my rope." You shrug in exasperation. "I have to think about me. I can only think about me." Spencer's face contorts painfully, but you can't stop. "To think that you're about to go to Max's and do God knows what ..." You shake your head, as if it might drive the thoughts from your mind. "I feel like I - I - I can't breathe. Like I'm going to die. And I just can't take it anymore."

Spencer's hand comes away from your arm at your honesty, but only to grab your hand and pull you against him. You bounce against his chest, wanting to pull away, but he holds you tight and presses you to him with his other hand. Carefully, he places his palm against your cheek and gently strokes your skin with his thumb. "Please, don't go."

You look into his eyes, which have filled with tears. "Why not?"

You can practically see him struggling with himself. He wants to say something, but can't find the right words, so he presses his lips together and lets his forehead sink against yours. All he has to do is say it, and you'd throw all your plans out the window and stick around. Just a few words. But he doesn't say them. "I can't ..."

You take a deep breath before pulling away from him, disappointed. „Goodbye“, you whisper, before leaving him alone in the washroom.

Spencer sits uncertainly at the kitchen table, watching the tea bag with lemon balm in the cup in front of him. He doesn't actually like lemon balm, but he needs something to calm his nerves and get the trembling of his hands under control as he sits there searching for the right words.

The last time he had felt this helpless, Emily had just left his apartment and he had been about to make some phone calls. The first call would have been to a man who would have given him a different number. The second phone call would have been to a woman who would have transferred him. And the third number belonged to someone who would have given him what he was only too happy to get.

Many years ago, he had sworn to himself that he would never resort to it again. That he wouldn't need it. He would be stronger than the desire to feel nothing more. The only thing that had stopped him was that you would never wish that for him. That you had helped him then, had stood by him. He didn't want it to be in vain.

Spencer hates feeling so helpless, even though he actually knows exactly what he has to do now. That's why he sits in the kitchen in the middle of the night, cup of calming tea in hand, not daring to look at the woman sitting across from him. But he doesn't need to say anything either. She knows why he was at her door at such a late hour. They sit in silence, neither quite knowing what to do. Neither of them has been in this situation before. Spencer is glad she's the first to speak.

"So that's it." It's more of a statement than a question. Spencer nods silently, whereupon she purses her lips. "Because of her?"

Spencer looks up from his cup and looks directly at Max. Then he shakes his head. "No, not because of her."

She raises an eyebrow. "But what? Don't you dare give me that 'it's not you, it's me' tour. I've heard that one before."

Spencer has to think for a moment, find the right words, before he answers. "I've lost her so many times. I wouldn't survive it another time."

The two have known each other long enough. Max knows he's not exaggerating or meaning it metaphorically. He has told her about his addiction, and she had been very grateful at the time that he was so honest with her, even though they hadn't known each other long. Spencer knows that all of this is not healthy and psychologically quite far from reasonable and Maxine knows what she has gotten herself into. But no one could have guessed that it would end this way.

"I'm sorry." Spencer's voice sounds hoarse and raspy. He stands up and makes his way toward the apartment door.

"I hope you make it." There's so much honesty in her voice that Spencer has to smile sadly over his shoulder.Maxine doesn't deserve this. None of you deserve this.

The walk to Emily's apartment is short, but to Spencer it feels like an eternity. The train is late, which is why he actually starts running, afraid of missing his chance. He runs until his lungs are burning and his bag is banging painfully against his ribs.The few people left on the streets look at him askance, but he doesn't care. He's panting, barely getting his breath and wishing he was a little more athletic, but as he sprints around the next corner he can already see the building where Emily's apartment is located.

For a brief moment he considers taking a break, catching his breath, but he can't wait another second. Hopefully he's not too late.

He's not surprised that he can just walk into the building, even though he doesn't have a key. He sprints up the stairs, and runs down the hallways until he's gasping for breath and standing in front of the right door, his head high. He bangs on the door with a clenched fist, hoping it will open and he won't be too late. He can't be late. He can't be late.

Finally, the door opens, and for the first time in years, he can take a real breath.

"Y/N."

- taglist closed -

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pastelwitchling · 3 years

Text

Malex Happily Ever After chapter 114 sequel

Part One.

“Yeah,” Alex said into his phone, rubbing his eyes with his other hand. It was noon, but he hadn’t slept all night, consumed instead with his work at the base, his work in dismantling Project Shepherd, his breakup with Forrest, and his desire to talk to Michael about it all.

He had no idea why. It wasn’t like Michael was usually the epitome of comfort, but . . . Alex always thought, stupidly, that once Michael and Maria had ended things, and he and Forrest ended things, and they were both single again, that they would find their way back to each other. But Michael was keeping distance between them and smirking at Alex’s words every now and then, and it just felt a lot like being back where they started.

He plopped down on his couch and hung his head back to stare at the ceiling as Liz kept talking in his ear. She was saying a lot about the lab and bloodwork and finally finding Mr. Jones. Alex was tired, but he kept up fine. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the duffel bag lying halfway under the couch. The duffel bag he’d packed so many months ago when leaving and never coming back had felt like running away. He’d thrown in a few more things over the past year, and constantly found himself looking to it, just barely having forgotten that it was there.

He stopped listening to Liz, thinking about taking that duffel bag now, throwing it in his car, and just driving. It didn’t feel like running away anymore. He’d tried as hard as he could to be with Michael, and now he found himself along again, feeling worse than ever. Because now he knew Michael had loved somebody else. He knew Michael had tried, but not for him.

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose as Liz went on, ending with the question, “So you think you can come by and check it out?”

Alex shook his head. “Er – sorry, come where?”

“Michael’s bunker,” she said. “That’s where we’re testing the serum. No one’s studied the Project Shepherd reports like you have, I’m thinking if anyone can look at the side-effects of the serum and tell us whether or not they match what was done to the prisoners, then –”

“Right,” Alex shut his eyes, not wanting to hear any more about Project Shepherd and the horrible things they’d done. All the things that Michael was still punishing him for by keeping a distance. “I’m on my way.”

Alex did not move for several long minutes, staring instead at the duffel bag. He probably should’ve taken it and left, but hope was annoying that way, and even though a part of him still clung to the idea that he and Michael would end up together, the bigger part growled that if it was going to take this long, and force Alex to endure seeing Michael with anybody else for even a second, then maybe eventually ending up together just wasn’t worth it.

When he finally got to Michael’s bunker, he couldn’t help but remember when Michael had locked that door behind Alex the last time they’d argued in there. Michael never chased after him, and he was just so sick of waiting for him to do it.

He groaned inwardly and rubbed his eyes. Seriously, he thought. What was wrong with him today? He should just be glad the airstream was back in the junkyard. It had gotten really difficult avoiding the Wild Pony for a while.

He made it down the ladder easily enough, and tossed his backpack on the table next to where Michael was working. Michael looked up at him through his glasses and tilted his chin up in silent greeting. Alex was too tired to pretend like that was remotely satisfying, and without responding turned to Liz.

“Hey,” Liz said happily.

“Hi,” Alex crossed his arms. “What’d you want me to take a look at?”

“Well,” Liz handed him some reports, “we wrote down all of the results of the serum.”

“On whom, may I ask?” Alex raised his brow as he took them. “Who was your test subject this time? Max again?”

Instead of answering, Liz’s eyes traveled over to Michael who, until Alex turned to look at him, had been staring at Alex with a pinch in his brows. Alex’s shoulders sagged.

“Tell me you didn’t.”

He shrugged, his smirk humorless. His mask was up again. “We had to get results quick and I was already here.”

“I told you I didn’t want you being experimented on,” Alex argued.

“Mom did it,” he said. “Guess I wanted to see what the big deal was.”

Alex tensed, and Michael’s smirk fell away.

“Yeah, okay.” He took the last of the files and turned to leave.

“Alex, w-wait –”

“Do whatever you want, Guerin,” Alex said. “I’m done trying to talk you down.”

“Alex, come on!” But it was too late. Alex had made it up the ladder and patted his clothes down, heading over to his car. His jaw was clenched and his eyes burned and a suffocating weight sat on his chest, but he walked ahead.

Of course. Of course, Michael would ignore his concerns, of course he’d want to show Alex just how little value his words carried. You’re not her, so I don’t care what you ask me to do. You don’t matter as much as she did, so I don’t care if you worry. You’re not worth trying for, why would you be worth listening to?

“Stop, Private!” Michael caught his arm and turned him around. He still had his glasses on, but he was panting. Eager to ease his guilt, Alex knew, nothing more. When he saw Alex’s face, his own fell. “Are you – are you crying?”

“No,” Alex turned away, wiping his face furiously. Michael stood there, eyes wide, like he never expected to see Alex cry. Oh screw it. “Yes!” Another tear fell, and he didn’t bother wiping it away. “Okay? Yes, I’m crying.”

“B-Because I took a needle?”

“Oh, Guerin, no, it’s not just because of that!” He paced to the end of the airstream and back, then again. He looked up at Michael’s house, and couldn’t help but remember the way it sat so close to the Wild Pony. Because Michael just had to be close to Maria. Alex couldn’t remember Michael ever so much as following him two feet, but he followed Maria?

He came back to stand in front of Michael, his breaths short and painful. “I’ve had a bag ready since I found your damn airstream at the Wild Pony parking lot. I was going to go, and I wasn’t going to come back. I’ve had it ready since you started dating Maria, since Forrest and I broke up, and I still can’t bring myself to just take it and go. I was terrified something would happen to you if you put that damn crap in your veins, and I didn’t want you to end up like the prisoners in Caulfield. You ignored the one thing I asked you to do with a smile on your face like you think it’s funny that I’m scared, and I still can’t just pick up that stupid bag. It’s unfair, Guerin!”

His lower lip trembled, and he looked away, covering his eyes with his hand. “You can move on and love someone else so freaking easily, and I can’t, and it’s so unfair.”

They stood there for a long time, nothing but the wind whistling in their ears and Alex’s quiet cries. Liz seemed to have the good sense to stay in the bunker. Then Michael suddenly came up behind Alex, and wrapped his arms around him tightly.

“Baby,” Michael breathed against the shell of his ear. “I – I didn’t know, Alex,” he whispered, his voice full of pain. “I thought you didn’t care, I thought you wanted me to stay away. I – I was just holding onto easy, no one ever came close to you. I swear, I thought you didn’t want me anymore . . .”

Alex tried to process all of that. Michael sounded sincere, though maybe that was only because Maria had been the one to end things. That’s right, a bitter voice sounded. She ended things. Not him. After he told her he loved her. Then she ended it.

It occurred to Alex then that maybe Michael was holding onto him for a completely different reason.

A disbelieving, miserable chuckle left his lips, and Michael faltered. Alex brought Michael’s hands down. “Just stop it, Guerin,” he said hoarsely, his throat raw. “I already gave you my word that I’d help, I’m not going to stop just because I’m frustrated.” He shook his head, already walking back to his car. He had to get out of here. “You don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore. You’ll still get what you want.”

Before Alex could take in Michael’s shattered expression or read into it, he got in his car, turned it on, and drove away, needing to put as much distance between the man he loved and himself.

Alex woke slowly to the sun just rising. He was surprised he’d made it up so late, but after working through the files last night, he’d passed out just at sunset. He supposed misery, anguish, and a couple of nights of no sleep in a row really put a person out.

He spotted the files on his desk and laid sideways on his bed for a while. He didn’t think he could get back into the nightmares of his family’s past before a good cup of coffee. He stuffed half his face into his pillow and thought of his conversation yesterday with Michael, how unwilling he’d been to eat or drink or do much of anything besides get to work and be useful afterwards. The memory robbed him of even his comfort in bed.

He forced himself up, and when he was washing up in the bathroom, he thought he heard a rustling somewhere outside, but when he turned the faucet off and listened, he didn’t hear anything. Deciding his exhaustion might be making him imagine things that weren’t there, Alex finished up, grabbed his crutches, and made himself a steaming cup of coffee.

He sat down on his couch and rested back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, his eyes fell to the duffel bag halfway hidden. He imagined, yet again, grabbing it now, getting in his car, and driving away without ever coming back. The thought did not make any part of him any happier than he felt now.

There was nothing but the tree branches rustling in the wind, the birds chirping to one another at the morning sun, wheels on gravel in his backyard –

Alex faltered in his thoughts and picked his head up, his brows pinched. He listened closely, and this time, there was no mistaking it; there was someone in his backyard.

“What the hell?” he murmured and set his coffee cup down before grabbing his crutches. He stepped into his backyard, not knowing what he would find (after all, Roswell was a small town, and people were usually good about not bothering military around here), and stopped.

There, behind his circular tables and chairs, was Michael’s airstream. Michael stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel, and smiled at Alex.

He came to stand a foot away from him, his hands twitching at his sides as if eager to reach out and touch. “Can I kiss you good morning?”

Instead of answering, Alex asked, “Guerin, what is this?”

Michael’s smile widened, and he took that as the permission he needed before he closed the distance between them, taking Alex’s face in his hands and kissing his lips both deeply and softly at the same time. He pulled away with a deep sigh, pressing their foreheads together, his eyes closed, as if he could finally breathe.

“I love you,” he whispered, letting his hands fall down Alex’s neck, his shoulders, his arms, and staying on his waist, gripping tightly. “I missed you so much.”

Alex’s eyes started to flutter, but before he could fall into whatever wonderland being around Michael pulled him into, he swallowed and took a step back.

“Why’s your trailer here?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

Michael looked like he hated the distance between them just as much as Alex did, the mask of humor and indifference he usually wore completely gone.

“After Forrest,” he said, “I thought . . . I thought you were better off without me. I thought you wouldn’t want me when you’d already had someone . . . better.” He came closer to Alex, pleading with him to understand. “Alex, I thought you wanted me to stay away. And I was so terrified that I would get too close, and you would hate me, and tell me to leave and not come back. So I stayed a safe distance, and I hated every second of it.”

Alex shook his head. “Why?” he said, his voice breaking despite himself. “Why’d you try so hard for her?”

“It wasn’t for her,” Michael urged. “It was for me. I needed . . . easy. I needed not that bad. I had no idea what I was doing, I acted like Max, I . . .” he shook his head. “Private, I don’t even know who that person was. The only time I felt like myself, like I could actually be myself and still be loved was when I was with you.”

Michael huffed a shaky chuckle, and roughly wiped his face with one hand. “Besides,” he said, “I left that parking lot the next day.” He looked over his shoulder at his airstream as it sat beside Alex’s things, and smiled with such sincerity that Alex hadn’t seen on his face in too long. He looked back at Alex with bright eyes. “But I think this looks good here. Don’t you?”

Alex looked from the airstream to Michael, and he huffed a chuckle. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he sniffed and wiped it away. “I just needed you to show up at my front door.”

Michael laughed, pulling Alex in against him and hugging him tightly. As he buried his face in the crook of Alex’s neck, Alex took his chance to press his face to Michael’s shoulder and inhale his scent.

“I want to do more than show up,” Michael said against his skin. “I want to stay, Alex. I want to stay, please let me stay.”

Alex hugged Michael so closely that nothing could’ve fit between their bodies. He felt Michael’s heart race, Michael’s lips against his neck, Michael whimpering under his breath as he desperately pulled them closer and closer together.

Alex whispered, “Stay, Guerin. I want you to stay.”

***

If you enjoyed reading, even just a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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glacecakes · 3 years

Text

Wild Hunt

Eugene isn't exactly well liked by his men, but when they want to induct him into their ranks, he's not going to complain! All he has to do is hunt down a beast that they prepared for this event specifically-

It's Varian. Eugene is accidentally hunting down Varian. Now the two have to survive the night together, while one of them is injured, against a squadron of Corona's best men.

Uh oh.

IM BACK! Kinda. Finals are due Tuesday and I wrote this instead of doing them but WHATEVER WHO CARES

This was mostly written on the Varian Hivemind server, with some lovely inputs from the folks on there, and I edited it and finished it before throwing it up here. So uh. Yea. Team Awesome my beloved

Life and Times and VVO will also be updated soon!!! I hope to have at least one if not both chapters done by the end of the month

ANYWAY HERES 8K OF TEAM AWESOME ANGST

Being Captain of the Guards sure had its perks.

For one, he got to attend meetings with Rapunzel, finally. You'd think being the princess's future husband (probably) and Prince of the Dark Kingdom got him some recognition, but noblemen are jerks and elitists, so what can you do. Granted, the meetings were boring as all hell, but still, it felt like he was actually being respected and taken seriously. Something Rapunzel had been pushing for since the start. Personally, he wasn't all that sure he deserved it, but if she was happy, so was he.

Another was that the guards no longer gave him shit. That's not to say they did before... well, they did. Stan and Pete didn't, but every other guard called him Flynn Rider at least once or twice before begrudgingly accepting him as their teacher and now commander. He no longer had to worry about someone breathing down his back, waiting for him to slip up or commit a crime, eager to throw him back in prison.

Speaking of which...

He turned the corner to see a few guards, couldn't remember their names off the top of his head, forming a small circle around a corner. Their predatory grins barred down on whatever their target was, whichever poor soul had angered them. One of them had his hands on someone much shorter, so short he couldn't make them out beyond the red coats and gleaming gold... which could only mean it was one person.

"Don't get comfy, brat," the one hissed, pushing Varian up against the wall with an audible crack as a skull hit stone, no doubt hoisted up by a shirt collar. "One of these days the princess is gonna get sick of you, and when she does, we'll toss you back into your old cell... and we'll restart our favorite game. Ain't that a swell idea?" Varian hissed, a soft thunk of his boots scrambling for purchase against the wall.

"Hey!" Eugene snapped, having heard more than enough. "Put him down now ." His words were like fire, causing the other two to jump back and reveal the battered and bruised alchemist. His lip was split, a large scuff of dirt on his white shirt.

One of the guards snapped his head around, whacking the leader's shoulder to get his attention. The guard frowned. "Oh yea? Or what?"

Before his new position, he would've leapt into the fray, hackles raised, punching the lights out of these jerks, but now, he had a much better stance. "Or you're fired." He crossed his arms, the perfect picture of a guy in charge who knew how to keep his men in line.

Someone who was clearly not him.

The guard hummed. "You don't have the nerve." To emphasize his point, he shook Varian a little harder, the kid's toes barely scraping the floor and his hands gripping the soldier's wrists. Leather gloves creaked with how tight the pressure was.

But Eugene's glare didn't waver, hand itching for the sword at his hip, his anger radiating in waves. It was enough to get the other two to back off.

"Cmon, Aaron," one whispered. "It's not worth it."

"Yeah, it's not." Eugene agreed. "Put him down now, and I'll lighten your sentence to a week in the stables instead of a month."

Aaron's face turned sheet white, then bright red. With a huff, he dropped Varian to the ground, readjusting his gloves while Varian cried out on the floor.

"You got lucky this time, brat," he hissed.

Oh, he knew that type of speech. The Baron used it all the time. Anyone who got told that never lasted to the next month. "And all other times," he said. "Because if I see you go anywhere near him I'm taking you to the princess."

Aaron rolled his eyes, clearly uncaring, and stormed off with a huff, his buddies trailing after. No doubt they didn't like a criminal ordering them around. Or, ex-criminal. He'd have to keep an eye on them.

A sniffle broke Eugene's musings, the fog of satisfaction and annoyance quickly replaced by concern for his younger friend. Varian sat up, wincing as he did so. He rubbed his neck, feeling for any injuries and finding none except for his ruined collar. "Aw man," he mumbled.

Dad had fixed his collar for him that day, a proud smile on his face. "You need to look sharp for your first day on the job," he'd said, ruffling Varian's hair. They'd grown so much closer in the past few months, the man always seeing his son off. Today was the first day back after his kidnapping, after all; he'd spent a month recovering from a broken rib.

"It's not my first day, I've been working there for weeks," Varian had grumbled, but let him do it with a cheeky grin.

"First day of the week," Quirin rectified, placing a kiss to his baby's forehead.

A forehead now covered in dust and a bruise.

"Hey kid," Eugene offered a hand that Varian gladly took, stumbling a little as he was helped upright. "You ok? Nothing knocked outta place?"

"Just my pride," Varian joked, smile quickly fading. "I'm ok though, really. I'm used to it." He shrugged, hugging himself for comfort. Maybe he could pretend dad was here, hugging him... he always had the best hugs. Even when Varian was little, before they drifted apart. Back when he was just the weird magic kid. Back when his biggest worries were some older kids picking on him... Dad would always scoop him up into a big hug with flowery words and a book of Flynn Rider.

A warm hand wrapped around him, pulling him into a red chest. Eugene took his other hand to ruffle Varian's hair, earning a squawk of complaint.

"Just because you're used to it doesn't mean it's ok, you know that, right?" Silence followed. Gosh, this kid... say what you want about being an orphan, at least everyone around you was on the same boat. No place for bullies, nothing to bully about, when everyone was doing just as badly. "If they ever give you more trouble, you come to me, yeah?"

"Huh?" Confused blue eyes met warm brown.

Eugene smirked. "You say the words and I boot them out of the castle, goggles. Team Awesome looks out for each other."

"Oh," Varian mumbled, dazed. He'd never had a protector, never had anyone looking out for him. Cold sneers and flowery words, manipulation and secrets and ulterior motives, sure. His chest fluttered, a laugh escaping.

But then... the anxiety returned full force, maybe even stronger.

If those guys got fired because of him, good god, he could only imagine the fallout. Well, that's not true. He absolutely could. One time in prison a guard got fired for beating a cellmate within an inch of his life, and though the guy lived, the second he was out of prison he got jumped, or so the story goes. In all honesty it was probably an embellished truth, stretched out to frighten prisoners into silence, but god damn if it didn't work. No one ever complained about their beatings. A peep was all that was needed to spend a night in the infirmary for even worse injuries.

"No, no, it's fine," Varian flicked his wrist. The dial on his hand spun with each flick, the ticking grating. "Besides, we have work to do!"

"Oh, yea!" Eugene gasped. Right! The whole reason he came out to this part of the castle was to look for Varian specifically, after all.

"So, right, maintenance stuff." Varian waved his hand, motioning for Eugene to follow. "Here's what I had in mind..."

It was a week later, late at night, when Aaron approached him. The moon lay low in the sky, just bright enough to allow for vision without torchlight, but not bright enough that anything beyond shapes were clear. True to his word, the guard had been stationed on stable duty for the past several days, coming back to the barracks covered in dirt and angry every time.

So maybe Eugene had whispered to Max about him. Big deal.

Anyway, the captain was knee-deep in paperwork when Aaron knocked on his office door. "Sir," he said. "Finished up for the day, and I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh?" Eugene put his quill down hesitantly. Aaron was his first big show of power, the first punishment he'd dished. Everything else had been a variation of "keep doing what you're doing" as he settled into his new role. Who knew being in a position of power was so stressful?

(Everyone. Literally everyone.)

"I wanted to apologize for testing you, sir." The man shifted, eyes never meeting. His face was unreadable. "I wasn't sure you were going to be as..... sharp, as our previous captain. And I'm sorry for that."

"....Ok," Eugene said. "Thanks? I think?"

"So, I uh... wanted to do something for you." The man continues. "Me and a few others. It's sorta a ritual for guards. We didn’t do it before cuz of, yknow, Cassandra and stuff. And you're one of us now, so...?" He raised an eyebrow, a quiet invitation.

Oh boy.

Knowing these guys, it was probably something really stupid. Most of the guards were pretty nice, maybe a bit airheaded, but a lot of meatheads mostly. Big fans of machismo and showing their strength, boosting their ego, stuff like that. It's why none of them were fans of being run by a criminal. And no doubt Eugene would have to clean up their mess anyway, so he sighed deeply and rose from his seat. "Alright, what did you do now?"

Aaron placed a hand to his chest. "Why, sir, we did this out of the goodness of our heart! We're just welcoming you to the team!" He laughed a bit at that last part. He pointed out the door, leading his superior down the suspiciously empty barracks, and out into the courtyard.

About a dozen or so guards were outside, waiting. One of them was holding a horse's reins, and a crossbow.

"He's in!" Aaron called, and the guards all broke into cheers and raucous laughter.

"Yea, nice to see you guys too, uh. What am I... in?" Eugene asked, shifting awkwardly.

Aaron's smile widened. "It's just a fun little game, sir."

"The game is simple, really," Aaron slung an arm around Eugene's shoulder, pulling him close, not unlike how Lance does. But unlike his larger friend, this man is wiry, more of a weaselly kind of build, with stick thin arms that hide his muscle. "See, when someone new joins the guard, we test their skill by having them hunt down a beast in the nearby forest. Once they catch it, we all celebrate together! And welcome him into the ranks!" The guards all cheered, no doubt thrilled at the prospect.

"....right...." Eugene smiled uncomfortably, cheeks pulling and stretching, a puppet controlling the strings attached to his face. His stomach swirled, bouncing all over as he was passed around.

"But see, you're not just any guard, you're the Captain," Aaron's smile took an equally unpleasant demeanour. "So we figured we'd give you some extra... challenge." Outside of their little circle, no sounds could be heard. Not a peep from a cricket, or a cry from a bird, just dead silence in the surrounding glen. Just the crackle of torches, and the rustling of men.

"The beast for this occasion is small, smart, and fast. The goal is to catch it before it reaches the wall at Old Corona. All you gotta do is," he makes a noise with his mouth to emulate the crossbow. "Hit the target, and the rest of us will finish the job."

"Finish?" Eugene echoed.

The guards around him smiled with all of their teeth. "Well yea, we're not just gonna waste a perfectly good beast, are we?"

Eugene narrowed his eyes. If Rapunzel heard about this, no doubt she'd flip. "How will I know what I'm looking for? And why should I even approve of this?"

"Relax, sir," Aaron shook him, patting his chest with a heavy fist. "We're not just killing an innocent creature. It's always something that's been marked for slaughter, or is causing problems. And trust me," his voice deepened. "You'll know."

No horse was as good as Max, but that was probably for the best, what with his gut screaming about how this all felt so goddamn sketchy. "This isn't some trap where it turns out I'm the one being hunted, right? Cuz I don't want to shoot any of you with this," he joked, brandishing the crossbow.

"No, sir, not at all! In fact we'll be supporting you! No one makes the first shot until you do." He promised, patting the horse's flank. "Rest assured, no tricks here. Just a beast already marked for capture. Or recapture, in this case. We picked this one special for you."

"That sounds like it's supposed to be flattering but it really isn't."

Aaron shrugged. "Not my problem. Good luck!" With a smack to the horse, she cried out, spurring Eugene forward.

They rode through the Capital, out into Corona proper, lush with trees. At this time of night, no one would be about, not even thieves, laden in their straw beds and cots. The only things out right now are animals, or a beast, in this case. How is he supposed to know what he's looking for? What, is it going to be some giant thing with red eyes? No, Aaron said it was small, how the hell is he going to...

Then he hears it.

It's faint, almost like a windchime, but sure enough, the clanking of chains, and a small whimper. Somewhere through the trees there's a rustling, something moving. He can't make it out, the guards didn't give him a torch, but a blob of something rushes forward, the only thing he can make out the distinctive shine of metal, a chain reflecting in the moonlight.

Ah.

Eugene smirked, the rush of adrenaline from a chase beginning to pump through his veins. It'd been a while since an adventure without any stakes, without any daring challenges or risking death. The last time must've been... gosh, probably the Herz de Sonne misadventure? And even then he and Lance had just goofed off for the majority of it. Maybe the Spire? That one was much riskier but he and Rapunzel had been so outrageously drunk during that whole endeavor that it felt more like a fun jaunt.

He shook himself out of his reverie. Focus, Eugene! Fun or no, you're proving yourself to the guards! Show them that you're a worthy Captain beyond just barking orders and supporting the princess!

He spurred the horse forward, hooves thundering against the undergrowth and disturbing the leaves below. The beast let out a shriek, shrill and shaking, rushing forward. It weaved between trees, trying to throw Eugene off. Man, Aaron wasn't kidding about how fast it was. Even on horseback he couldn't keep up very well. The chains wrapped around the beast's legs screamed in complaint, clanking and clattering with each huff of its breath.

Eugene lowered the crossbow, sticking his tongue out. Steady... steady.... he fired.

The bolt whizzed through the air, lodging into a tree just a few feet away from its target. The beast flinched but didn't slow, scampering through the undergrowth, leaping over a fallen tree towards the river.

"Hyah!" He yelled, leading his horse over the log and splashing down into frigid waters. Water rushed past his horse's hooves, dulling the sound of chains, and when he looked around, the beast was gone.

Drat.

Eugene grumbled, reloading the crossbow before urging his horse onward. If this beast got away he'd never hear the end of it! They'd be all "Yes sir, Captain! We'll catch that criminal! As soon as you catch that beast!" And then they'd laugh and he'd moan and he'd have to go catch the criminal himself which is honestly not too far off from how it is already-

Anyway.

It took a few minutes to find it again, the beast trying to muffle it's movements by shuffling, but the metal song was too alluring to ignore. There was no time to waste. With the horse at a fast trot, quieter and steadier, he fired the bolt, this time getting much closer, barely whizzing past the silhouette and lodging into a tree trunk with a chunk of hair.

The creature cried out again, beginning to run and renew this dance of cat and mouse, but Eugene wouldn't have it. Dexterous fingers clasped a new bolt and quickly reloaded, giving barely a few seconds for the creature to try and run before firing again.

He didn't miss.

It was almost silent, the bolt's descent. Its tip gleamed in the moonlight alongside the chains keeping his prey in place, the one thing that slowed it and gave Eugene the upper hand. Whatever this beast was was quick, too quick, and if he lost it again, no doubt he'd never find it again. So when he aimed, he aimed down, and sure enough, the bolt embedded itself into the beast's calf, sending into stumbling.

It shrieked, screamed and sobbed in agony, noises bordering on almost human-like as it thrashed on the floor. The arrow stuck straight up, bright color on the end almost a beacon for the beast's location. Poor thing. He really should've just aimed for the head and put it out of its mercy, but this was the only way to ensure a clean shot.

Eugene slid off his horse, crouching low to the ground as he readied the final blow. But as he got nearer, as the moon hung lower in the sky, providing light through the filtering trees. He hesitated.

The beast was crawling, still trying to run, front legs pawing at the forest floor and clenching the leaves beneath with hands.

Hands...?

Eugene's stomach sank, lower and lower with each passing step, heart climbing higher and higher in his throat, the closer he got, the more ill he felt.

He saw the chains first. No, not chains like that on a cattle’s neck. Prison shackles, the kind wrapped around a prisoner's legs. And they were wrapped around legs, keeping strides from being too large.

And their torso.... clothed torso..... The beast heaved, each breath causing it to rise and fall with rapid panic.

The Captain's hands brushed against the tree with his other bolt embedded in it, eyes trailing onto it, and he froze.

Blue hair, stabbed by the bolt.

"No," he breathed. "No no no no no..." His boots picked up the pace, speed walking over to his catch, to his victim. Please, for the love of god, let him be wrong. Let this be a cruel prank, just a bear or deer dressed up to fool him... don't let it be...!

The creature heard him approach and sobbed, flipping itself over on shaking hands to get a better look at its assailant.

There, lightened by the moonlight, chest heaving, tears streaming down his face and blood oozing from his leg, was Varian.

"Varian....?" Eugene whispered, tears of his own budding when his friend whimpered, scooting back and away. With each step forward Varian scrambled back until his back hit a tree, at which point he curled into a ball. Like a frightened animal. Like a cornered beast.

Oh god... this whole time, he thought it was just one of the farm animals marked for slaughter, or a meddlesome woodland critter... he thought it was an animal destined for someone's table, so why not the guards'? Why on Earth did he agree to this? Was he so desperate for approval from his peers that he would simply shrug off the ringing alarm bells, put aside his gut instinct, and dive in blindly?

Yes, his mind whispered. You would, and you did.

"Hey, buddy," He leaned down, inching closer. "Varian, goggles, it's me. It's Team Awesome." His hand shook as he reached forward, but Varian flinched violently, causing his leg to spasm. The boy hiccuped, a hand clamping over his mouth to stifle his sobs. A small mercy came from the shadows of the night, with it too dark for details, Varian wouldn't see the blood rapidly soaking his pants.

The crossbow glinted, a sharp refraction bouncing off frightened blue eyes and causing him to wince. Eugene tossed the weapon away like it burned him.

"It's me, it's Eugene," he reassured, scooting closer bit by bit. "I'm here to help. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You did," Varian gasped, whole form shaking. "You did."

And that really was the crux of it, wasn't it? At the center of Eugene's self loathing was the spiral of guilt that you shot him, you shot the kid. He trusted you, and you shot him.

"I know," he rasped, trying to keep his voice level. "I did. I'm so sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry." Varian sobbed, unfurling slightly if only to reach out for comfort. Even if this was the man who hurt him, who hunted him on horse and acted as the boogeyman straight out of nightmares, he was also Eugene, his friend, the one who stood up for him against Cass and Aaron, held his hand and promised he'd be there if Varian ever needed it. And god did he need him now.

Shaking, gloved hands connected in the middle, Eugene's grip gentle but grounding, a careful smile on his face. "That's it, bud. You're safe."

“Aw, ain’t that cute?”

Faster than a bullet, the smaller hand retracted, Varian’s eyes wide and horror-struck. In his attempt to comfort the boy, Eugene had let his guard down. He’d forgotten the final rule of the game.

No one moves until you make the first shot.

They were surrounded.

Aaron swaggered up to the duo with a grin, torch in hand. It flickered and sputtered, illuminating his blinding white grin amidst the darkness. The other guards formed a circle around them. Every other man carried a torch, while the rest had a weapon or tool or rope.

“The Captain has captured the beast! And in remarkable time, too.” Aaron simpered, waltzing up and gripping Varian’s cheeks in his hand. The boy snarled, teeth grit as he stared up at his bully.

From behind them came Aaron’s two buddies, the guards from before, each one wrapping an arm around Eugene’s shoulder, hauling him up and away.

For a moment, Eugene's insides were pure ice, frozen in time, unable to react despite the screaming in his mind as the puzzle pieces failed to connect. They jumbled and sloshed in his mind, the picture only half complete and the rest of the pieces strewn atop, obscuring the image from his view.

"Eugene...?" Varian whispered, thawing him.

"What have you done!?" He bellowed, anger hardening his voice. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" He strained against the guards.

"Just as we told you, sir!" Aaron mocked, forcing Varian to meet the Captain's gaze. "We captured a beast for you to hunt down! And now that you have," The grin was razor sharp, shark's fangs practically drenched in blood. "We'll dispose of it properly."

A guard from the circle threw a rope, the ends tied into a loop. Like a ring toss, the aim was true, ensnaring Varian's wrist and tightening when he pulled. Another guard followed suit, yanking the boy back and forth till his arms were spread eagle and unable to move.

Varian turned a stark white, paler than the moon that neared the horizon. He cried out, straining to try and escape, but another spasm from his leg paralyzed him. “N-no, please not again…!” He sobbed. “Let me go-!”

"Again!? Varian, what do you mean? VARIAN!" Eugene yelled. "VARIAN!"

The boy screwed his eyes shut, praying for the nightmare to end.

"LET HIM GO!" Eugene strained against the guards, lamenting once again, his own stupidity. He should've brought Max, or an actual weapon, like his sword, or something! He'd gone in totally blind, expecting that the guards were decent people and that this wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary. Honestly, he should've known better! After everything he's seen and done, never leave the house without a concealed weapon! You were almost executed by half these assholes!

When he gets back, he's firing everyone except Stan and Pete.

A third rope flashed through the air, this time with a loop larger than the others. It latched itself onto Varian's neck, wrapping tight and close. His eyes snapped open in pure terror, mouth opening in shock. But before the boy could protest or scream, the rope was pulled taut, and his face turned an awful shade of purple. He coughed, thrashing in place with tears of fear and hypoxia trailing his cheeks.

"Aw, the beast is scared! Doesn't he know how all animals are slaughtered?" Aaron cooed, faux sympathy marring his features. "You know, don't you? You were raised on a farm, after all." His question went unanswered, Varian too busy rasping for breath to respond.

The man with the rope pulled harder, forcing Varian's face down into the dirt where his muffled cries barely caused the leaves beneath to move. A steel boot stomped onto his head, and the cries went still.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?" Eugene bellowed, the protective instincts in his mind going haywire, overheating and exploding with pure rage and an intense need to save him, free him. He let this happen, if he had been smarter, stronger, if he hadn't shot him, hadn't let his guard down, hadn't shrugged and taken the guards' words at face value… “Oh relax, it'll be painless!” Aaron hummed, producing a knife from his belt. “The beast didn’t answer the question, but, I’m sure you can figure out how animals are killed after falling unconscious.” He jokingly slashed the dagger in the air above his throat, and Eugene saw red.

"YOU ARE SO FIRED!" He screeched at Aaron. "WHEN RAPUNZEL FINDS OUT-"

"Oh?" Aaron mocked, turning around and placing a hand to his chest daintily. "When the princess finds out? You're making her do all the heavy lifting?" He sauntered up to Eugene, hips swaying with each step till they were nose to nose. "This is your job, sir. You are in charge of keeping us in line, keeping the prisoners in their place."

"Varian is NOT a prisoner," Eugene hissed, meeting his gaze with pure fury. "He is a friend, my friend, my brother."

"Perhaps to Eugene Fitzherbert, but not a Captain of the Guard." Aaron shrugged.

Eugene lowered his head. For a brief moment, Aaron grinned victoriously. Now he's getting it.

"Too bad for you, I'm both."

Aaron's face fell, the cheerful facade falling into a brutal glower. "What does that mea-"

He was cut off when Eugene slammed his face into Aaron's, hitting the bastard's nose with a CRUNCH. He staggered back, and his buddies loosened their grip on Eugene to see if he's ok. It's all the advantage Eugene needed, quickly pushing them both off him and charging Aaron. His shoulder bowled into Aaron, sending him sprawling, and Eugene only stopped to grab the dagger he dropped before sprinting for Varian's crumpled form.

"Oh sun, please be ok, come on kid," Eugene chanted, slashing the rope around his neck. It leaves a brutal ring of red around his neck, as do the ones around his wrist when they're dispatched. There was no time to remove the chains, what with the remaining guards quickly regaining their senses and gearing up for a fight.

He lifted Varian up into his arms as if he were made of glass. Dark black hair lolled against the Captain's chest as he stood to his full height, glaring down at his employees, the hazers, the conspirators.

There was no hope of taking them all on, that much was clear. Charging into battle with hands full and armed only with a knife was stupid. He'd have to outrun them, play the game, and make it to Old Corona where Quirin could protect his son and he could get actual backup from loyal men.

Perhaps this was the true game, the true test of his worthiness.

Aaron snarled, staggering up while clutching his nose. "GET HIM!"

Eugene crouched, letting the first guard try and charge him before jumping out of the way at the last second. This he was used to, dodging men who wanted nothing more than to hurt and destroy what he held dear, making a run for it to the relative safety of the familiar. He fell into the old routine without too much difficulty, leaping over heads and ducking under blows. It helped that Varian barely weighed more than a few grapes, still a stick from his year in prison. He and the others had been hard at work trying to help him gain at the very least some muscle, though Varian was a big fan of skipping meals for science.

According to Quirin he's had that habit for a while, and right now it was a minor blessing.

Huh, he thought to himself as he dodged a crossbow bolt, taking off into the trees. Captain of the Guard isn't all that off from my usual life, just with some added benefits. Another arrow nearly took off his ear. Yea, same old stuff.

His feet pounded against the forest floor, dredging up leaves and dirt alike as he ran. There was no time to cover his tracks or be discreet, there was a whole battalion after him, so it wouldn't do much good anyway. But as his steps quickened, as Varian bounced up and down in his arms, the chains still rattling, the boy stirred, groaning in pain with each motion.

"Gene...?" He mumbled, muffled through the man’s coat.

"Hey kid," Eugene grinned down, not slowing for a second. "Glad to see you're ok. How's your throat?"

"On fire..." a weak hand pawed at his throat, rubbing the soreness away.

"Sorry about that, you're gonna be just fine, ok? It's all gonna be ok."

Varian hummed, eyes glossy and not fully there. His head fell back onto Eugene's chest, a soft smile full of love that he didn't deserve. "K. I trust you."

Varian fell back into an uneasy sleep after that, his breaths wheezing against Eugene, lips stained blue and face clammy. Anytime exhaustion tried to creep into his bones, tried to sneak into his soul and drain him to surrender, he looked down at Varian and his spirit would renew.

At some point, they were hiding behind a tree, keeping to the intense darkness. A few guards could be heard not too far off, their annoyed mutterings like an alarm bell, a siren's song of false security. Just as they passed, Varian coughed, clutching at the fabric for comfort. It was an ugly sound, weak and ragged, as if there was something coming up.

When he looked down, those blue lips were now stained red.

He picked up the pace after that.

But even he couldn't run forever, no matter how light Varian was or how determined he was. Inevitably he had to stop for water, hiding Varian behind a fallen tree and drinking from a stream whose sounds hid them from view.

He just finished his own drink when Varian stirred, and the Captain was quick to help Varian get some water of his own.

They sat by the stream for a bit, catching their breaths, Eugene from exertion, and Varian from strangulation.

It was here that Varian recounted his side of the story, tears dripping and mixing with the stream below him. "I was so scared..." he whispered, voice hoarse.

"I bet," Eugene soothed, running a thumb over Varian's palm. "What happened?"

"....I got jumped," his eyes turned downcast, shame coloring his features. "T-they grabbed me when I was gonna head home. Said that they wanted to make it up to me, to... to give me "a job befitting my talents"...." He sighed. "You can probably guess what that was, huh."

Eugene's ears burned. A flame simmered in his gut, nausea falling away as his free hand clenched at the leaves below him. "Yea. I can." He bit out.

For a moment, neither spoke, unsure of what to say. What could they say? The situation was insane, it was cruel, it was... it was…

Varian hacked, more blood than before coming up and splattering on the shackles that remained.

"Oh, let me get those," Eugene hissed. "I'm sorry, shit," He fumbled for his pockets, procuring a lock pick and making quick work of the shackles. "We gotta move. We can't let them find us." His hands hovered over the bolt, unsure. "Can I... I mean, you can't run with..."

Varian turned a shade of green, barely visible. “It’s stopping the blood from coming out.”

"Yea, good point, sorry." He coughed awkwardly, the stream bubbling and gurgling a simple melody.

"Why do... why do you keep apologizing?" Varian asked, not meeting Eugene's eye for a second.

"Wh- seriously?" He let out a bark of laughter, fading when Varian's face didn't change. "Kid, it's my fault you're in this mess! Sun above, I shot you. I said I'd keep you safe and I shot you." Anger swelled in his words, but Varian didn't flinch. He knew it wasn't directed at him. "Some Captain I am, I'm being chased by my own guys."

Varian bit his lip. "Did..." he hesitated to ask. If the answer wasn't what he was hoping for, he'd never recover. "Did you know it was me?"

"No!" Eugene's eyes widened. "No, I never would've agreed if I knew it was a person, let alone you!" He ran a hand through frazzled hair.

"So..." Varian hummed. "You shot me on accident, and then saved me. Again. Even when your men tried to convince you otherwise." Each sentence was slow, filled with Varian needed to take in a breath, but he met his friend's eyes this time. "I think that's a pretty good Captain."

Eugene blinked, then smiled. "Thanks, kid."

Dark voices shouted across the clearing, words incomprehensible. Varian jolted, hands flying up before doubling over hacking. Each cough shook his body so hard you’d think the boy was trembling with fright.

“Woah, easy,” Eugene’s hand rubbed over his back. “Deep breaths. Come on goggles. You got this.”

“You would think,” Varian rasped. “But I do not.”

Finally, with one final hack, his coughs ceased. Each gulp of air felt like heaven, or at least it did for the first few seconds. Then it was replaced by a searing hell, leaving him scrambling again.

God, what is the culprit?

As his breathing quieted, as the burn turned to a small simmer, Varian’s eyes trailed to the forest floor beneath him.

Stained with blood.

Varian’s eyes widened, his pupils shrunk to pinpricks as his entire world focused in on the blood. The dark blues of night left it hard to see, more a black shine than the vicious red, but there was no denying what it was.

“What-oooh,” Eugene hissed, grabbing Varian’s shoulders for support. Shit, this was bad. He made a mental list of symptoms for the inevitable doctor visit: raspy voice, struggling to breathe, coughing up blood... all signs pointed to the noose as the culprit. Whichever guard had tried to strangle Varian was getting fired and arrested.

No, screw it, all of them were.

“Focus on me, hair stripe,” he warned, shaking his brother slightly. “Are you ok to move?” All he got was a weedy moan. “I’m taking that as a maybe.” With no preamble, he scooped his arms under Varian’s knees and back, pulling him into his arms as he stood in one fluid motion. “I’m gonna try and make a run for it, ok? We’re almost to your dad. I just need you to stay with me.”

Silence, and then a faint nod moving against his coat.

Each step sent vibrations up Eugene’s spine, tingling and thrumming in his veins and pounding in time with his heart. The sun would be rising soon, it had to be, with the dew that is forming at his feet.

At some point Varian readjusted, shifting so that he could see over their shoulders. He couldn’t run, couldn’t fight, but at least he could keep an eye out.

And it’s a good thing he did, when he beats wildly at Eugene’s chest in a signal. The captain was about to duck behind a bush, but the forest’s edge is within sight! Maybe if they made a break for it...?

An arrow grazed his side.

The pain looped through his system, joining the adrenaline for a joyride through his mind and it sent him sprawling. Varian rolled out of his arms, collapsing at the forest’s edge.

Eugene groaned, raising his face with the sun to see Aaron’s smug grin glowing in the upcoming dawn.

“Well, look what I caught! A daddy beast and a baby beast!” He said.

Eugene gaped. “Could you be any creepier? Really, gotta go for the weirdest shit to say, don’t you?”

“Eh,” Aaron shrugged, crossbow in hand. He stepped past his boss (Er, ex boss), boots crunching on leaves and leaving nothing but dust in their wake. “I’m a weird guy, I guess.”

“Yea, a real weirdo. Kidnaps a teenager and has the captain hunt him for sport. A nice quirk, ain’t it!” Each word is angrier than before until he is spitting acid.

Aaron doesn’t even argue; he’s too caught up in his victory. Varian shook as he struggled to sit up, arms quivering with effort. Just as he raised his head his eyes met the gleaming tip of an arrow, aimed right between the eyes. “Say goodnight, kid. Don’t worry. I’ll make a fine trophy out of you. Hang your goggles over my mantle.”

“Would you knock it the fuck off!?” Eugene wheezed, scrambling up. His feet gave out near instantly, but he leapt forward, colliding with the guard and driving his aim up. The arrow whizzed overhead, harmlessly lodging into a tree.

“Varian, run!” Eugene yelled, still on top of the other.

“I CAN’T! What part of arrow in my leg don’t you get!?” Varian yelled, immediately followed by coughing.

Eugene went to answer, only for the butt of the crossbow to whack him in the face.

Aaron laughed, loud and manic, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. It was quickly stopped by a punch to his stomach from the furious man above him. If the others found them, it’d be game over. Literally.

Whether or not Eugene would be killed was unclear. While he didn’t always need Rapunzel to save him, her good graces granted him immunity from most local threats. But they’d definitely kill Varian, and that was the bigger concern to him.

Unfazed, Aaron slammed his skull into Eugene’s, sending him tearing back. The guard quickly flipped them, crossbow still in between.

“Face it,” Aaron snarled. “You’ll never be a true captain. You can’t control your men, can’t protect a kid, can’t even protect yourself. You just got the job because you saved the lost princess.”

“In my defense,” Eugene wheezed. “Your previous guard couldn’t do that either.” That only angered him more, digging the crossbow into Eugene’s Adam’s apple.

The two men wrestled briefly, Eugene finally getting a good grip on the crossbow, and kicking Aaron off of him. He scrambled to Varian, fully prepared to scoop him up and begin the dance again, just for a little longer, but Aaron just yelled out in anger, drawing a sword from his belt. As strong as Eugene was, he couldn’t outrun him with Varian in his arms. He would know, he trained his men to match him in speed and strength.

Varian moaned in pain. He had to do something, he couldn’t just sit here! Eugene had spent the whole night running around, working his ass off to keep him safe after the initial mistake, he couldn’t let him down...

But the arrow scraped against his bone, pain sending stars across his vision any time he stood…

The captain’s hands clenched down on wood, eyes calculating. He looked into Varian’s eyes, then down at his leg. Then up again. And down again. He hissed between teeth, kneeled down, and clenched his fist around the arrow. It sent a pulse of pain through Varian’s leg, the boy wincing, but understanding.

“Do it,” he hissed.

And yanked.

The pain was so sharp, so intense, that for a moment Varian was certain he was dead. There was no way anyone could survive with this much pain, he must surely be dead or dying. White hot agony stabbed into his leg, and he bit so hard on his lip he broke skin. It took everything in him not to scream.

Aaron laughed again, shadow blanketing them. Eugene turned to see him looming over them, sword above his head. “Say goodnight, Sir!” he shrieked.

Fwip!

Thunk!

The man’s grin vanished in an instant, replaced by sheer shock at the arrow sticking straight into his throat. Blood trickled down the wound, looking more like an impulse tracheotomy. Suddenly, he pitched forward, face hitting the forest floor with a sickening shick as the arrow went the rest of the way through his throat. There wasn’t even a struggle, no death rattles or cry of pain, just the sounds of a morning dove in the coming dawn.

Eugene’s shoulders slumped, and Varian leaned back into the cool grass.

“You doing alright there, Goggles?” Eugene called.

“My lungs are on fire, I can’t feel my legs and I’m sweating in places I didn’t even know I could sweat. I’d say I’m in the mood to die, but I literally just spent the whole night trying to prevent that.”

“...fair enough.”

The weeks that followed were, for lack of a better term, a total fucking nightmare.

After pulling themselves together, the brothers managed to hobble to Varian’s house in Old Corona, just in time to greet Quirin at the door. Imagine the poor man’s shock when he was headed out to work only to be greeted by his son’s blood and the captain’s exhaustion. Suffice to say, they got a proper tongue lashing the whole cart ride to Corona proper, the father fussing over them both while he rushed them to the infirmary. And then they had to get chewed out by Rapunzel, and Lance, and pretty much everyone else, despite their repeated insistence that it wasn’t their fault this time.

“What did you expect us to do? We were being hunted!” Eugene whined at Rapunzel while a nurse cleaned up a cut.

“Uh, I was being hunted. You were hunting me .” Varian hoarsely piped up from his own bed, leg propped up in a cast. He paused at the frantic stop motion Eugene was making, and the paling faces of his father and princess. “Oh. Was I. Not supposed to say that.”

“You’re not supposed to be talking,” Rapunzel chided lightly, though that was clearly not the problem. The doctor had been pretty quick to explain Varian’s breathing issues were just from the throat trauma, and would heal with time and supervision.

“I didn’t know! In my defense,” Eugene held up his hands as if to shield from Quirin’s murderous face, but if looks could kill he’d be a pile of bones. “I didn’t know.”

“How do you…” Quirin pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to remind myself that you saved my son’s life and ignore the part where you endangered it in the first place.”

“Yes, please do,” He said, shifting under the glare.

And then came the paperwork.

Trying to figure out who among the guards was part of the hunt was hard enough, seeing as outside of Aaron and his cronies, no one was going to say a word. All they had to go off of were the men who saw Eugene off, and the ones who initially captured Varian. And since they hadn’t run into anyone else directly, no one could be properly accused and charged. But Eugene wasn’t going to take any chances, and therefore anyone who he saw at least once was fired, and if they wanted to dispute it they could come to him and explain why they were willing to throw his little brother to the wolves.

Suffice to say, no one did. Which left Eugene with only two thirds his original squadron. He spent a good while of his recovery vetting new recruits and creating incentives for others to try out, and while he was able to replenish his ranks, they weren’t nearly the same elite task force they’d started with. And considering the threats they faced on the regular, that was a serious problem.

It was after a long day of training and interviews that Eugene finally stumbled into the castle library, ready to destress with a nice long binge read of Flynn Rider. He grabbed a few books off the shelves as he walked, headed for his favorite couch and the cozy fireplace at its side, only to stop dead in his tracks.

Varian lay spread across the couch, foot propped up on the armrest as he glossed over some scientific text that Eugene had no hope of understanding. His eyes flitted up and down the page, clearly not actually reading and more just staring at the words.

“Hey,” Eugene called, and Varian barely reacted. “Oi, kid, that’s my spot. Scooch it.” “I got here first,” Varian said, not looking up for a second.

“Older brother gets first dibs.”

“Little brother gets his way.”

Oh he was gonna play it like that was he? Eugene smirked, plopping his books down at the floor before collapsing directly on top of Varian, making care to not crush the injured leg. Varian squawked in protest, limbs flailing.

“Get off! You’re heavy!” he yelled, trying to push him off. When that failed, he resorted to whacking at him.

“Never!” Eugene laughed. “Your little punches feel like flowers!”

“I have an iron deficiency!” Varian responded, cheeks red but smiling slightly. The captain finally stopped suffocating him, but didn’t get off, instead wiggling in close so they could share. “Mean,” Varian whined, a pout on his lips, but didn’t complain.

“Oh hush,” Eugene chided, grabbing a book from the floor. “You know you love me.”

Varian simply hummed, buck teeth peeking through a tiny grin. “So, what did you grab for today?”

“Ah, glad you asked!” Eugene held up the cover, which Varian oohed in appreciation. “One of the older ones, came out when I was your age.” He wrapped an arm around Varian, pulling his brother close, the warmth of his side and the fire combining to create a heavenly cocoon. “You want to read, or should I?”

“Your turn,” Varian responded, stifling a yawn.

The book creaked in protest, Eugene gazing down at his little brother with a smile. He leaned his cheek on the boy’s hair, deep voice dripping with fondness as he started to read.

Being Captain was fun, but being a brother was even better.

#tangled the series #varian #tts #tangled #team awesome #tts eugene #eugene fitzherbert #tts varian #rta #rapunzel's tangled adventure

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

icarus fell, and blood stained the ground

i'm back!! (but not really—the new school year literally starts in an hour and it will be back to my pathological dependence on academic validation. at least i can say i've technically published another fic before summer break ends)

anyway, here's the fic in response to part 1 of sumayyah's post. i published a companion poem for this some time ago. as per usual, i gave up on proofreading so hopefully any mistakes don't detract from the story. also, i hope the formatting and jumping back and forth between italics makes sense—let me know if it doesn't, though it might be easier to read on ao3 (it should go up on there by 4pm PST because school)

warnings: murder, major character death (may potentially be classified as suicide-by-proxy, depending on your interpretation), guns, canon typical violence, slight gore at the end, mentioned substances

word count: 1.9k words

The damned man thought of everything, Jessica thought as she scowled at the damned folder that sat innocuously on the large mahogany desk.

The desk that would soon be cleared, all traces of the previous owner gone.

She lifted a shaky hand and brushed it through her hair, shuddering at its greasy and unkempt state that hinted at the state she had been in recently. Weary to the bone, she forced herself to sit back up and grab her phone, dialing the number that was written on the sticky note placed on the inside cover of the folder. It didn’t surprise her to hear an unfamiliar female voice answer the phone with a “Ms. Brooks?”

He had thought of everything, after all.

Really, the only thing she was surprised at was the sheer extent of his connections—but thinking back to her phone calls with Haley back when he was still practicing law, the talks about extravagant offers from top corporations and firms, she really wasn’t surprised. Thus, it made sense that her call to the top law firm in the state would be answered within two dial tones and by someone who already knew who she was.

And within minutes of talking with the woman who introduced herself as Ms. Stevens, Jessica became even more aware of just how prepared her brother-in-law had been before he walked to his dea—

Not an in-law anymore—her brother. He had long since earned that designation, that spot in her broken family, no matter how much self-flagellation he put himself through in regards to her sister’s murder and no matter how much abuse her father hurled at him in the years before the man who once viewed him as a son succumbed to dementia.

Hours later, despite having already reached her limit twenty minutes into the call, she finally hung up the phone with only funeral arrangements as an immediate concern. Slowly, she stood up from the chair and mechanically made her way into the tiny bathroom that had once been a familiar sight, when her nephew was still a child—

She forced her mind away from that minefield; she wasn’t willing to spend another sleepless night thinking about what had gone down in the past month, what had happened a week ago in that apartment, what her nephew was doing and thinking in the cell that only seemed to become colder and crueler the more she thought about it.

How many prisons had he visited? How many interrogation rooms, holding cells, general population cells, max security cells, death row cells? Did he ever get used to it? Could he allow himself to get used to it, to forget that these people are also human no matter the crimes they’ve committed?

A careful hand fell onto Jessica’s shoulder, and she shuddered under the warmth that seeped into her body, a warmth that had been lacking from her life for a long time now. She turned to see Morgan staring back at her, concerned.

“You didn’t pick up your phone,” he explained neutrally, flicking his eyes towards her phone—and sure enough, there were ten missed calls, each from a member of the team. She looked back up but avoided his concerned gaze only to latch onto her reflection in the mirror and internally winced at her haggard appearance.

“Did you—“ she coughed, clearing her throat, “have you figured out what happened?” Morgan’s unspoken question about her well-being went unanswered, and she continued to avoid looking at him.

She watched the man shake his head through the mirror, unsurprised and once again cursing her brother for his incessant habit of playing his cards close to his chest, especially when it came to personal issues.

How else is—was—he one of the best at poker in the bureau, often even beating Reid?

“He hasn’t talked, either,” Morgan informed her quietly, saving her the pain of asking the question herself. “Forensics is still struggling to put together a cohesive picture. To be honest, I doubt we’ll ever find out what actually happened in that apartment.” He shook his head, frustrated at the man he considered his brother.

If either of them bothered to ask, they would have found that both were truthfully unsurprised at this outcome, given what they only recently learned about the factors and circumstances that led to it. The few established facts about this case in addition to speculation based on systematically organized notes left in an even more meticulously organized folder painted a clear enough picture of the events preceding the fall.

But it wasn’t really an accidental, flailing fall.

In all truthfulness, he didn’t fight it.

Icarus let himself fall to his death in an attempt to compensate for his hubris, to suffer the consequences of his mistakes, and it was both a cowardly attempt to escape the hellish burns caused by the boiling, melting wax and a selfless attempt to teach posterity to avoid ending up like him.

Jessica remembered the warmth of Morgan’s embrace when he ignored all protocol and took it upon himself to inform her of what had transpired in the past two months, regardless of the still-ongoing investigation. It didn’t do much to soothe the cold that had threatened to swallow her whole as she listened to the details in silent horror.

He had sat her down in her apartment, the one she had taken care of her ailing father in before he finally died and the one she couldn’t bear to move out of for all of the memories that had been formed inside—with her father on his good days, with her brother, with her nephew

“A week ago, we were invited by MPD to consult on a series of killings that happened over the course of a month. We had an eye on the situation since the second murder, and there were two more victims in the span of a week before we were finally called in,” he began quietly.

He had suspicions as to what was happening by the time the team was invited in on the case at the personal request of the MPD chief. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had come across this profile before, but there were simply too many puzzle pieces with matching edges for the connections to be brushed off as a coincidence.

“Based on the rate at which bodies were popping up, we anticipated another one within two days of us being called in, but the killer had gone suspiciously silent. We went through crime scenes, forensic reports, and things weren’t adding up.”

"It’s a local case and we’ve coordinated with MPD multiple times, they know the drill. I’d like to take a personal look as well, the brass has been all up in my business about this case given its proximity to the Hill."

That’s what he said to the team regarding him suddenly taking the initiative to go to the crime scenes despite his responsibilities—it had been a while since he last went out to crime scenes, often taking care of the office politics and coordinating the investigation back at whatever precinct or office the team had taken over.

“There were odd inconsistencies, missing pieces of evidence… There was evidence to show that the killer was an amateur, but ultimately the profile we ended up building was nowhere near as detailed as we hoped it could be—but it ultimately went a long way in helping us figure out what was really happening.”

Old case files going missing from his home office, growing interest in his job, sudden mood swings happening long after the worst of puberty, increased isolation, dropping grades…

Absentee fathers of Georgetown students being stabbed and shot to death as if the killer was unsure about what to do, an innocuous Jack-in-the-Box takeout bag sitting near the last three bodies…

Numerous signs, and yet it was the outwardly irrelevant piece of trash, perhaps a sign of the killer’s gluttony—a sick joke that only he could have recognized—that led him to put all of the horrifying pieces together. It’s been over a decade, and yet the memories of that damned day remained as clear as ever, dogging his every footstep. Nightmares in which the worst happens still often visit him in his sleep, sometimes even combined with the effects of Peter Lewis’s drug concoction, effects lingering even after all these years.

“Somehow, we completely missed the fact that he fit the victimology. Maybe it was because of his efforts to distract us… If we had put it together earlier we might have been able to figure it out much earlier, and maybe everything could have turned out differently.”

Only after intensive counseling and careful editing of his case reports was he allowed to continue in the bureau after Lewis and his targeted attacks, and yet he knew he was still being watched. It was with that thought in mind that he made a decision on how to handle the situation. Either way, his life would be irrevocably changed, and there would be casualties alongside him.

All he had to do was figure out how to minimize them.

“He never came in that morning; Reid was the first to notice the lights off in the office. We were headed towards his apartment complex as soon as we saw a cleared-out office with a retirement letter being the only thing left on the desk. All of the pictures, trinkets, law books, messy stacks of paperwork—gone.”

A retirement letter for formality's sake, one copy emailed directly to the director and one printed on his desk, to simplify some things for the bureau and to ensure that Jessica and his son get his pension should the worst happen. All of his decisions, meticulously recorded and justified, except for this last one to protect the team from the consequences of his choice. All of his notes, all of the claimed evidence, carefully stored in the file box he left next to the retirement letter back in the office. Favors accumulated since law school called in, contacts throughout the local justice system ready to step in and deal with the fallout.

All of this, an attempt to compensate for the mistakes he’s made over the years and his hubris, to protect the remnants of his family and the team.

Morgan couldn’t finish telling Jessica what had happened, voice somehow caught in his throat and refusing to cooperate. He simply shook his head, and she folded in on herself, the weight of the last week too much for her to hold up. Slowly, he pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back but not doing much more to soothe her.

This is a wound that wouldn’t ever heal.

The story ends like this:

Icarus burned, and Aaron Hotchner said nothing as the hand that held the gun against his temple shook with uncertainty. Everything he wanted to say was written—one might call him a coward, but writing had always been so much easier for him—and he knew that he would be the final casualty, that the killings would stop after tonight.

Icarus fell, and Aaron Hotchner was flung sideways, the unyielding bullet from his gun fired by his own son shredding the brain that thought had of everything but the emotional and psychological effects his final decision would have on his family and friends.

Daedalus grieved over his son’s crumpled form, and Jack Hotchner would be found with his father’s dead body in his shaking arms as he stared blankly at sights unseen to the team, who had come hours too late.

Blood stained the ground, seeping into the cracks and crevices of grasping fingers, and nothing would ever be the same.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #bau #jessica brooks #jack hotchner #tw character death #tw guns #tw violence #tw murder #tw death #just to cover my bases #tw substances #tw drugs #tw gore

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thecaptainhelm · 4 years

Text

Shut Your Mouth Pt.2

hahaha, daminette part two, wasn’t a one shot, gn gn gn.

Marinette sighed as the shower warmed up, rolling her neck and relishing in the light feeling of accomplishment. Ever since Hawkmoth had been defeated, a mere two days ago, things had been tense. Hawkmoth, now known as Gabriel Agreste, was arrested along with his assistant Nathalie Sancoeur who had since retired as Mayura the year before. It was a stroke of luck to discover that the Guardian had the ability to forcibly renounce a broken Miraculous. Something Gabriel hadn’t known, granting them extra time as he futilely tried to ‘fix’ the brooch. While that happened, she managed to finally convince Chat to at least keep him as a suspect if not out of suspicion, then to actually strike him from their list. It didn’t take long rack up evidence against him, especially after learning from the Bats of Gotham.

The battle was quiet, in the early hours of the morning, where the city forcibly cut the power to the Agreste mansion, and it only took one Venom for each while they slept defenselessly. It took only a few minutes to find evidence that he was at least working with Hawkmoth, and when they found the miraculous pin and brooch, it was confirmed that he was, indeed, Hawkmoth with Nathalie working as his henchwoman Mayura.

Soon, with what was probably the fastest trial of the century, Gabriel Agreste and Nathalie Sancoeur were declared guilty and sentenced to serve life in prison and an insane asylum respectively. It had only shocked her for a moment that Mayura pleaded guilty and asked to be sent directly to rehab for mental help, by reason of insanity wrought by grief. What did surprise her was that she was the one to take the miraculous and give them to the Agreste couple as an anniversary gift, ultimately setting off a chain of unforeseen consequences.

That was a whole other cake she didn’t want to bake just yet, so she decided to finally just take a moment to breathe for what felt like the first time in five years.

So it was only normal that her smartwatch chimed on the hook of the shower caddy, a picture of a frowny eagle glaring right at her. She cursed her luck, yeah, no breaks was still her usual routine. It must be real hard for the universe to break out that particular habit.

Then she remembered that she set this particular picture and ringtone for the one person who had never called.

Robin, the vigilante that she might have, kind of, definitely made an enemy of.

Who was also her crush, so that was just. Great.

In her defense, she was a human being, and human beings were capable of amazing feats. It was just that her amazing feats were more amazing bouts of stupidity. Seriously, why did she do it? Just where did her common sense escape to make her think that was even a remotely good idea, because she wanted to go there and never come back.

She had kissed-- no! She made out with Robin, the most notoriously ill-tempered member of Batman’s team. The only reason he didn’t deck her in the face was because, because, well she didn’t know! Was it mercy, a misplaced feeling of pity, perhaps?

No, actually, it was more likely that he was frozen stiff with rage. Marinette couldn’t blame him, heck, she’d be angry too, suddenly getting passionately smooched in the middle of livid rant.

She had planned on giving him her contact information for the longest time, since they'd come to the understanding that they only wanted to do what was best for everyone, the kind of understanding that only leaders could have. And to maybe get closer to him as much as professionalism allowed. So, it stood to reason that she had to go ahead and ruin that, too. She really couldn’t believe herself sometimes, who randomly kisses someone, hands them their number, and then trots off back to work? Marinette Dupain-Cheng apparently.

In fact, it was about time he called. She had pretty much an entire year to prepare herself for what was sure to be a concise and frigid rejection, maybe even a “Stay for away from, lest I stab everyone in this room and then jump out of a window out of utter disgust”? She might as well get it over with and then move on to be alone for the rest of her life.

She wiped the water out of her eyes and squinted at the text message, before jumping out the shower with a loud curse. She hurriedly dried off and put on her clothes, before heading to the Miracle Box, rereading his message.

Emergency evac, one person, requesting Pegasus’ portal twenty kilometers horizontally above sea level precisely fifteen minutes after this message. Coordinates attached.

The message was sent ten minutes ago. How long was she catastrophizing for?!

Max was partying along with the rest of Paris while she took a breather in her art studio. Even with the full fifteen minutes she wouldn’t be able to find him in time. Shit, would she even be able to transform in time?

She grabbed the glasses from the box and Kaalki appeared in a proud flash.

“No time, there’s trouble,” she panted. “Ready?”

“Hmph, of course,” Kaalki tossed her head. “Let’s go, shall we?”

“Kaalki, transform me!” She eyed the time, two minutes left. She memorized the coordinates as she searched for a suitable place for him to land, and realized she was going to have to catch him in her storage closet.

One minute left. She opened the door and cleared space in the center of the room.

Thirty-five seconds. She stood on an old chair that she moved into the center of the room.

Twenty seconds, and she called, “Voyage!” and threw the portal up towards the ceiling.

Zero. She braced for impact and caught a body that plummeted through in a free fall.

“Ow,” she closed the portal with a groan, amidst the shattered pieces of what used to be a pretty sturdy chair.

“Don’t complain, it could have been worse.” A deep voice rasped.

Wow, to think she missed him, that asshole.

“Shut up, Robi-- oh my god your arm! Get up, getupgetupgetup!” She hauled him up as gently as possible, annoyance giving way to concern.

Robin was, putting it lightly, a mess. He had lost his mask, his eye was swollen shut and his face was bruised with cuts all over, and he was sticky with blood practically everywhere she looked. It was his arm that she was most concerned about, however. It was set in a splint, but he must have been in a rush because it was set wrong, his thumb facing perpendicular lyaway from his body.

“I am fine,” he sagged into her, weary. “I just need a place to stay for the night.”

“If you weren’t so grievously injured, I’d throw you out for that,” she remarked. “But guess what? It’s your lucky night monsieur, and I’m a trained field medic.” Robin looked at her, maskless, and she had to dart her eyes away from his maskless face.

“Oh, so Ladybug finally started replacing her subpar lineup? About time, either she benched them or Hawkmoth would kill them at some point. They were woefully incompent.” Yep, this was definitely Robin, no doubt about it with that attitude.

She called off the transformation and was somewhat pleased when he reflexively jerked his head away. She pulled him into a princess carry and made her way back to the bathroom, inwardly delighting at his reaction. She would never let him live this down.

“It’s me, Robin. Ladybug. Pegasus couldn’t make it, so you’ll have to do with me instead of a random stand-in.” She raised her brow, not that he could see it.

“Unless that bothers you, Boy Wonder?”

“...I’m not,” he mumbled.

“Hm?”

“I’m not Robin anymore.”

What. What.

“What?”

“I’ve retired, effective as of nine months ago today, Robin’s cape has been hung up for the next generation.”

Relief didn’t come yet. “Oh, so you’ve taken on a new mantle? Or are you finally the next Batman, though it would take some time to fill those shoulders. Literally, I mean that literally, um.” She observed his downcast expression and once again started walking to the bathroom. When had she stopped?

“I’m not taking over anything,” he said sullenly. “I can’t. Not after what I did.”

“Come on, it couldn’t have been so bad,” she opened the door with her heel as she backed them towards the stool by the sink. She set him down carefully, taking full stock of his injuries.

“It was. Batman’s cowl has always represented a strict moral code, one that I’ve always...struggled to adhere to.”

Marinette bit her lip as she kneeled in front of him. He didn’t say anymore, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. She sighed and brought out her med kit from the towel cabinet. She was always like this with him.

With Robin (now not Robin?) she had always drawn a blank. She could read his emotions somewhat well, had a good grasp on his moods, and could have genuinely insightful conversations with him. It was only at crucial moments like this that she struggled. Even with Adrien she had always known what she wanted to say, but Robin was different. Everything about him screamed “one chance only” and that caused her mind to go blank. It was so unbelievably frustrating that she could scream.

Marinette handed the glasses to Kaalki and nodded towards her purse hanging on the door handle. The kwami zoomed towards it and soon disappeared into it with the miraculous.

“Robin,” she called gently. He didn’t move. “I’ll have to cut your shirt off, okay? I need to see where the blood is coming from.”

“It’s not mine.The blood.” He kept his gaze away as she froze.

“Well, we’ll have to reset that arm,” she tried again. “It’s not...it’s not looking good, to say the least.”

He looked towards his mangled right arm and nodded.

It took some time to undo the splint and she tried not to think about where he had been for him to only have rotted wood and prison rags on hand. She cut his shirt off at the sleeve and down his middle, pulling it off and exposing a painful canvas of mottled bruises, scrapes, and cuts. She handed him her towel and he stuffed it in his mouth without a word. She gently untied the splint.

“Are you ready?” She gazed at him resolutely. He nodded and braced himself as best he could.

“On my count, one, two--” She re-broke his arm a count early on purpose.

“Arrghh! Ffuk!!” He jerked out of her grip.

“Hold still!” He spat out the towel and glared in response.

“Mizq dhiraei allaeaynat 'aw aidbitha!!!” She only understood ‘rip’ and ‘arm’ but she got the gist of his screaming.

“Alright it’s done now, I’m setting it, so stop moving,” She couldn’t help but sigh under his vicious scowl.

“Tsk. Be grateful that I can barely discern your features Ladybug. You’re on my shit list and I don’t feel like kicking your ass today.”

“Wow, thanks for saving me Ladybug, I could have died if it weren’t for you!” Marinette couldn’t help but snark at him.

“...tsk!” Yep, that was as good as she was going to get in his condition.

After years of fighting akuma victims she was able to observe the complex and hidden emotions of her opponents and the civilians that she rescued. And right now, her experience was telling her that Robin had more than his pride ruined. His self-confident, courageous, and taciturn nature seemed to be regressing as he fell back into what was probably a self-defense mechanism. For him to be like this instead of exhausted in his current state told her that he must have been through a lot since she last saw him.

She started to gently clean the blood off and noted the bruises underneath definitely came from an intense melee battle. Most of them were in places that made her cringe just looking at them. At least he doesn’t have any other broken bones, or stab wounds. Lucky him.

Robin put an ice pack to his face in the meanwhile and wouldn’t look in her direction.

It was quiet for a while. “So, what should I call you, then?” And she had to open her big fat mouth, didn’t she? Now it was awkward. It was awkward, and he hated her, and she was never speaking again, ever.

“Damian.” Uh oh.That didn’t sound like a moniker.

“Um, nice code name?” She started disinfecting his cuts and scrapes, trying not to panic.

“I no longer require such aliases.” Ok, process that later, heal Robin now. Process. Later.

“Ro--, Damian, uh, well,” She sighed. “My offer still stands, you know?”

He made a quiet noise.

“Last time I saw you, I mean. I had left in a rush,”-- after kissing you senseless-- “but I’m always here to listen if you want to talk about what happened.”

Robin, or Damian now, she still wasn’t used to that, froze. His brows furrowed and he strangely went red in the face, before sighing, slumping against the sink.

“I...the blood’s not mine. It hasn’t been my for a long time, but it might as well be for how long I’ve carried it. I’m not a good person so much as to blame myself completely, but I do recognize some of the fault as mine. I’d gotten help, and I was making progress, but it wasn’t enough. I started falling back into old habits and I hated it. I tried and I failed, and I kept trying and failing for months and I…” He gained a look of despair, the first real emotion she’s seen on him since he dropped in.

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I just kept disappointing everyone and I hated it so much,” he dug his fingers into his matted hair.

“So, I left. I decided to go on a journey to try and repent, and it was working, at least I thought it did. But, then I had stumbled upon a Shadows base and I…” He peered unseeing at the floor.

“It was like I lost all sense of reason. I lay siege to the entire facility and found my way to the next base. It all turned into an endless cycle, all the way until I reached headquarters and inadvertently met up with high ranking members of the Justice League, teaming up to diminish their power. We were successful, but a candidate for the position of the Demon’s Head activated the self-destruct module. Everyone was scrambling to get out and suddenly my mind felt clearer than it had ever been.” He took a deep breath and Marinette moved closer to offer some comfort. He leaned towards her gratefully.

“The Justice League had already had an escape route, but the Shadows were in disarray for some reason. After I was sure my old comrades were out, I locked all the doors, and dived down to a ceremonial bathing chamber.”

“And that’s where I came in,” she whispered. I think I’m starting to like him more than I should. What is wrong with me?! Who made me this way?! She had some complaints in regards to that.

“You saved my life,” he inclined his head in an informal bow. “Thank you, Ladybug.”

“...Marinette.” She croaked suddenly. She was left reeling from his info dump and her intense, romantic feelings. So, why not go for a confession?

Damian whipped his head up in disbelief.

“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Enchanté, Damian.” She smiled at his bewildered state, wiping away a bit of blood under his chin. She opened her mouth to say more, but didn’t get the chance.

Damian leapt up, furious. “You fool! I knew you were a space cadet, but I didn’t think your brain drifted beyond the stars! How utterly moronic!”

“Wait, why are you so mad?!” She panicked. She kind of had a spur of the moment idea to kiss him on his split lip, but that was looking less and less likely to happen.

(Damn it.)

“You told me your name!” he shouted.

“Yes, and you told me your’s?” She retorted.

“Have you forgotten Hawkmoth?! Your enemy that can read the minds of the emotionally disturbed should he decide to possess them!” He started to hobble out of the bathroom, still half-treated and mostly in pain.

Oh.

Oh!

“I have to leave, now! If I can stay calm long enough to reach the trains then I’ll be moving too fast for a butterfly to suddenly get me.”

“Uh, Damian?”

“No, it might already be enroute to someone else and might even already be on board,” He winced and stumbled on the tassel rug in the hallway.

“Woah, hang on a second Damian,” she grabbed him before he could fall, but he pulled out of her grip.

“We don’t have time for this, I can guarantee that I would be one of the worst akumas you’ve faced in your hero career, nevermind the insider information I hold within my mind.”

“Yes, but listen to me,” Damian moved towards the small sitting area, not listening to her.

Again.

“This safehouse should be around one hundred kilometers from the city limits, you’re safe for now, but Hawkmoth’s estimated rate of growth was--”

That’s it!

Marinette grabbed his jaw and slammed it closed. She had had enough.

“This isn’t a safehouse, we’re in my art studio,” she snapped. She could see the rage begin to build to new heights in his eye.

“No, shut your mouth, and listen!” A vein in his forehead started to pulse, but he didn't move to speak.

Good.

“Hawkmoth has been defeated as of last week, and the trial was concluded a couple days ago. Going by what you told me, you've been out the loop for almost a year, so you don’t know that my team and I had closed in on Hawkmoth’s trail some time ago and were able to build a solid case that’ll go through in a court of law,” She carefully let him go.

“So, you’re safe, I’m safe, and Paris is safe too.” She’d already started to calm down in the middle of her explanation, and idly noted that she should probably take an anger management class.

And sign up for therapy. Lots of it, preferably.

Damian nodded slowly as he rubbed his jaw and she couldn’t help her wince.

“Sorry, did I handle you too roughly? Come here,” she started to pull him back towards the bathroom. He resisted.

“No, it’s fine, no damage just from that much force,” he tugged his arm away but she quickly moved behind him and began to push him through the bathroom door.

“Well, I’m not done treating you, so get back in there.” He grabbed the door frame and pushed back, and her calm demeanor left as quick as it came. Was it even truly there to begin with?

“I said,” she picked him up and threw him back on the stool where he grasped for stability.

“Come here.” She leaned in close to his bruised face, and wow, the one eye that she could see was so very, very green. “I’m not done with you, yet.”

“...okay,” he whispered. He kept his head down.

It didn’t take long to finish disinfecting the rest of his wounds, and soon she started applying ointment to the worst of his bruises. She had enough, but she was definitely going to be restocking in order to play his nursemaid for the next week or so. She rose to her feet and started packing away her kit.

“I’ll give you some pain meds for the night, I’ll leave you to take care of the injuries under the rest of your clothes. Come find me in the kitchenette. I’ll make something for us, though it won’t be anything fancy.”

“That is fine.” Marinette frowned at the strange husk in his voice. Did someone try to suffocate him? Why hadn’t she noticed until now?

She kneeled beside him and reached around him for the water bottle she had left in there earlier, but noticed him twitch and start to blush. Did he get a fever too?

She observed his red face and clear, but dilated eyes. Merde, did she embarrass him from earlier? She knew he had a large ego, but it was his own fault for being stubborn.

“Here, get yourself some water from the sink,” she handed the glittery black bottle to him and hurriedly strode out of the bathroom, calling,

“Holler if you need me!”

Completely aware of the flustered state she left Damian in. Though not for the reason she thinks, at least.

#daminette #maribat #part two

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pixie88 · 3 years

Text

New Home

Chapter 1 - Addicted to you.

A/N: Here’s the first chapter of ATY! It’s set 2 months later and a bit has happened since the last chapter. I hope you like it 😘

Tagging those who asked to be tagged but if you want to be added let me know!

Read previous chapters HERE!

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 2018

Pairings: Laila x Harry

Enjoy! 😘

2 Months later.

Both their flats had been sold and were going through the process of signing their properties over, they had viewed a few houses, none of which neither of them could see themselves living there.

They were viewing an old end terrace house one afternoon. Which had been recently renovated, as they walked in the stairs were on the left with a door at front which the estate agent said could be a separate dining room. The door opposite on the right was the living room and to the end of the hallway was the door to a spacious kitchen/dining room which had lead into the garden through some French doors.

For a house in London the garden was bigger than usual. Upstairs the 1st floor had 2 bedrooms, a bathroom with a freestanding tub. The loft which was the second floor had been converted into another bedroom with an en suite.

Both Laila and Harry couldn't believe how lovely this property was. It was perfect for them, it was on the edge of London, so not as busy as where their flat were.

It was an extra ten minutes travel time to the salon Laila worked at but this made her consider whether to go self employed. Harry's gym was five minutes closer, so work, travel wasn't an issue with him. They decided to put an offer in, a few days later they got the call saying another buyer had pulled out and if they were still interested the seller was willing to accept their offer.

Everything was going good for them even Vicky had been sent to prison for 3 years for criminal damage.

Remy was taking things super slow with Melissa but they were getting on well.

Moving in day.

"Lift with your legs Rem's." Alec calls over to him. "I....AM....FUCK! Laila, what the hell is in this box?" she looks over to him. "Erm...shoes, I think," she wanders over to him, checking out the box "Nope, Harry's weights!" she laughs, "No, wonder I can't lift it" he says as he's struggling with the box.

Harry wanders over taking the box off Remy and throws it onto his shoulder. "Alright, show off!" Remy calls after Harry as he picks up another box. Laila rolls her eyes at the both of them grabbing a box herself, following Harry upstairs to their bedroom "So, Miss. Carelli, any regrets?" she looks over to him and laughs as she puts down the box "Just one!" she winks "Really?"

"Yeah, offering to get our friends a Chinese take away after they helped us unpack. When we could have had the place to ourselves and christened every surface." she says, her arms loop around his neck and he sighs, "We were stupid! Why did we do that?" he chuckles.

"We were!" she kisses his lips, he moves them backwards until she's pressed between him and the bedroom wall. He invades her mouth, they hear footstep coming up the stairs and they spring apart "We better get the rest of these boxes in before I won't be able to pull away" he pulls her with him.

Later.

Laila is sat on the sofa with Priya and Katrina "This is such a lovely house. I have house envy" Katrina tells her, "We were very lucky to find this place, some of the other places were awful!"

Priya looks out to the hallway at Harry and Will trying to get their new bed up the stairs "Moving in with Popeye is why I'm green with envy! I bet he just throws you over his shoulder with ease! If Chris tried that with me, he'd end up throwing his back out" Priya laughs.

"Aww poor, Chris!" Laila laughs. "He might not be able to do that, but he certainly is able to do other things!" Priya winks, Laila pretends to gag "Max has no trouble throwing me over his shoulder." Katrina adds "Oh my god! Please stop I don't want to picture my brothers in that way!"

The three girls laugh sipping their wine.

Laila wanders into the kitchen to get a top up, Chris, Arthur and Max are in there filling their plates again "Hey, you three!" Max nods with his mouth full. "Alright, Laila! Thanks for this!" Chris smiles as he nods towards the Chinese takeaway "No, thank you guys for helping us move in," she smiles at the three guys. "If you need any help with anything give us a shout, especially if you guys are going to pay in booze and food," Arthur chuckles.

"Yeah, same goes for me!" Max winks at his sister, Chris shook his head at his brother. "Well, I for one am glad to see you happy again!" he pulls her in for a hug. "Aww... thanks, Chris!" Laila blushes, "I didn't think I'd see you in love again after Josh but just the way you two look at each other. I've got nothing to worry about."

Laila kisses her brother on the cheek "He is a lovely bloke," Max winks over at her. "I just glad he's moved on after that last chick, she did a number on him," Arthur says as he makes his way over to her, he looks towards the door as if to check the coast is clear "The truth is I never liked her, there was just something about her that was..well....off. Even dad didn't warm to her..EVER! Then he meet you as soon as he mentioned you to us you could tell you had him hooked." Laila blushes at his words "He has me just as hooked," she laughs.

After she tops up her glass she goes in search of him "There you are!" he's upstairs with Will putting up their bed "Hey gorgeous, where's the bed sheets?" he looks up at her. "I'm pretty sure they are in a box in here," she starts looking through the boxes. "Harry, you hold it up and I'll bolt this end" Will orders him, Laila watches him lifting the side of the bed that is attached to the headboard while Will bolts the foot of the bed to it.

His arms are bulging while he lifts it, Harry notices her looking "Like something you see?" he smirks at her "Maybe!" she winks at him and he laughs, "Hello guys, I'm still here!" Will shook his head "We better stop or he will and we can't test it out later gorgeous!" Harry teases "You two need to get a room!" Will says. "We do but you're in the way!" Harry jokes.

Laila laughs, "Stop whining him up!" Laila finds the bedding "I'll put this over here, thanks for the helping, Will" she places the bedding on the dresser.

Later.

After everyone had left they climbed into bed "Our first night in our new home!" she says as she cuddles up to him, he strokes her hair as she lays her head on his chest. "First of many," she lifts her head and looks up at him, he claims her lips before flipping her onto her back, his body covered hers.

He grinds his hips against hers, letting her know he isn't ready for sleep just get.

A few days later.

Laila finishes work early because a client canceled, she walks through the front door and can hear drilling coming from the separate dining room. She calls out to Harry confused as he was supposed to be at work, "Harry?" she steps closer to the door when it swings open. "Laila?! You're home early!" he says coming out of the room, closing it behind him "I could say the same to you! What are you doing in there?" she asks.

"Nothing, how was work?" he tries to change the subject "Harry, why are you changing the subject?" she asks him, he shrugs his shoulder, "I don't know what you mean!" she decides to try and push pass him to have a look, but he stops her "OK, you know that idea you gave me about turning it into a home gym...well, I decided to do it. But at the moment it's a bit of a mess in there I want to show you once it's completed, so will you promise to stay out until its done?" she smiles at him "I'm glad you decided to do it and I promise to keep our until you've finished" he sighs with relief.

A Weeks later.

Laila is finishing up at work when Harry wanders into the salon "Hey gorgeous, you ready?" he smiles at her. "Yeah, I'll just grab my bag.”

As they're walking down the road Harry can't stop smiling "Why are you grinning like an idiot?" she asks, "Max and I got the room finished today, so when we get home, I can finally show you," she links her fingers through his "This is where part where I'll hardly ever see you because your working out," she winks at him "Nah, I think you're get more use out of it then me!"

She laughs, "I've told you I don't like working out in gyms." she nudges him "Who said anything about working out," he winks at her and she blushes.

When they arrive home Harry stops her, "Wait, you need to put this on!" he hands her a blindfold "Really? I don't need this for a home gym!" he sighs, "Please? For me!" she huffed "Fine!!" placing it over her eyes Harry leads her into the converted room "Just around this corner."

"Corner? What corner?" she asks, confused "I put in a wall, so when you walk through the door you have to come round to see it. Now stand there" his lips brush her ear, "I'm going to pull it off on 3, OK?" she nods "1.....2......3" the blindfold is off her eyes adjust, but she's confused "Harry....."

"What?....Where's the g..? What's this?" she asks, he smiles "Laila, you have been on about getting your own salon for ages then we found this place and it cut into the money your parents gave you. So, it cut into your dream...I was speaking to my parents when my dad gave me the idea, then I spoke to Max. He did all the work for free, but I had to pay for the materials, Nikki came by one day and caught us, she knew a place to get all the salon equipment at a discount. I didn't ask her but I thought if you wanted you two could run this place together?"

Laila stands there in shock not quite believing he has done this for her "Harry...I.." he sighs, "You hate the wallpaper don't you?" he runs his hands down his face, she cups his face "Harry, I love it...this is the most sweetest, kindest and amazing thing anyone has ever done for me! I can't believe you did this instead of converting it into a gym." He smiles at her "I can work out at work! I just thought you deserved this after what you did, so we could get this place." she grins.

"Have you tried out the chairs yet?" she asks and he shook his head "Why don't you take a sit Mr. Taylor?" she winks at him.

As soon as he sits, she straddles him and runs her fingers through his hair, he grips her hips "Not sure I need a haircut." she looks down at him "Hmmm....we'll just have to see what other services you can use!" she winks, his lips quickly find her as they test out the sturdiness of the chair.

~*~*~*~

A few days later Laila hands in her notice and she convinces Nikki to work with her and Daniel because Nikki can only work part time.

The three of them are excited about this new opportunity.

Will it be a match made in heaven?

Continue reading this story here - Chapter 2.

@lem-20 @aussieez @secretaryunpaid @khoicesbyk @irisofpurple @txemrn @beautifuluknownvoid @wombatsxkookaburras

#aty #Addicted to You #fiction #fictional story #Original Work #original writing #original character #pixie88 original #original story #harry x laila

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dianapocalypse · 3 years

Text

so I’m having a very interesting (for me) mass effect legendary edition playthru and i wanna talk about it even tho no one but me will be interested so UNDER THE CUT WE GO!

this probably isn’t interesting to anyone but me but I wanted to write it down for posterity lol

so this time around, I spent a LONG TIME staring at the character creator, not even making anything. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to make my ‘main’ Shepard, play Jane just for the new model in ME1, or make a new Shep entirely. and if I did the last one, did I want to play differently this time??

i ended up making a shepard that was PRETTY similar to my main one. they’re both vanguards (didn’t want to learn a new kit bc my ability to hold a controller is pretty limited these days), both earthborn, same haircut but different overall appearances. this time I went war hero instead of sole survivor, since I’ve played those sidequests so many times at this point. I hit start and named her Kieran, not really knowing what I was going for with this shep and expecting I’d mostly make the same choices, romance garrus, etc

so the first few hours of the game I played p much like I always do. more paragon options than usual, but I attribute that more to me changing than character choices. I also started picking the middle options I always ignore just to see what they are. grabbed Liara, did bring down the sky, nothing new or unusual until I start talking to garrus.

is it just me, or does garrus.... kinda hit different in 2021? don’t get me wrong, still one of my favorite fictonal characters of all time, but also... garrus is a loose canon police officer who thinks regulations that, presumably, are in place to protect peoples’ rights, should be ignored for what he deems is the greater good. while we as players know garrus’s morals are in the right place, uh... if I met someone like that in real life I’d expect them to be a complete jackass. im also american so that contributes to my ill feelings towards police officers, and c-sec in the games is generally portrayed as being a much less awful organization than the american police state, but I’ve definitely gone from always supporting Garrus when he thinks a fucker needs to die to being like... garrus rules are there for a reason, people have RIGHTS

and then like. kieran shepard is earthborn, she was in gangs. she... probably doesn’t like cops either? my last shep was, too, but tbh I didn’t think about it all that much. for the first time I’m playing a shepard that does not trust garrus and that’s WILD.

so then I’m doing sidequests on the citadel, and earthborns get a gang member from their past who tries to blackmail shep into busting one of their members out of prison. for the first time ever, I actually didn’t have the paragon or renegade points necessary to resolve the situation in a ‘good’ way for me. I got to the end of it, and my only options were to bribe him to leave me alone, or shoot him.

i’ll say in my defense, I thought shoot him would be more ‘shoot him in the leg to show him i meant business’, but shep straight up killed him, and I was like, woah. I’m gonna have to figure out how to make THAT work with this character arc!

and the turian cop who he wants you to talk to, he’s right there, and says “wow, I guess maybe the first human spectre will get things done!’ or something, indicating like. that was the Right Thing To Do by his standards. just kill a dude in public for threatening blackmail.

so in role playing games, i try to justify decisions my characters make, even if it’s a decision that I didn’t make on purpose--it’s more fun for me to try to gather these disparate character choices and cohere them into a character than to try to get it ‘right’ for the character i’m playing, if that makes sense. so here, even tho I was definitely not intending to kill that dude, I wanted to find a way to make it work for Kieran Shepard. and it’s kinda ended up shaping the whole way I’m playing her, and it’s cool and interesting bc this is a shepard unlike any I’ve played before! i’m always so focused on min/maxing my character, especially their paragon/renegade points to get the ‘best’ outcomes, that ive never been faced with something like that.

so I think this is where I’ve landed:

Kieran Shepard grows up on the streets, she does not trust authority. all she has is her crew, and herself, more importantly. she does some bad shit, she gets into trouble, she’s strong-headed and stubborn. later in life, she gets recruited to the alliance military. frankly, I think she keeps a lot of the same attitude and distrust of authority, but this is a paycheck, and I think since the Tenth Street Reds are getting really human supremacist and xenophobic, she gets out and needs to go Somewhere that her past won’t follow her--space. off earth.

mostly she’s a shithead at first. gets into trouble with the brass all the time. but she’s got a really good head for tactics. she knows how to think like a merc gang, she thinks of strategies in simulations that higher ups wouldn’t ever consider. think like. star trek 2009 captain kirk basically lmao.

and then anderson gets a hold of her. for the first time in her life, she has like, a Parental Figure, someone who knows she can do better and expects her to. and she FLOURISHES. suddenly she’s got motivation, she’s straightening up. she’s positioned on elysium and the skyllian blitz starts, and one thing she knows how to do, something she’s always been good at, it surviving, and rallying people around her to fight, not roll over and die. her skills from her life as a gangster marry with her skills as a soldier and she rallies the colonists to beat back the invasion. with her STREET SMARTS!

now she’s a war hero, and she’s starting to feel the impostor syndrome set in. she gets a medal, she gets accolades, promotions--she’s just a scrappy former criminal and she doesn’t deserve this. she doesn’t deserve any of it, or anderson’s regard. she starts spending her time trying to be The Perfect Soldier to make up for her past. for the first time, it’s a point of embarrassment to her, not a point of pride. it’s public record, sure, but she needs her entire existence to refute it. she needs to be Commander Shepard now, she needs to be The First Human Spectre, she needs to be PERFECT.

and then Finch shows up, and he’s threatening her, he wants to drag her back into the Life and he’ll blackmail her if she doesn’t comply. she knows if she bribes him he’ll be back in a month for more, he’ll never stop. so she panics. she shoots this guy, kills him in cold blood, in public. old habits die hard. and the cop practically CONGRATULATES her for it.

kieran, now, is in full blown panic mode about Who She Is. she is very much not a fan of the ‘law and order’ of C-Sec, but she’s also not a fan of the spectres and how they operate, but now she’s becoming the thing she as a teen would have hated the most. and she’s being congratulated for it. can she be trusted with this kind of responsibility?? can anyone???

anyway that’s the last thing I did but I think... honestly? the only character that could help her sort out these feelings? is kaidan alenko.

so. i think this is it. this is the playthru i finally romance kaidan.

#mass effect #mass effect legendary edition #kaidan alenko #this post is long as fuck but i promise he's in there #kieran shepard tag

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carynsilver · 3 years

Text

Favorite Fics: Malex Edition

It’s a new year (quite definitively at this point), and a new set of fic recs. Just my small way of saying thank you to the writers who have made the past year, with all its challenges, a little better for me personally. Without the escape of reading, I don’t think I would’ve gotten through the past eleven months, so thank all of y’all for creating (now and in the past) and for sharing your work. You do it for free, and it’s amazing stuff.

If you’re interested, I previously shared my top 10 Stucky, Drarry, Stony, and Darcy Lewis (Wintershock, Shieldshock, and Tasertricks, mostly) fic lists. Today, I’ve finally decided on my top 10 Maxlex fics. So, in no particular order...

my love is a life taker by @jocarthage

If I were making a top 10 fics of all time list, this story would be on it. The breadth and scope of it is truly amazing, as is the writing. There’s world-fixing time travel and an interesting take on our favorite aliens and what could’ve been. Alex as a time agent is both so tragic and also so strong as he begins his journey of self discovery. He’s such an unreliable narrator, and yet also can clearly see so many things. Watching Michael’s growth through the years is just as fascinating as watching Alex travel through time. And it’s juxtaposed with the present so well. This Alex and Michael learn to communicate as they learn about themselves. And the story also taught me a ton about the Middle East and various historical events. I really love this story, and you should definitely read it right now if you haven’t yet.

To Trust Love by @laughsalot3412

This fic is amazing. It takes hurt/comfort to the nth degree. Michael, Isobel, and Max are the only remaining prisoners/subjects in Project Shepherd, and Alex (with the help of Liz, Kyle, and Maria) goes under cover as a guard to get them out. But to do so, first he has to gain their trust--an almost impossible test. The tweaks to the alien abilities and the handprint are interesting. Jesse Manes, as always, is absolutely horrible. But good wins in the end, and the boys are able to figure things out despite the mistakes they make along the way. I mean, trigger warnings for so much in a prison fic with Jesse Manes in it, but it is an awesome story. This author only wrote one RNM fic, but it’s a great one.

From Iraq, with Love by @adiwriting

Alex leaves for basic no way to contact Michael, so he reaches out to him via a YouTube channel. Alex writes years and years’ worth of love songs, hoping maybe Michael will see them and get in touch. The scene when Michael finally sees them is a gut punch in the best way, and the end is so satisfying. A truly excellent story, and I love how music from the heart eases their way into real communication--because, man, that is what these poor boys need.

unexpected tidings by @bestillmyslashyheart

The Vegas fic! Actually, that is not what this fic is about. There is only one scene set in Vegas, and yet that was the one I remembered when I was trying to find the fic again, lol. In this AU, Michael was never reunited with his siblings in Roswell, but he and Alex meet after Alex enlists. They meet three different times in three different states, and eventually fall in love. Then Alex has to come home to Roswell and take care of this little alien problem so his boyfriend can be safe from the horror that is Jesse Manes. One of the best things about this story is the past/present narrative structure. Only a really good writer can tell a successful story out of chronological order, and @bestillmyslashyheart really succeeds. Check out her other work, as well, such as A Simple Life (but with aliens).

Shadow Work by @myrmidryad

This fic has stellar world building. Alex and Michael are shades--people who work banishing hauntings, curses, etc. The scientific way the supernatural elements are approached is so interesting, as well as the different ways humans and aliens perceive them. Alex is a total unreliable narrator just because of how the haunt is affecting him, but he still gets the job done. This is a world you can just sink into. Totally immersive, and yet it works so well with the alien mythology we already have. And the conclusion to the haunt mystery is so satisfying. Such a great story!

Lovin’ you is a gift tonight (Lovin’ you for all of my life) by @bellakitse

Michael turned his cheek when Alex tried to kiss him, and then Alex and Rosa ran off to NYC before anything else could happen. Michael thinks of Alex as the one who got away, and then he runs into him when he’s stuck at the airport in Denver, trying to get home to Roswell for Christmas. Their reunion in the airport is fluffy and amazing, just a pleasure to read. And then they end up back in Roswell and all the other stuff comes into play in a really satisfying, let’s-deal-with-it-as-adults-instead-of-children kind of way. Ah, so good!

scream in there by thepredatorywasp

I’ll be honest, this one starts a little rough emotionally, but man, Alex and Michael really earn their happily ever after here. It is worth it. And then we get River! I enjoy a good kid!fic, and River the little alien found in a pod who gloms onto Alex and never lets go is amazing! River is my favorite kiddo that I’ve ever read in a Malex story.

truth (to the people we love) by @lambourngb

This is probably the shortest fic on my rec list. I am biased toward the long ones, I know. But man this one packs a punch. Alex recorded a goodbye message when he was overseas, and he has to tell it not to auto send every week. Then he is kidnapped for ten days... I don’t want to spoil too much, but just read it. It also plays with the narrative structure. And if you like this one, definitely check out @lambourngb‘s other stories. collect the bad habits and Vows are also great reads!

I Know Nothing Stays the Same by @aewriting

This is one of those stories that sticks in your head. It is awful (emotion-wise, not writing-wise) and wonderful all wrapped up together in the best way. Alex and Michael run away after the shed incident and go into hiding for five years. This is the past storyline. There’s also a present and a future. The ending of this story was so gorgeous, I don’t want to spoil it, but I remember it all the time when I think of Malex. Lovely and poignant. This is another version of this couple that <i>earn</i> their happiness together. And if you want even more in this ‘verse, the very talented @andrea-lyn (who also has a ton of great Malex stories) wrote a coda called There’s More Room in a Broken Heart.

Send Me Home by @litwitlady

I waffled back and forth about which story would fill the final slot. It’s always so hard to choose when there are so many excellent ones out there, but I had to have one of @litwitlady‘s stories on the list. She has quite a few excellent ones, but Send Me Home is my favorite. Michael the baseball player is both compelling and also heartwarming in his softer life. This is another fic where Alex is a musician, this one an actual country music star. So, it’s a sports fic and a celebrity romance, in addition to being a Malex RNM story. it is a WiP, which I sometimes hesitate to rec, but there’s only one more chapter to go, so I feel pretty safe about it. And she has lots of other stories you should check out. I’m fond of the Reunion series, as well.

So, that’s it for this post. Thanks again to all the amazing fanfic authors and their awesome work. I’ve read so many great Malex fics lately. On this list or not, I appreciate you guys!

#malex #fanfic rec #fanfic #reading #highly recommend #alex x michael #alex manes #michael guerin #quarantine reads #thanks for writing these fics

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

Inmate Intimacy pt.1 (Nessian)

“Nesta. New patient.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, but nodded at her assistant. “You mean ‘inmate in need of healthcare,’ but okay. Send him in.”

The heard the usual shuffle of chains a moment later, and then a heavy body settled down on the exam bed.

“Suddenly, I’m not so upset about getting locked up. I had no idea I’d have such a good view,” inmate #9356 said in a cocky voice that somehow rolled over her like honey. Nesta rolled her eyes again. After two years working in the Pyrantian Correctional Facility--an all male prison--she was beyond used to getting hit on.

She was entirely unprepared, however, for what she saw when she turned around.

A very large, very handsome man sat on the bed, golden eyes boring into hers. He had long, curly hair pulled back in a bun and a delicious amount of stubble on his square jaw. Two complete sleeves of tattoos covered his arms, and she could see they ran across his chest and shoulders through the thin cotton of his shirt.

He was without a doubt the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

He’s a criminal.

“I’m sure your high opinion will change after a few weeks. Your chart says you’re in for Type 1 Diabetes?”

“Yep. So just go ahead and give me that insulin pack and I’ll be out of your hair.” He held out his hand, and her breath hitched a little at the bicep the gesture exposed. Her eyes also noticed the tattoos extended all the way to his fingertips, which would be strange on anyone else but somehow managed to look sexy on him.

How annoying.

“Yes. Smart plan. I’ll give insulin, something people could sell on the black market here, to a convict. And a needle, so he could stab other inmates.” She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes yet again. “You’ll come in once a day for your shot.”

“Then I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” He didn’t sound upset about it in the slighest.

Nesta narrowed her eyes, motioning for him to hold out his arm. She grabbed the shot and wrote down the dose.

He extended his arm. “If you ever want to see any more of me, just let me know, baby.”

She jabbed the needle into his arm a little aggressively as he watched her with amusement.

“You didn’t even flinch.” She’d have to stab him harder next time.

His smirk grew into a grin. “In case you didn’t notice, I have a few tattoos. I’m not exactly afraid of needles.”

“Yes, Cassian. I’m quite aware.” She put a cotton swab on his arm.

Said grin grew into a very wide, very happy smile that showcased almost all of his perfect teeth. “Oh, you know my name? Been reading up on me, baby?”

Nesta leveled a glance at him. “It’s in your chart, and I happen to possess the ability to read.”

“Wow, a smartass with a great ass.” The inmate didn’t stop smiling. “I love that in a woman.”

Reminding herself that she was a medical professional was the only reason she was able to fight the urge to stab the needle through his eye. Once she’d repeated her Hippocratic Oath about ten times, the blood finally stopped rushing through her head.

It was about time to put him in his place.

She leaned close to him, firmly ignoring how he smelled like fucking heaven, and smiled. In a soft, completely inappropriate voice, she said, “You’re funny.”

Still stuck on the topic of her behind, he told her seriously, “Wasn’t joking. I can tell even through she scrubs.”

“Oh, no. I know I have a great ass. I meant about you thinking you have a chance. Really? Flirting while you’re incarcerated?” She pushed away and flipped through his folder. “And for assaulting an officer no less.”

He opened his mouth, probably to tell her it was all a misunderstanding or something, but she just shook her head. She’d heard it way too many times. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cassian.”

A guard came in to escort him out, and she had to smile. Men in here really thought it was alluring that they were locked up.

They should know she was a little old to date a man with a bedtime.

~Cassian~

Cassian was walking in the yard an hour after meeting the Nurse, thinking of the little smile on her face as she’d insulted him.

Damn. If he wasn’t locked up and eating gruel for the next two years, he’d be all over that. Literally.

He grinned to himself, not paying attention where he was walking, and slammed his shoulder into someone.

“Watch it,” she stranger snapped. An ugly, vertically challenged man stood before him, looking like a pissed off bull with a stick up his ass.

“Maybe I didn’t see you because you’re so short.” A low blow, but he wasn’t about to be someone’s bitch on his first day. “Watch where you’re going, prick.”

Bull-man squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes up at Cassian, two of his goon friends coming to stand behind him.

“Apologize,” the bigger one said, obviously the enforcer.

A crowd started to circle around them. Cassian gritted his teeth. If he did what the asshole wanted, it’d set a dangerous precedent for him.

“Fuck no,” he growled, squaring his shoulders and staring them down. He had height and weight on all of them, but the odds still weren’t favorable. Unless he surprised them.

With that in mind, Cassian didn’t regret it one bit as he swung his fist towards bull-man’s face, hitting him right across the temple and knocking him out cold.

His goons didn’t hesitate, but Cassian was faster. He kicked the big guy’s knee out before tackling the other idiot and starting to pummel him.

After landing a few hits, the other goon pulled him off. He got a lucky shot through Cassian’s guard, but a well-placed blow had him on his back.

The crowd that had gathered backed away from Cassian slowly, a few mutters going through the ranks.

That ought to keep people off my back.

~Nesta~

Nesta shook her head as her new patient walked in the next day, muttering, “I should’ve known you had something to do with the three guys that came in yesterday. One of them has a broken knee, you know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, gorgeous,” he said, although the smirk on his face said something completely different.

Nesta bit her tongue and motioned for him to hold out his arm.

“I figured you’d be use to violence after working in this joint.”

She leveled a look at him. “Oh, yeah. Violent criminals just do it for me.”

“Listen. The police officer thing is just a misunderstanding. I’m not a bad guy.” He pouted and gave her sad eyes.

“Mmhm, of course. Tilt your head back and let me look at your eye.” It seemed one of the three men had tagged him pretty good.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. You probably hit harder than that asshole.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Tilt your head back and you won’t find out.”

“And you say I’m violent,” he muttered, tilting his head back like a good little puppy.

She stepped closer and placed a gloved finger on his bruised eye socket. He looked up at her with those dammed golden eyes, somehow forcing her to meet his stare. She couldn’t help it. Who the hell has golden eyes?

He leaned closer, lips parting softly.

“You know, it��d probably feel better if you kissed it.”

She flicked the bruise, and he hissed.

“You were right,” she said sweetly. “You’re completely fine.”

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he laughed.

At that, Nesta let out a chuckle. “I’m also one of only two woman on base.”

“Well, I’m sure all three of us could have a very good time,” he murmured, sliding off the exam bed to stand in front of her.

“You’re a confident man.”

“Do I have a reason not to be?”

Cassian ran his eyes over her, and for the first time in her adult life, she didn’t want him to stop.

What was going on? Had he gotten closer? Why couldn’t she breathe?

Remembering his question, she reached toward him slowly, and he grinned. Until she jangled the chain holding his wrists together.

“It appears you do.”

“And what if I weren’t in here?” He waved his hand around at their surroundings.

“Then I might let you buy me a drink. Or maybe hire you as a bodyguard.”

He laughed. “Baby girl, I’d never let anything happen to you. You wouldn’t even have to pay me.”

That made her grossly happy, so she just winked and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, inmate.”

~Cassian~

Two weeks later, he still hadn’t made any ground with the nurse. Except in his dreams, which woke him up every freaking night. Hell, he didn’t even know her name.

Every day, he joked and flirted and found new ways to make her blush. But yet, she still laughed him off when he talked about taking her out.

He knew he wouldn’t be locked up for long. His best friend and personal lawyer, Rhysand, was working on getting him out. But Tamlin, the asshole cop Cassian had punched, was doing his best to stop it from happening.

He’d hated them for years, ever since Rhys had “taken” his girlfriend from him.

He’d told him he’d be in for a max of two months before he him got out, but Cassian was getting annoyed.

All he wanted to do was take that nurse out on a date she wouldn’t forget and show her a good time. In more ways than one.

Celibacy was about a thousand times more difficult when you had a woman like that in front of you, looking up at you with bright blue eyes, smiling with those perfect lips he’d love to see wrapped around his-

He was knocked out of his thoughts by shouting in the main cell block. He recognized the sounds as a riot, something that happened a little too frequently here. He’d already gotten used to the noise.

He was settling onto his bed, preparing to go back to his daily daydream when he heard something that was not at all familiar. Cassian’s feet were on the floor before he could even form a thought.

He sprinted towards the sound of feminine yelling, shoving people aside as he ran through the block.

When he caught a glimpse of her golden hair, he raced over and started throwing punches without a thought.

He heard her yelling at him, but all he could see was her thin frame pressed against the wall, holding a syringe like a knife.

And the four assholes that had surrounded her.

One by one, they hit the floor, and then he finally let himself look up at the nurse.

~Nesta~

Nesta felt herself coming a little bit unraveled as she watched Cassian pound another inmates face in.

When he decided to stop using his human punching bag, he drug the limp men out of the cell, pulled the bars closed, and turned to her.

“I told you I’d protect you.” He was panting, but he still smiled. “Are you okay?”

The wild look in his eyes, bloody knuckles, and mused hair was making it hard for her to concentrate.

She stared at him, well aware her mouth was hanging open.

“Baby? You okay?” He strode towards her, powerful body eating up the ground. He was completely focused on her, ignoring the raging riot less than twenty feet away.

Nesta ignored it too as she gave into the adrenaline, threw herself at Cassian, and slammed her lips into his like she’d been dying to do for two weeks.

If he was surprised, he hid it well. His lips were smiling against hers, but when she slid her hands in his hair and pulled, the smile fell away and he actually started kissing her back.

Kissing her? No. More like devouring her.

His mouth was insistent and soft and firm and yet gentle and-

Strong arms wrapped around her, then she was being backed her up against the wall.

Nesta ignored the fact that it was cinder block.

His tongue swept into her mouth as her legs found their way around his waist, and she moaned softly as his body aligned with hers.

It had only been a few moments of this, but she was on fire, practically squirming with need.

Cassian’s hands drifted up the back of her shirt, callouses scraping her skin, and he pressed his hips into hers in a way that made her back arch, chest tight against his.

He ripped his lips away from hers long enough to mutter, “Holy fuck,” then kissed his way down her throat.

“Cassian,” she breathed, voice sounding raspy to her own ears, “I need-”

“I know, baby,” he interrupted, a hand moving down her pants to palm her ass.

He was halfway done working them down when an alarm sounded, loud and insistent, interrupting them and bringing Nesta back to reality.

And what a harsh reality it was.

Oh my God. Oh, no no no no.

Her feet found the ground as the bars next to them slid open again. Cassian’s arms were still around her, hands pressed into the wall above her head.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, refusing to meet his stare as she straightened her scrubs.

He brushed her hair off her forehead and shook his head. “For what?”

“That was completely unprofessional, and stupid, and a terrible mistake, and... bye. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She didn’t give him enough time to respond before she ducked under his arm and ran--yes, ran--away from the cell block back to her office.

What the hell had she done?

______________________________________________________________

Part 2 | Part 3

@sjm-things @cursebreaker29 @justgiu12 @maastrash @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life

#nessian fanfiction #nessian #nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acowar #acomaf #acofas #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

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matthiasschoenaertsdaily · 3 years

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Matthias Schoenaerts full interview for De Morgen Magazine (original in Flemish, translated into English by @matthiasschoenaertsdaily)

Interview by Els Maes, published on November 28, 2020

Even a global pandemic will not destroy the optimism of actor Matthias Schoenaerts (42). Because he knows from his own experience how much beauty can emerge from the most hopeless situations. "I've had my back against the wall often enough, I'll always find a way out."

A bleak autumn day on a concrete square. There is lukewarm coffee, lukewarm Chimay and rolling tobacco. At dusk we see the silhouettes of fat rats that shoot past our ankles. And yet Matthias Schoenaerts will tell us in a glowing argument that this, here and now, is the very best place to be. That there is so much beauty to discover, he says. Le paradis c'est ici. As long as we want to see it.

"It's strange to say in this unpleasant period, but I've enjoyed the past few months enormously. It's the first time in ten years, since Runskop actually, that I'll be home for a long period of time. This is so beneficial: I am photographing, painting, writing. I can devote time and attention to the very simple things we'd otherwise race past."

"Seriously, look at that," he says, picking a leaf off the ground. "Those colors, that pattern. I can spend hours looking at the pure beauty of the things that surround us."

Above us a pigeon is wreaking havoc between the thinned out foliage. "While you are singing about the wonderful beauty of nature, that animal is going to shit on our heads," I say. "And that too will be a s-p-l-e-n-d-i-d moment," Schoenaerts answers.

Matthias Schoenaerts is Belgium's most successful international film star. But here and now, on a bench in his hometown, he is a technically unemployed actor, an all-round searching artist, but above all: fighter of cynicism. "I refuse to go along with all negativity and fear. The true battle today is cynicism versus courage. And I always choose the latter."

We're on the Oudevaartplaats, the square that everyone knows as the Antwerp Bird Market, and where Schoenaerts' childhood memories are waiting to be picked up. It comes into the conversation just like that: Brando, the cute chow chow that little Matthias got from his mom on this square, when here on the bird market puppies were still sold. "My dogs were my great loves. The home situation was often difficult, and with my dogs I found security. We had three chow chows, those fluffy lion dogs with a blue tongue. Brando was the first, I loved that animal."

"We lived in a small apartment with three dogs, anything but ideal. One day we let them go, to people with a large estate. That was heartbreaking."

There is a beautiful lesson in that, about love and letting go. It would have been selfish to keep your dogs if you could give them a nicer life elsewhere, wouldn't it?

"Absolutely, but I obviously didn't process that departure properly. Brando still appears in my dreams, after all these years. Then he returns home unexpectedly, and am I mad with joy.

"I often dream about my parents too: that reunion is so intensely beautiful and warm. Oh, there you are, finally! Those dreams are true to life, and the awakening is rock-hard."

Is that one of the reasons why you like being here in Antwerp, because here you feel more connected to the people that you loved?

"This is my home, my zero, I can't imagine a place in the world where I would rather live. When my mom was alive, and especially when she got sick, in between filming I tried to be with her as much as possible here in Antwerp. In the meantime I have an apartment here, my first permanent place of my own, but I've hardly been there in recent years. Now I can finally enjoy my home, I find peace, tranquility and inspiration there. I have seen fantastic sunsets on my roof terrace in recent months. So much beauty, and you can just admire it there, every day, for free. As long as you take the time to enjoy it.

"Normally I would have started filming again in April, and left for a hectic ride of at least two years, with projects that would follow each other quickly. I was at my limits, sooner or later I was going to bang my head against the wall. I feel how beneficial it is to slow down for a moment. David Lynch said that: 'Just slow things down and it becomes more beautiful'.

"As an actor you have to work in a big machine, according to a tight schedule. I have now discovered the pleasure of creating things for myself very spontaneously in my own cadence."

Is that work something you ever want to go public with?

"I want to do something with my photography someday, but I'm in no hurry. I'm also writing a film script, I've had an idea for a trilogy for a long time. It's a very personal project, and it takes time for it to crystallize into something very pure and proper. Maybe those films will come within ten years, maybe never.

"The most important thing is to keep busy. You have to look for something, anything, on which you can focus your passion, love and attention. Of course I would like to return to set, and those projects will come back later. But if I can't change anything about a situation, why worry about it?

"From a very young age I learned that there are not many certainties in life, I adapt easily to unexpected circumstances. There is one thing I can't stand, and that is feeling powerless. I never want to be the victim of a situation, I will always think: what can I do myself? Which way can I go? I have often enough stood with my back against the wall, I will always find a way out and take matters into my own hands."

So Schoenaerts decided to use this period to put Zenith - his artist name as a street artist - to hard work. Since the lockdown he has already created nine impressive murals, including one in the courtyard of the Oudenaarde prison, and one at the beginning of this month in the Antwerp Begijnenstraat, on the bare walls that form their furthest horizon for the prisoners. A moving event, he says. Not only by the touching conversations with inmates, and the forty-minute applause with which the prisoners welcomed him. "The mural contains a poem by my father. While I am there painting those beautiful words of my dad on the wall, I suddenly remember that my mom used to give meditation lessons to the prisoners there in the Begijnenstraat. I had completely forgotten about that until I stood there. How beautiful that is. Suddenly I felt my parents very tangible, very close to me."

It's a bit funny: a long time ago you were arrested for graffiti, now they invite you to prison to make a mural.

"I used to tag a lot, but I really don't like the vandalism that sometimes comes with graffiti. Defacing a facade, that's just ridiculous. But trains, bridges, tunnels.... frankly I think that's the max. Soon I'm going to do another oldskool graffiti wall, with some friends, back to the roots. But with permission, yes."

Scary dudes

The problems of the Belgian detention system are well known: outdated infrastructure, overcrowding and a system of pre-trial detention which means that some people are innocently stuck for years. Schoenaerts: "These are human lives that are destroyed by the Belgian state, isn't that scandalous?"

Schoenaerts' engagement started years ago, after meeting Hans Claus, prison director in Oudenaarde, who contacted him when he wanted to organize a screening of Le Fidèle, the film by Michaël R. Roskam starring Schoenaerts. Claus has been fighting for many years for a reform of our detention system, among others with the non-profit organization De Huizen, small-scale centers that are more focused on rehabilitation and reintegration of the detainee. How does Schoenaerts see his role? "Those murals are a kind of lubricant for me, to get attention for this problem. I am not the expert and I am certainly not a politician. This injustice touches me as a human being, and my message is clear: please listen to the people who have been working hard for decades to reform the system from the inside."

In The Mustang, your last feature film to be seen here before the lockdown, you take on the role of a prisoner who learns to tame wild horses and his demons. Has that role changed your vision?

"That rehabilitation program with mustangs really exists, and the chance of recidivism is almost zero percent. I had a conversation in the Begijnenstraat with the minister of Justice Vincent Van Quickenborne (Open Vld, ed.), and he told me that the chance of relapse here is 40 to 50 percent. Isn't that madness?

"That's what fascinates me most of all: what do we do with those detainees while they're stuck? How can we help to break the destructive patterns that put them in prison? Imprisonment is a punishment in itself, but someday we'll send those people back into society, so let's mainly support them in their self-development.

"In preparation for The Mustang, I visited prisons in the U.S., and talked to men who had been detained for 20, 30 years. Heavy guys: Aryan Brotherhood (powerful crime syndicate of neo-Nazis in American prisons, ed.), Mexican gang leaders... real scary dudes. You know what those say to me? That they live in fear every day, but they must not show weakness. Psychological counseling and things like that have their value, but that's often very cerebral. I especially believe in the healing power of art. Imagine that inmates can express all those fucked up emotions through art: I think that there is an enormous potential in this."

I heard you're playing with the idea of giving acting lessons to inmates?

"That's not a concrete plan yet, but I would love it if people from the creative sector would commit themselves to this: musicians, sculptors, dancers. Or writers who help prisoners put their own story into words.

"The cultural sector needs to start sticking its neck out. The sector is lying flat, and that's terrible. But we have to keep moving. We can all do something for the community, without being paid for it. Planting small seeds, doing something good for your fellow man, something beautiful always comes out of it."

Had you been to a prison before The Mustang?

"To visit friends, yes. In Merksplas, Hoogstraten, Hasselt, Dendermonde... We shouldn't talk about that any further. A prison is deep tristesse. Who dares to call that 'a hotel', shame on you."

This summer you painted an impressive mural in Paris in honor of George Floyd, murdered by American officers. And in Ostend last week a new mural was unveiled, with a 'decapitated' Leopold II. Is activism an important part of your street art?

"Graffiti used to be more of a style exercise for me, you want to create things that get noticed within the scene. But gradually I felt like communicating with a wider audience. I like to incorporate a lot of symbolism in my paintings, such as the cracks I photograph all over the world and then magnify them in another place. And the praying hands, a universal image of hope and faith in yourself. Art has the power to speak to our deepest emotions, and that is what binds us to the other. Connectedness, empathy, harmony, solidarity, that's the essence for me."

The corona crisis is one big exercise in empathy and solidarity. Sometimes we seem to lack that.

"I refuse to surrender to cynicism, and I surround myself with positive people who do beautiful things for others. This period would lead us to insights: how do we deal with each other? Do we help each other, or is it every man for himself? A human is such a wonderful creature, but we mess it up so much for ourselves.

"Yeah, I know. Some people who read this will think: this guy is smoking too many joints. (laughs) I don't smoke joints, and I'm not an unworldly idealist. But I will always focus my attention on the good, in spite of everything."

If you always want to see the good in people, are you sometimes disappointed?

"Yes, of course. I'm not a naive brat, I've learned to guard my boundaries. I can't please everyone all the time, and I don't let anyone rush me. I react badly when people put pressure on me because they want things from me. The perception of me that others have of me, I can't control. I don't let myself put out of balance easily anymore."

I saw that on your Instagram Stories you warned about fake profiles on social media, of people pretending to be you. That made you visibly angry.

"Really, that makes me angry. Every day I receive screenshots from people who have been tricked by crooks who approach innocent victims with my name and my pictures. There are stories of fans who have paid thousands of euros because they were promised a meet-and-greet with me. How disgusting is that? One person has transferred 14,000 euros to someone who pretended to be my manager.

"Of course, that raises questions about how gullible some people can be. But I've seen those chat conversations for myself: those criminals are terribly sneaky. They know how to play on the vulnerabilities of their victims in a very cunning way. This is manipulation and swindle of the filthiest kind.

"Really, I get physically unwell when I think about it. How can someone be so mean? If I ever catch these guys, I'm gonna bash their skulls in, I'm not kidding. Sorry."

Or: those crooks get a jail sentence, where you're going to give them acting lessons.

(laughs) "Okay, let it be clear that I think everyone should be punished for their crimes. My commitment to the prison system is not a plea for impunity, and I certainly don't want to romanticize crime.

"But when someone abuses innocent people's trust in such a cunning way, the question is: how did you derail so morally? And above all: how can we initiate a transformation in that person? Surely you can't lock someone up and expect that person to suddenly make better choices years later? First such a person has to take responsibility for his own actions."

Do you have something criminal on your conscience?

"No." (Thinks for a second) "No. Thank God. I couldn't live with that.

"I've probably hurt people in my life, like everybody else. Sometimes we just hurt people because of who we are, or because we can't fulfill what others want from us. But I have never harmed anyone consciously or criminally, no."

As a teenager you sometimes came into contact with the juvenile court, for vandalism. Do you think you could have ended up on the other side of the bars?

"Probably, a life can take strange turns sometimes."

What made you sit here today, and not get on the 'wrong' path?

"Wait... that's a good question. There's the one terrible dramatic event that caused a total turnaround in my life: when my dad went into a coma after a psychosis, and I was told he only had 24 hours left to live.

"I was 21 then, thrown out of school for the umpteenth time. I was doing graffiti and wanted to find my way creatively. But I was messing around, going with friends who... Anyway, there was latent danger, it threatened to go a little bit the wrong way.

"And then I got that phone call: come and say goodbye. Bam. The relationship with my father had been sour for years, we hardly saw each other. Until I stood there at his deathbed in intensive care... I only felt love, a wave of emotions that I had pushed down very deeply. That realization was rock-hard: this was it. My father and I will never get the chance to figure shit out, I thought.

"Long story, the rest is known: after 72 hours my father woke up from a coma against all odds. Like a plant: he could not speak, reacted to nothing or nobody. According to the chief psychiatrist, we had to accept that his condition would never improve. That was without the fighting spirit of my mother and me.

"It's because of that unlikely event that I've changed my whole lifestyle. For eight months, my mother and I went to visit my father every day. We talked to him, but he seemed to look straight through us. For hours we sat with him at the psychiatry department of Stuivenberg, how desperate those first months were also. We continued to fight, taught him to talk, to eat, to walk. A miracle, the doctors called it. Bullshit of course. It was love, dedication and stubbornness. Especially thanks to my mother, the lioness who kept fighting for him. And see how much beauty came out of it. My life then received an entirely different impulse.

"I suddenly think of an anecdote I've never told before. After a while we were allowed to take my father to the cafeteria once in a while, or to the garden. But he was absolutely not allowed to leave the hospital. Fuck it. I hid a bag of clothes for him, secretly dressed him in the toilet and took my father to the city. By bus, because I didn't have a driver's license. I wanted to stimulate his senses, test if any memories would come back. He was fond of Our Lady's Cathedral, so that's where I wanted to take him."

Matthiaske, why am I crying?

He plays it out. The written version here is only a dead script compared to the lived-through performance, right there on that dark square, just around the corner of the Arenbergschouwburg, where Matthias made his stage debut as a 9-year-old boy next to father Julien, as The Little Prince.

Matthias shows how he supported his frail dad, and how they shuffled in small, careful steps towards the cathedral. Dad looking at the ground to be sure not to fall. "I say, 'Dad, look up'. He looks up, and I see the tears rolling down his cheeks. I had never seen my father cry. 'Matthiaske,' he says, 'can you tell me why I'm crying?'

"I had already decided then that I would take my father into my house. Overconfident, yes, at that age, but they have become the most beautiful years of my life. Mom came by every day to help. Suddenly we were a bit of a family again, something we had only been for a short time when I was young."

It was at that time that you decided to become an actor. Why did you decide to become an actor?

"I had always resisted following in my father's footsteps. In my youth I mainly wanted to break away from my father, and seek my own path. I didn't want to have anything to do with him and all those loudmouths around him in the theater world. But most of all I was terrified that compared to the great Julien Schoenaerts I would never be good enough.

"Only now do I understand why I then decided to go to the conservatory. Not to become an actor, but to understand my father. We had so many years together, and now that we had been given a second chance, I wanted to get to know him as well as possible. By acting, maybe I could get closer to him." (pauses)

Sentimental fuss

He banishes the tears. It's one of the many things he has in common with his father, he says: they're both very emotional, but they hate sentimental fuss. "Come on, Matthias: breathe," he commands himself.

"Voilà, see how much beauty can come out of misery. What a chain of beautiful things came out of the fight my mother and I put up in the most hopeless situation. Who knows how differently my life would have turned out?"

"There are so many lessons in that. If we just talked about the rehabilitation of detainees, for example. It takes commitment. Not a workshop of two hours. You have to persevere, even in the event of a setback, with no guarantee of a happy ending. That's why I think it's so important to keep telling that story about my dad. Those are the values I believe in: dedication, stamina, attention, love. You can apply that to everything in life. Love is the fuel."

You often talk about your parents as if you want to keep them alive with your words.

"Because my mom and dad are the people I've loved most. With them I shared the most important moments, built the most beautiful memories. That loss is enormous. Life has been really fucking tough since they've been gone.

"That's what grabs me so much in this period. How many people have died of corona in Belgium?"

According to Google, today, on the day of the interview, the counter stands at almost 14,000 deaths.

"Fourteen thousand! Imagine how many people that has an impact on? How many people have suddenly lost their mother, father, brother, sister, best friend or neighbor? Behind those figures lie tens of thousands of poignant stories, of people who see a loved one torn from their lives. That is a mountain of unresolved grief, and far too little attention is paid to it."

Earlier during our conversation a guy had walked past coughing and maskless. It pissed Schoenaerts off: "And whining about masks or strict measures. Grow some fucking balls. Having to say goodbye to a loved one, that's the worst thing."

"Isn't that what this period teaches us? That our time here is limited? And what really counts in life: sharing moments of beauty with the people you hold most dear. All the rest is wallpaper. Having success, making movies, that's all fun. But the day you lie on your deathbed, you really don't think about the professional successes on your resume. No way."

#matthias schoenaerts #interviews #misc #by us

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itmeansofthesea · 3 years

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Moving Day

Well this one got me all in my feelings. This was supposed to be lighter and funnier and somehow it got away from me. Instead it's this beautiful thing?? Maybe I'll try to write a funnier version later, but thanks to @dobega for reminding me of the domesticity conversation that led to the end. Any longer and I would have to make this a series, but if that's something you're interested in I think I could swing it. Enjoy, y'all.

Warnings: like one curse word? I think that's it... It's also overwhelmingly sweet imo so just be ready for that.

Had Charles Vane known that becoming ally/friends with James Flint would involve helping him, his boyfriend, and his boyfriend’s wife (his girlfriend?) move into their new house, he might have just gone ahead, taken the warship and let Peter Ashe hang Flint and be done with. Not really, but… maybe?

He honestly isn’t even really sure how he got roped into this. It was a couple of weeks ago when he, Jack, Anne, Max, Flint, Thomas, and Miranda were all sitting at a table upstairs in the brothel having dinner. Billy was out showing Abigail around Nassau and Mr.s Gates and De Groot were just trying to get a moment’s peace at some smaller tavern at the other end of town. Silver and Madi were out having some sort of alone dinner thing (Jack had called it a “date” and then called Charles a “heathen with no sense of romance”), and this all left the motley crew to sit around with whatever the brothel’s cook had dreamed up and a metric ton of ale to wash it down.

Charles didn’t fully understand the situation Flint had with the Hamiltons, but whatever it was clearly made Flint happier than Charles had ever seen him. He was all smiles and laughter and joy. It warmed Charles’s heart (just a bit) to see his friend so happy, because they certainly had become friends. He mentally joked about leaving Flint to hang, but to be honest it would be difficult to imagine his life without the people sitting around the table with him now. At least, it would be difficult to imagine something resembling a happy life.

They’d stopped to refuel in Savannah after Charlestown and somehow or another word got to Flint about a plantation full of the disgraced sons of London’s elite that were now more or less enslaved in the prison colony. If there was one thing Charles was always down to do (and there were many things he was always down to do), it was hunt down a slave master and free people from bondage. They’d split when they got to the plantation- Charles after the master of the house and James off to find Thomas. Finding Mr. Smith hadn’t been difficult and dispatching him was even easier. Once that was finished, Charles made his way outside to find Flint in the arms of another, taller man and both of them appeared to be weeping. He felt like an intruder watching them, so he busied himself with checking the plantation for anyone else who may need to be released. When they made it back to the ship, Miranda leapt on the man who Charles realized must be Thomas, and after a minute of holding on to him she grabbed Flint into their embrace.

In time all of the introductions were made, and suddenly the Charles/Anne/Jack crew expanded to the Charles/Anne/Max/Jack crew and the Charles/James friendship expanded to include Charles/James/Thomas/Miranda. They also intercepted Abigail Ashe on the way, and James and the Hamiltons promptly adopted her on the spot. She and Charles had some reacquainting to do outside of Eleanor Guthrie’s influence, but he at least thought they were making progress. She didn’t seem nearly as terrified as she’d been of him when she followed Eleanor through the gate, so that was something.

Fast forward a few weeks and here they all were finishing their chicken and ale when Jack began asking about where the Flint/Hamilton/Ashe family intended to live. Miranda’s house was too small now that they had Abigail, and Billy had attached himself to Abigail as an older brother figure so usually where one of them was, the both of them were. Of course with Billy came Mr. Gates as his surrogate father, and while they’d made it work for the last couple of months, everyone was feeling a bit cramped.

Jack and Max volunteered to host them at the brothel, but they politely declined. Charles half considered offering to let them stay at the fort, but figured that may not be the best idea considering they also had Abigail to consider. Not that he couldn’t keep his men under control, but he also knew that she had memories of that fort that she may not want to be surrounded by all the time. He certainly knew that was the case for him, and yet he stayed… for some reason. Maybe he should take Jack up on the offer to move into the brothel…

Thomas mentioned that they’d been asking around and found a house a bit more inland from Miranda’s that had been abandoned for the last several years. It would take a bit of fixing up, but they planned to go ahead and move in and then work on it as they lived there. Before Charles fully knew what was happening, Jack had volunteered Charles, Anne, himself, and Max to all help them move with the added bonus that he and Max would help with the decorating if Miranda so desired their assistance. Max enthusiastically agreed and elbowed Anne in the side prompting her to shrug a shoulder in agreement. Jack looked at Charles with those wide puppy-dog eyes and before Charles even knew what he was saying he’d agreed to help. The look on the Flint/Hamilton’s faces almost made it worth it.

At the time.

That was then.

Now it’s moving day. What on earth had they gotten themselves into?

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

When Charles and company arrived at Miranda’s house early the next day, one cart was packed and Thomas, Billy, and James were in the process of loading another one. It was decided that they would stay behind and the Ranger crew plus Max would go with Miranda and Abigail and get things unloaded. Mr. Gates was out helping Mr. De Groot careen the ship again since the last time was a bit of a disaster.

The moving crew pulled up to a slightly rundown looking two story house with columns on the porch and an overgrown garden to the side. Miranda smiled and squeezed Abigail around the shoulders before jumping off the cart to start unloading. Abigail took the key to the front door and unlocked it, but had a little trouble pushing it open since the summer heat made the wood swell in the jamb. Jack went to help her push it open while Charles and the others started getting things off the cart.

“Just put everything in the front for now, we’ll get it sorted later,” Miranda instructed as she pulled a crate of books from the back. She passed it to Charles who noticed the copy of Reflections by Marcus Aurelius on the top. He recognized it from a conversation he’d had with Flint on the way to the plantation. That was his and Thomas’s book, the one object that kept them tethered together to all this time. Flint’s book with Miranda was Don Quixote, which he also noticed on top of the stack. It’s not that Charles couldn’t read (Teach made sure he could), it had just never been particularly useful to him. You don’t have to know how to read to split logs, haul rope, navigate the stars, or fight the English Navy. Besides, he’d never really had the time to sit down and rest long enough to read. Maybe he should change that. He set the books down to the left of the open door and went back out for more stuff.

Max and Anne pulled down a trunk of clothes and carried it into the house together. Charles volunteered to switch with them, but he was told in no uncertain terms that they could handle it themselves thank you very much, so he left them to it. He passed Miranda and Abigail carrying small crates of what appeared to be dishes. Porcelain. Hadn’t he and Flint had that conversation just a few days ago? About how fragile porcelain and books were, and how fragile a civilized life was, and how it all came down to capitulation and letting society numb you into obedience? Now he was willingly helping Flint settle into that obedience. Is that something a real friend should do? Charles wasn’t sure, so he jumped into the back of the cart, pushed a trunk to the edge, and hauled it out of the back of the cart to take inside.

Miranda stood in the foyer with her hands on her hips trying to put together what each room should be when the furniture arrived. Charles motioned to the trunks on the floor and at Jack who was just standing there in slack jawed awe.

“Would you like us to move these upstairs?”

Miranda turned and smiled up at him. “Sure, thank you, Charles.”

“Jack, let’s go.” Charles barked and jerked his head toward the trunks.

“You can’t honestly expect me to be able to help you carry that upstairs.” Jack raised an eyebrow and looked at Charles like he’d lost his mind. Charles scowled and opened his mouth to reply when suddenly-

“Good thing we got here in time then,” Flint’s voice sounded amused coming from behind him, and he turned just in time to see Billy and Thomas carrying in a table. Miranda’s smile widened as she directed them to the right and Flint walked over to Charles to help with the trunk.

“My hero,” Jack cooed jokingly at Flint before catching Charles’s eye and backing away. “Yes, yes, I know. Fuck you, Jack. I’ll let you save your breath.” Jack raised his hands and walked away to follow Miranda and see if he could start setting the table or something.

Charles just rolled his eyes and grabbed his end of the trunk.

“On 3?” James asked. Charles nodded. “1, 2, 3,” James counted off and they both lifted at the same time. It was heavy, even for the two of them.

“The fuck’s in this thing?” Charles grunted as he started backwards up the stairs.

“I think these are Abigail’s… From what I understand, women’s clothes are far more complex than ours,” James laughed.

“Not here, they aren’t…” Charles thought back to Eleanor’s outfits, but also realized that Abigail and Miranda were nothing like Eleanor, therefore they would likely be dressed more like Max, in which case it made sense. Thank God they weren’t like Eleanor. Nassau couldn’t handle another one.

“So, if you can’t understand why a man would want domesticity, why are you helping four of them move into a house?” James looked amused, and Charles honestly wasn’t even sure he had an answer.

“I still don’t understand it. To the left,” Charles moved to get his back to the doorway and James moved with him. “However,” they set the trunk down inside the room and straightened. “I think I am starting to understand wanting peace.” He sighed. “And I don’t know, maybe I do understand it. I tried to tell Eleanor that we could take part of the gold and settle down, have a life, a couple of kids… but she would never have that. I told myself that wasn’t me wanting domesticity, that was wanting someone else to depend on me, but…” he took a deep breath and walked out onto the landing where he could see Jack and Anne below him. James wordlessly followed. “Maybe I’ve had other people depending on me for a long time. Actually, I know I have. It’s why Jack wouldn’t come with me when I left with Teach- he didn’t want to have to depend on me when he’d built something of his own here. I didn’t expect that to hurt as much as it did.”

“But it did,” James whispered beside him.

“It did. I guess because I was hoping that our friendship would be enough for him to come with me, but in the end his need for independence won out. I can’t blame him, especially after all the shit I put him through with Eleanor-”

“Excuse you, you both put us all through that,” James smirked and bumped Charles’s shoulder. He earned a grunt in response. James just chuckled and noted the small grin gracing Charles’s face out of the corner of his eye. James knew at one point that comment would likely have resulted at him having a knife in his face. He was thankful they’d progressed past that.

“Anyway,” Charles emphasized the word, “seeing you with Miranda and Thomas, and even adopting Abigail. It seems peaceful. Maybe that’s part of domesticity, maybe it isn’t, but either way, it looks nice. It’s not something I can have in that fort probably, but…” he trailed off.

James waited a beat before asking, “what?”

“I am happy that it’s working out this way for you,” Charles whispered. “If anyone deserves all of this, you do. You all do,” he ignored the water welling up in his eyes as he put a hand over Flint’s over the railing.

Flint didn’t even bother ignoring his tears. He just let them go as he watched his family make their home together for the first time in a way that included all of them from the very beginning. He whispered, “thank you. So do you, you know?”

Charles chuckled humorlessly and swiped a hand across his face.

“I’m serious,” James looked at Charles who turned his head in response. “They are my family, but you are now, too. You don’t show up to save my life from the man who ruined my life, help me blow a port city to hell, kill its governor, and then stop me from murdering Jack Rackham for taking the Urca gold I’d been after for years without earning the title of brother. Even if you did steal my ship first.” James smirked and bumped Charles’s shoulder again.

“Yeah… I’m not sorry about that.” Charles shook his head and laughed.

“Wouldn’t expect you to be,” James chuckled, “brother.”

Charles looked at his family and back at James. “Brother.”

#black sails #charles vane #ranger crew #anne bonny #jack rackham #bs max #james flint #flinthamilton #thomas hamilton #miranda hamilton

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