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cristalconnors · 3 years

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TOP 20 SONGS OF 2020

20. “BELOW THE CLAVICLE”- EARTHEATER

“The meaning hasn’t come up yet. It’s still under the surface below the clavicle.”

It isn’t just Alexandra Drewchin’s ear splitting soprano when she hits that impossibly high B, practically shrieking out the “cle” syllable of clavicle, though that’s undoubtedly when I first knew that Eartheater’s avant folk was for me- it’s also the cinematic, lush strings, both bowed and plucked (is that acoustic guitar or harp? I genuinely can’t tell), deepening and complicating the sonic texture of Drewchin’s study of parsing through emotions you aren’t ready to make sense of yet.

19. “PUSSY TALK”- CITY GIRLS, FT. DOJA CAT

“This pussy so ghetto, this pussy speak ebonics”

“WAP”’s funnier, classless Irish twin, though it’s important to note “Pussy Talk” came first. Yung Miami and JT enlist Doja Cat to expound on everything their pussies deserve and will absolutely settle for nothing less than. And why should they when they’re spitting out verses this inspiredly hilarious with such confidence and flow?

18. “LICK IN HEAVEN”- JESSY LANZA

“Once I’m spinning, I can’t stop spinning...”

Jessy Lanza is talking about losing your cool, letting your emotions get the best of you and lashing out instead of letting cooler heads prevail, but when that earworm of a chorus hits- “once I’m spinning, I can’t stop spinning” - I can’t stop spinning. I’m that woman on the single art, a wine mom lost in the delirium of the dance floor and in Lanza’s hypnotic, fragmented rhythms.

17. “GASLIGHTER”- THE CHICKS

“Boy, you know exactly what you did on my boat!”

“Gaslighter” finds Natalie Ames and her Chicks at their most simultaneously ruthless and ebullient, ripping Ames’s ex-husband Adrian Pasdar a new asshole and ratcheting up the righteous anger of “Goodbye Earl” tenfold, channeling it into a glorious wall of sound in what might be their most rousing, emotionally resonant chorus in their storied career.

16. “HANNAH SUN”- LOMELDA

“Hannah do no harm...”

While “Hannah Sun” begins as an exquisitely observed rumination on grappling with long-distance, pining for someone who’s a continent away, it gradually becomes clear that Hannah Read blames herself for putting the distance between her and the subject of her longing, and that the distance isn’t strictly literal. Skittering synths (or is that distorted flute?) complicate and enrich the texture of the song, allowing it to build organically and stunningly towards a heartbreaking plea to herself- “Hannah, do no harm.”

15. “FIRE”- WAXAHATCHEE

“And when I turn back around will you drain me back out? Will you let me believe that I broke through?”

When I’d drive back and forth between Dallas and Austin over and over again when I was in college, I’d often get off I-35 past Waco and take the back roads through towns I’d never heard of, the sun setting spectacularly behind the titular hills of Hill Country that were beginning to roll out in earnest. I think about that a lot when listening to “Fire,” a song dripping in rural Americana that was, unsurprisingly, inspired by a road trip. We’ve probably all been Katie Crutchfield as she crossed the bridge into West Memphis- alone in the car, awed by the simple beauty of the American countryside, making speeches to ourselves about our past mistakes and figuring out a way forward.

14. “3AM”- HAIM

“On the screen and in my jeans, just make me feel good.”

On an album full of genre departures and decidedly darker themes than we’ve typically heard from Haim in their near decade of syncopated bubblegum pop rock, “3AM” stands out not only as their most effective stab at pastiche, slipping into the trappings of contemporary R&B with shocking ease and gusto, but also as their most unabashedly fun track in their entire oeuvre. “I think you can hear the amount of joy and laughs we had making this song” Alana Haim tells Apple Music, and you absolutely can.

13. “QADIR”- NICK HAKIM

“We’re sinking down a hole without thinking about our loved ones who might be shrinking...”

I often wonder if I’m putting enough effort into maintaining my relationships with friends I don’t see regularly, who live several time zones away, living their own lives while I live mine. When the thought of sustaining simple correspondence becomes overwhelming, it’s easy for months to go by before you realize you haven’t spoken to one of your closest friends. “QADIR” plays less like a eulogy for a friend gone too soon (though of course it is that) than a plea to the listener to put in the work. It’s worth it. You never know when it’ll be too late.

12. “LEVITATING”- DUA LIPA

“Glitter in the sky, glitter in our eyes shining just the way we are.”

Just a few bars of that delightfully bouncy, extra-terrestrial beat is enough to launch me into space. It’s so refreshing to hear a song that remembers that pop is supposed to be joyful and is best when it’s a bit silly. When discussing this track with Apple Music, Dua Lipa cites Austin Powers as inspiration, elaborating that “if I do a video for this, Mike Meyers has to be in it.” Can’t you just see them together, performing a farcical pas de deux of seduction like the spiritual successor to “Beautiful Stranger?”

11. “RIQUIQUI”- ARCA

“Love in the face of fear! Fear in the face of God!”

Arca’s made a career of harnessing chaos and somehow making sense of it. On an album that finds her embracing more traditional, accessible song structures, “Riquiqui” is a reminder that even when working within an AB structure, she’s still breaking rules left and right and having a blast doing it. She’s also never sounded so ferociously empowered in either her femininity or in her Venezuelan identity, rattling off local colloquialisms with affection and verve without a second thought as to who’s going to understand it.

10. “FANTASY”- AGAINST ALL LOGIC

“I think about you all the time...”

Or, the musical embodiment of this gif:

When Nicolas Jaar’s tormented synths and crunching beats give way to Beyoncé’s unmistakable alto, it is indeed quite the shock. But should it be? Even if 2017-2019 finds him ditching the dancefloor in favor of more severe, unforgiving soundscapes, his already varied career has shown us nothing’s off limits to him. So why not reinvent Beyoncé’s iconic “Baby Boy” into an industrial, vaguely sinister certified bop that arguably surpasses the original?

9. “PEOPLE, I’VE BEEN SAD”- CHRISTINE AND THE QUEENS

“If you disappear, then I’m disappearing, too.”

“People, I’ve been sad” plays out with the vulnerability and intimacy of a tumblr text post you put out in the middle of the night, only to hastily delete later when it gets no notes. It forgoes flowery language in favor of just getting to the point. “I’ve been sad.” Héloïse Adelaïde Letissier blows up this deceptively simple sentiment with richly layered textures and a big screen gloss not to offer any remedies but instead to offer solidarity. We’re all in this hell together.

8. “DESCRIBE”- PERFUME GENIUS

“Can you just find him for me?”

Mike Hadreas has never sounded so hopeless. Utilizing harsh, rattling guitar that would make Kevin Shields swoon, he conveys the experience of being so estranged from happiness and joy that you need to rely on others to describe the sensation to you. But how, when exploring darker textures than he ever has before, does he make despondency sound so divine?

7. “4 AMERICAN DOLLARS”- U.S. GIRLS

“No matter how much you get to have, you will still die and that’s the only thing.”

Meg Remy picks up where she left off on “4 American Dollars,” reviving the subversive pastiche she mastered on In a Poem Unlimited, this time harnessing the power of funk to dismantle the fallacies we’re taught about the virtues of capitalism. Heavy stuff, but Remy makes it less didactic than joyous, ensuring the listener will be singing “I don’t believe in pennies and nickels and dimes and dollars and pesos and pounds and rupees and yen and rubles” until they start to wonder if maybe they shouldn’t, either.

6. “STUPID LOVE”- LADY GAGA

“I freak out, I freak out, I freak out, I freak out!”

Due to a healthy spirit of contrarianism mixed with a touch of internalized homophobia and genuine bafflement at her universal appeal and praise, I was a proud Lady Gaga hater for as long as she’d been a cultural entity. I just didn’t get her at all and loved that about myself. Annoying, I know. 2020 was the year I was finally ready to let that all go. Just before the world fell apart in March, I was out at Flaming Saddles (RIP) with friends the night this song came out and by the sixteenth time it played, I understood why it was inducing such hysteria. This was a cultural shift. After a frustrating near-decade of Gaga subverting expectations so thoroughly that she was actively working against her strengths and sabotaging her cultural ubiquity in the process, coupled with the most frightening era of political upheaval in our lifetimes, she was finally ready to save us and be Lady Gaga again. Booming synth, drag sensibilities, absurd thematic conceits- all was right in the world. For the first time in a long time, people had something to be hopeful about, and as I danced that night, I felt that hope, too.

5. “SHELLFISH MADEMOISELLE”- RÓISÍN MURPHY

“How dare you sentence me to a lifetime without dancing?”

As soon as that bass starts (the funkiest bassline in the history of music?) it’s like Róisín Murphy’s snake charming oboe, coaxing even the most stalwart curmudgeon onto the dancefloor and keeping them there, dancing frantically and involuntarily like the citizens of Strasbourg in 1518, trying their best to keep up with Murphy who isn’t even breaking a sweat, commanding the masses with a sultry remove, beckoning you closer, pulling you inexorably deeper into the mass of gyrating bodies and whispering in your ear “come and have a dance with yer mum.”

4. “PARTY 4 U”- CHARLI XCX

“I only threw this party for you...”

As PC Music / Bubblegum Bass / whatever you want to call it enters its second decade, Charli XCX proves not only that there’s still new textures to explore within it, but also that no one can exploit its artifice to get down to emotional truths like she can. How can she make something this slick sound so vulnerable? “I only threw this party for you” she croons over and over again over glorious syncopated synths that build exquisitely, reaching their climax only to immediately fall away, until it’s just her and her trusty autotune, pleading with the subject of the song to just come to the damn party. But they won’t, of course. They never do, do they?

3. “WAP”- CARDI B, FT. MEGAN THEE STALLION

“I want you to touch that lil’ dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat!”

Sometimes you just immediately know you’re living through a significant cultural moment. No, not COVID. I’m talking about the experience of hearing Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s instant classic “WAP” for the first time, a titanic meeting of the minds that finds both of them at the apex of their cultural influence and at their most undeniable. Can the argument be made that these two aren’t the two best rappers in the game right now? How could you hear this inspiredly filthy sex positive juggernaut, where Cardi and Megan are trading the sickest verses of their careers, and not think these two deserve the world?

2. “KEROSENE!”- YVES TUMOR

“I can be your baby in real life, sugar. I can live in your dreams.”

If the 2010′s were all about the pop-ification of all music, trading in live instrumentation in favor of polished synths, 2020 forcefully announced the return of the electric guitar when Yves Tumor and Diana Gordon’s back and forth lustfully submissive declarations of desire suddenly gave way to that nasty guitar rip lifted from Uriah Heep’s “Weep in Silence” to announce yet another cultural shift in a year chock full of them- rock and roll was, indeed, here to stay.

1. “I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME”- FIONA APPLE

“I move with the trees in the breeze, I know that time is elastic.”

We live and we learn. Years spent soul searching and on self-discovery shape us into better, smarter people, progressively knowing and understanding ourselves and the world around us more and more clearly, but Fiona Apple knows that none of that can quell the ferocious desire to be loved by someone. By anyone. By you, whoever that is. We can know that time is elastic and that when we’re gone all our particles will disband and disperse and then we’ll be back in the pulse, and we can know that none of this stuff actually matters, but still- we want, we want, we want.

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remys-lucky-franc · 3 years

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Remy x MC (Queen of Thieves) - Kissing Prompt #14

This is the final ‘kiss prompt’ that I have on my request list. I’m sad 😔

I’ve really enjoyed working on these - this wee challenge got me back into the habit of writing regularly which is so nice as I’d been doing ‘sit and stare at a blank page’ thing for months, thank you for inviting me to join in folks.

Prompt #14 - a kiss so desperate that that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished - requested by lovely @mcira for lovely Remy

It’s a sort of a ‘good heist goes bad’ alt-version of the ‘first ever kiss on film’ heist from Remy’s S1. Also, I relocated it to Barcelona because Paris is too inland 😂

Written from MC POV.

Word count ~6100 (marked #long fic if anyone wants to filter it away - adding ‘read more’ isn’t reliable - don’t want to clog anyone’s dash x)

TW: drowning / broken bones

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[MORE]

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I curse, scrambling to keep my balance as the yacht lists suddenly to the right; my arms flailing, thrown backwards trying to grip at the doorway to stay upright. I collide with it and stretch my hands out to save myself as I hit the ground awkwardly: the crack from my arm makes me feel sick to my stomach. Furniture shifts. Decor clatters to the floor. Lights overhead flicker violently. What the hell was that noise? Something has gone very, very wrong.

—-24 hours earlier —-

Remy and I have spent well over a month on this con now, establishing and ingratiating ourselves with the obnoxious specimen that is Parker Vos. Ugh, even his name makes my skin crawl. Tonight we’ve met up for some drinks: Parker’s idea. Remy’s positioned himself between Parker and I at the bar of the plush cocktail lounge and I watch on as Parker charges his glass again, loudly laughing, clapping his hand on Remy’s shoulder. Remy clinks glasses with him, smile jovial, eyes full of myrth; swallowing down the liquor to perfectly conceal the bile I know is steadily rising within his throat. If there is anyone who dislikes Parker Vos more than I do, it’s Remy Chevalier.

Watching Remy work a con has been quite an experience. He knows instinctively what people want to see and hear - oftentimes even before they know themselves. He reads their body language with practiced ease and plays his part to meet The Gilded Poppy’s ends: a master of assuaging insecurities or fuelling egos. And I have never known an ego like Parker’s. He’s spent half of the evening acting like Remy’s his long-lost best friend, and the other half undressing me - his buddy’s ‘wife’ - with cold, soulless eyes.

Parker’s on his feet, moving to refill my champagne flute but I move my hand to cover the top, opening my mouth in a half-protest.

He grins at me as I giggle, “I shouldn’t - I’ve had too much already-”

Tutting and moving my hand away from the opening of glass, he pours another generous serving of fizz. I make a big deal out of rolling my eyes at him and exclaiming that’s he’s ‘such a bad influence’. Inside I’m far from smiling - I hate guys who behave like this.

Parker doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand, his fingertips trace my palm casually, an amused, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. I feel colour rising rapidly from my chest to the tips of my ears and Parker raises an eyebrow at me - clearly delighted that he’s gotten me flustered - but it’s not his touch or his gaze that’s set me alight. It’s the way that Remy’s eyes burn into me from the next seat, flecks of gold and green glitter like fire and the mask he wears is one that I can’t quite decipher, the only clue to his true feelings being the exaggerated bob of his throat as he continues to pretends he’s oblivious to the game Parker’s playing. I simper as I extract my hand from Parker’s to toast our glasses. I know Remy and I aren’t really married, but Parker doesn’t: this guy really has zero shame.

Remy’s seamlessly switched to wearing a playful smirk as he reaches across me, clinking all three of our glasses together, “Ma cherie, the bubbles are going to her head, Parker - look how flushed she is!”

His free hand reaches up affectionately cupping my cheek and I feel myself sink longingly into his gentle touch, his daring wink makes my heart stutter as Parker drones on, boasting about only ordering the very finest champagne for his friends.

A short time later, Remy excuses himself and he hasn’t even reached the bathroom before Parker has slid across to occupy his stool, angling himself into me just a little closer than could be considered appropriate. He’s such a snake, it takes all my energy to fix a sweet, naïve smile on my face when his hand comes to rest on my arm; the way his touch makes me feel compared to Remy’s is so stark in its contrast. He’s watching my face intently as he smirks at me - always bragging about his wealth and possessions, always looking for any sign that he’s impressing me.

He’s acting shocked that this is is the first time I’ve been to this particular bar, given that it’s one of Barcelona’s hot-spots, wondering out loud why my husband never brought me here before now. I sip daintily at my glass as I tell him this sort of place is generally outside of our budget, that it would only ever be somewhere that we’d come for a special occasion. As Parker nods, sacharrine-sweet condescension guising as sympathy, I think about how Remy was absolutely right when he told me he reckoned Parker gets a real kick out of feeling like the Alpha Male in any room and I lean into it. He’s back onto his favourite brand of champagne again - asking me if I ever tried it before tonight. I have, but I play along, feeding the narrative, telling him exactly what he wants to hear: Remy would be proud of me.

I shake my head wistfully, “It’s really delicious, it’s such a lovely treat to have something so decadent. I can understand it being your favourite, Parker - you have really good taste.”

He sighs, looking almost troubled, “You know it makes me sad that a girl like you can’t have everything her heart desires. I’ve got cases galore of the stuff on my yacht. I have it brought in directly from the vineyard just outside Epernay.” He pauses, quirking his head at me, “Say, have you ever been on a yacht?”

I think about what Remy’s always tells me about the best and most convincing cons: they stick as closely to the truth as possible. I feel a genuine smile blossom as I tell Parker about the little sailboat my grandfather had and how I loved spending time on it with him when I was a little girl. I can hear the warmth in my own voice and I know my eyes are sparkling as I think about those happy memories, but rather than ask me anything about my grandfather or my childhood, Parker patronises me and uses it as another opportunity to play ‘The Big I Am’. He chuckles as he tells me that wasn’t a real boat, then reels off what sounds like the manufacturer’s sales pitch for his top-of-the-range, fully customised yacht. Heaven knows, I really want to punch this guy but I nod, maintaining my rapt expression - all wide-eyed and utterly impressed. As he drones on, my brain wanders thinking how the same conversation would have gone sitting here with Remy instead.

Parker’s incessant boasting continues as he drawls about how much he would love to take me out on his yacht, “I think a girl like you would appreciate a boat like mine you know, and you’d look so good on it.”

Such. A. Creep.

I shoot him a rueful smile before biting my lip and looking down at the my hands. My fake wedding ring sparkles up at me under the low lights of the bar. I can feel Parker’s beady eyes on me watching my every move like I’m his prey. I fidget with the golden band and I know I’m working this con just right when he pushes my hair back from my face and tips my chin upward to look at him. A grin slithers across his face - poison hidden just behind the facade.

“Why don’t you come on the yacht with me this weekend, baby? You can have as much of this champagne as you like - I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated.”

I don’t have to fake being a little taken aback: I know it’s been our objective to get on that yacht, and I knew we were reeling him in, but the blatancy of his invite still knocks me off guard!

I glance towards the bathrooms and see that Remy’s making his way back across the bar. I use the shock of the invitation to my advantage, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I tell Parker, “Remy’s coming back.” I look up at him through my lashes and breathe, “Parker, I- I don’t know? It sounds amazing, but honestly, I’m not sure I should.”

Parker searches my dark eyes, voice smug, so confident that his charms have me falling for him; that he’s so irresistible I’d be ready to betray my husband with him, “I think you do know. You just don’t want to hurt Remy, because you’re a sweet girl. But I’ll make a deal with you, I’ll send you the directions to where she’s docked - and I’ll be there waiting. If you come...”, his thumb brushes across my lips and I draw in a sharp breath while my stomach lurches. His voice lowers as he stares at my mouth, “I’ll show you, I can give you everything you ever wanted and more besides.” Then he’s gone, quickly slithering back to his own bar stool, duplicitously clasping and shaking Remy’s hand as he returns, as though he didn’t just proposition his wife.

—-

Remy fumed about the audacity of Parker Vos the whole way back to the penthouse last night. And I thought he disliked the guy before... I’d hate to see how Remy would react if someone hit on his real wife because he is the most convincingly jealous fake-husband I’ve ever seen. And his attitude towards our mark got even worse when Parker text me with the coordinates for Port Vell Marina.

When we got back we debriefed Nikolai on all of the night’s events and came to the conclusion that me going to the yacht alone was not an option. I argued that I was more than capable of handling him but Remy was adamant that Parker was an entitled creep and it was too dangerous. Nikolai agreed with Remy, and when I huffed that he would trust Vivienne to fly solo, I have never seen him look more annoyed. He barked at me that he it was his decision, his responsibility and he refused to put any member of his team into that position alone, especially where there was no option for back up if things started to take a wrong turn. As much as I hated to back down, I knew from his tone that he was being completely honest and I should apologise and accept his decision. We spent the rest of the evening coming up with our next move - for Remy and I to arrive at Parker’s yacht together.

—-

We arrive at the beautiful Marina at Port Vell the following afternoon and I don’t have to feign how impressed I am. It is absolutely stunning - the sun dapples the turquoise blue waters while every gleaming yacht is sleeker and grander than the last.

Remy’s holds my hand firmly as we head towards Berth 26 where Parker’s imposing yacht is docked. Our play this afternoon is that I was heading out to meet Parker when Remy asked where I was going and I couldn’t think of any reason for him not to come along that didn’t seem strange or suspicious.

We reach the yacht and I see Parker. The irritate look on his face is replaced in an instant as he wraps us both in a friendly hug, before ushering us onboard. As he takes my hand to help me up the steps, he shoots me a look as though to enquire ‘why the hell aren’t we alone?’ and I drop my head like I’ve never been more deeply disappointed by anything in my life.

Remy has Parker chatting about the spec of the boat and I fear that he may never shut up about it. We spend at least fifteen minutes in the cockpit as Parker regales us with tales about how he got rid of his last captain, how he prefers to sail the yacht himself: bravado, bravado, bla bla bla. My cheeks hurt from the fake grin I have plastered across my face but I really lose the will to live as he places a captain’s hat on my head, cracking a joke to Remy about female drivers and saying that if I felt brave enough, he might even let me steer later. As we walk I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ where appropriate, observing the ostentatious gold fixings and over-the-top ornate features and I conclude that no amount of money can buy you class.

When we eventually reach the sun deck, Remy raises an eyebrow at me, “Oh. Ma cherie, I think we may be intruding. Parker, were you expecting other company?”

I cringe as my eyes land on the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen, sat next to a bottle of the same champagne we were drinking in the bar last night. I know Parker is a truly awful person, but I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. His cheeks colour lightly, clearly having forgotten that he paid someone to set this up for him and his mouth works hard at opening and closing for a few painful seconds before his brain catches up, “Oh! Those? A ‘friend’ of mine was supposed to join me a bit before you both arrived. Then I thought we could have some drinks together, all four of us.”

Remy nods, his expression neutral, but eyes sharp, “I see. And they’re running late?”

Parker shrugs, eyes flicking to look at me as he lies, “She cancelled at the last minute. Something else came up.”

Remy wraps his arm around me making a show of planting a soft kiss on my cheek, his sympathetic words juxtaposed to the smirk apparent in his tone, “How awful, cherie! Good old Parker’s been left in the lurch. And after going to all that trouble too!”

I grimace, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Parker.”

Parker clears his throat, snatching up the champagne bottle, “Yeah. I’ll grab us some glasses.”

As he heads inside, I dig Remy in the ribs with my elbow and hiss, “What the hell was that?!”

Remy grins, his face full of mischief, “It’s obvious that I suspect there’s ‘something going on’ here”, he gestures between me and the roses, “and if he knows I’m willing to fight for you mon couer, it makes you all the more attractive to him...”

Knowing he’s right, but hating it, I pull a face.

He winks at me, “Plus, your Remy wants to have a little fun making him squirm.”

—-

We set sail a little after two-thirty, and as the afternoon progresses, it’s not just Parker who Remy is making squirm. Aside from a variety of vaguely passive aggressive jokes about being stood up and dating disasters - at one point even suggesting that I set Parker up with one of my friends, Remy is possibly the most tactile he’s ever been with me during this con: his hand is either holding mine, on my knee, or touching my face at every given opportunity. And his strategy is working because every single time Remy’s hands are on me, Parker’s eyes follow.

I know it’s all for Parker’s benefit but I just can’t help the way my heart races when Remy touches me. I have to keep telling myself it’s just for the con - all a part of his strategy. I repeat it over and over like a mantra: ‘It’s just for the con. It’s not real. It’s just for the con.’ But it feels so good. So real. And I want him so badly my chest aches.

Part of my role on today’s outing is scouting out the location of the reel of film we’re trying to steal. We’ve long suspected that it’s somewhere on the boat. So while the men continue to drink and chatter, I excuse myself and head to the restroom, getting myself deliberately lost in the labyrinth below deck. I’m fascinated by the amount of cool and interesting stuff that Parker owns despite being an uncultured jerk. I wonder if he has any genuine interest in any of it at all, or if it’s entirely for bragging rights and to impress other people. The further I wander unrestricted, the more I marvel and get to wondering just how rich Parker actually is? It’s so unfair - he deserves pretty much nothing that’s aboard this floating treasure trove... Then I see it - a can of film inside a glass case! Surely that’s got to be it? I quickly check the case, it’s pretty secure and looks like it’s inbuilt to the wall cabinet?! That means... This must be it - the first kiss ever recorded... I beam from ear to ear as I think about how excited Remy is going to be when I tell him!!

Unbeknown to me, upstairs whilst Remy and Parker stand at the railing staring out into the glittering dark blue of the Med, Remy decides to lean a little further into his role of suspicious and jealous spouse. Remy subtly turns the conversation from small talk to a grilling before Parker even realises that he’s walking into a trap, “It’s a shame your friend couldn’t make it, Parker. It would have been lovely to meet the woman who’s caught your eye... You were hoping that the four of us could have drinks together, right?”

Parker nods, sipping at his glass.

“But you didn’t know I was coming?”

Parker laughs, deflecting, “Uh, yeah! I got that wrong, I thought you were otherwise engaged. I’m so glad you could make it, buddy! It’s always great to see you!”

Remy cocks his head to the side, face still open and neutral, like he’s trying to understand, ”Sure, I’m glad I could join. But I’m confused? You were planning on the four of us drinking that champagne, oui?”

Parker clears his throat, suddenly realising that Remy might actually not be as much of a mug as he’s taken him for.

Remy continues, face visibly hardening as he speaks, “From where I’m sitting, there’s no mystery lady, and no Remy? And - well - that just leaves you and my wife sailing around the Mediterranean with a bottle of champagne and a big bunch of roses, Parker.”

Parker waves his hands in the air defensively, “Wow, Remy!! Slow down - I don’t know where you think you’re going with this, but you’ve got it all wrong! You’re putting two and two together and getting five, my friend!”

Remy huffs a bitter laugh, his voice now dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, five? So, I have it all wrong that my wife was halfway out the door to come here, to be with you, alone? Seems convenient that your lady-friend mysteriously couldn’t make it at the last minute? The one I’ve never heard you mention before? Please, explain it to me, Parker. Because it looks to me like you’ve got designs on my wife.”

Parker stutters to find an answer for a second before the yacht jolts violent throwing both men to the ground.

—-

I cradle my arm to my chest and grit my teeth as I clamber back onto my feet, nausea washing over me as I try my best not to move it again. Safe to say I don’t need a medical degree to tell me I’ve broken something.

After that god-awful metallic grinding, groaning noise everything has gone quiet. Eerily quiet. The normal lighting has gone, but the emergency lighting has kicked in casting a sickly green hue all around. I need to get back up to deck, to see what the hell just happened, to make sure Remy is ok!

I move towards the stairwell door and as I wrench it towards me, I’m met with a rush of cold water that makes me gasp. Oh this is bad. This is really, really bad. I stare at the fast-moving seawater spilling in, swirling around my feet: I’m rooted to the spot as panic rises rapidly in my chest. I’m not sure how many seconds have ticked by when I hear the roar of my name. Remy. I can’t see him, but I scramble towards the sound of his voice and call out to him, “I’m down here! Remy! I’m here!”

Water is rapidly filling the space below deck as Remy throws open the door of the opposite stairwell. I lurch towards him, sloshing through it, my limbs twice as heavy and struggling to stay upright against the slippery surface.

Remy wades through the corridor to reach me, calling to me, “I’m coming, cherie, it’ll be ok!” As we meet somewhere near the middle his hands grasp my shoulders as he gives me a quick once over, brows knit together when he sees how I’m holding my quick-swelling arm, “Merde! Is that broken?!”

I wince, nodding. The pain radiates from my wrist making my fingers tingle and my head buzz. Remy’s got one arm around me and he’s gripping at the walls with his free hand, moving us steadily toward the stairwell he came down: the water’s around my waist now. He keeps repeating, ‘it’s ok, it’s going to be ok’, but his usually calm voice jitters and I’m not sure if he’s saying it for my benefit or if he’s trying to make himself believe it. We reach the stairwell and Remy ushers me through the door. The tilt of the yacht makes it hard to climb the steps, but we fight to ascend. Up. Up. Up. We’re around half-way when the yacht jolts unexpectedly again; Remy grabs for the wet handrail. Every muscle in his body strains to keep us in place, to somehow stop us from careering back down the staircase. I feel lightheaded from the way my damaged arm jerks as he catches us, but it’s better than the alternative of plunging back down into the murky water. We resume our climb and make it up the final steps together. Only at the top do I truly appreciate the incongruous angle the yacht lists to, and start to properly grasp just how deadly this situation could be. The sounds of straining metal and hissing water fill the space around us and I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.

 We scramble our way out across the badly-angled yacht, clinging to the side rails for purchase as we move: we need to get off this boat. It can’t end like this. In the time I’ve been below deck, dark clouds have rolled in and the rain pelts down on us. As we reach the side of the yacht, and I suck in a deep lungful of air trying to black out the pain radiating up and down my arm. Trying to steady my nerves, I tell myself, ‘We just need to get on the lifeboat, getting upstairs was the hardest part. Come on, you can do this - you can do this! We’re almost there, it’s going to be-’ But my silent pep talk is cut short and a sense of dread floods through me as I watch Remy surge around and around, a hand raking through his soaking hair as he yells,

“He’s gone! That bastard! He’s left us!”

Remy’s hanging over the side, trying to locate Parker, frantically yelling his name out into the dank, misty distance. But it’s useless - he’s long gone. Fresh panic rises as what that means sinks in: that snake abandoned us and the sinking ship. And he’s taken the only life vessel with him. A storm’s rolling in and visibility is poor. We’re miles from the coast without another boat in sight. The water this far out isn’t frigid but it’s still cool enough to catch hypothermia without the right clothing if you’re in it for a couple of hours - but we’re likely to end up in there because this yacht is going down. I’m not sure how long I could tread water for with a broken arm? I choke back my horror as I realise - I don’t think we can’t make it back. He’s left us out here to die.

Tears silently streak my face, mingling with saltwater and rain as I turn to Remy. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, but he’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him, his hands shake and he curses as he pulls useless items out of one of the inbuilt storage benches, tossing them onto the wet deck behind him. I tug at his sleeve and rasp, “There’s no way off, is there?”

He refuses to meet my gaze, yanking his arm away from me, rummaging deeper, muttering in frustration. But I refuse to be brushed off, not now. I pull on his sleeve again, “Remy! Just, stop.”

He whirls on me, his usually smiling eyes are wild as they meet mine. And before I know what’s happening, right there on the deck of the part-submerged yacht, Remy pulls my face to his, mouth crashing desperately into mine. I gasp at the sensation of him. Rough. Passion-filled. Real. His lips spill every frenzied confession I ever wanted to hear and I’m losing myself in him; rapt in every disclosure. The surge of emotion between us swells my pounding heart and fills my soul, a choir with one refrain: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. My body breaks into song - lyrical, a groan against Remy’s supple lips: rejoicing, dancing, dopamine-high. A million melodies, harmonies, symphonies rush through us as we cling to each other against the stormy saltwater spray. His touch is electric, flesh warm against my skin, deft fingers knotted in my hair drawing me close. Closer. So close I feel two heartbeats pulse through me like an orchestra nearing crescendo. I’m soaked, hurt and terrified, but somehow I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now, exalted in his arms. My hand grazes over the stubble of his jaw, the high arc of his cheekbone: my fingertips trace every beautiful feature, mapping every crease, every dimple. If this is our coda, if this is how it all comes to an end, I want to succumb remembering every delicious second of this kiss - every sensation, every caress, every breath, every poetic unspoken word. I want my finale to be us.

Our kiss ends breathlessly, foreheads touching: both unwilling to part. Remy’s lips hover over mine like we’re magnetised. Green eyes search my own as I gaze upon the face I love through dark lashes, trembling. I cover his heart with my palm - I never want to let him go. Seconds tick past that feel like minutes until he finally breaks away and I gulp for air. Bereft, my body aches for him.

Remy’s rifling through the storage benches again, items shoved from side to side, thrown and discarded until he shouts triumphantly, flare gun in hand! Slick hands fumble to load the cartridge, then he steps away from me, pointing the gun above his head, firing high. We watch as a plume of intense fire illuminates the sky above us, a beautiful SOS, hanging in the air before slowing making its descent to the sea.

The stricken vessel below us strains and groans as Remy grips my hand in his, “We aren’t going out like this, cherie.” He says it with such conviction and determination that my heart stutters. My eyes widen as he brandishes a life buoy at me. “There’s only one.”

Why am I not even surprised that a jerk like Parker went for 24-Carat light fittings but scrimped on the most basic of safety features and maintenance? I shake my head at Remy, fear threatens to take over, “We’re not jumping?!”

Remy exclaims, “We have to! We can’t stay on ‘til it sinks, it’s too dangerous! We need to get as far away as we can. We jump together and I promise you - I won’t let go of your hand. Ever.”

A cacophony of glass cracks and metal tears. Engineering crumbles against a backdrop of smoky neon as we huddle together at the edge of semi-capsized yacht. The rain continues to drive against us, and I understand why we have to jump, but I hate that it’s the only option. My hand fits inside Remy’s and he squeezes it tightly, my pulse racing as we count down together from three, two, one...

As we hit the cool water I cry out, pain seers through my busted arm and makes the world seem dull and frayed around the edges. Everything under water is eerily dark and silence rings in my ears as I plunge beneath the surface. In those seconds it feels strangely peaceful. Serene. My mind, so busy moments before, is a blank. An instant sedation - each nerve numb: novocaine static. It’s not until I feel Remy jerk at my hand, still firmly clasped in his, that my brain reconnects. I kick my feet and follow Remy upwards, breaking the waves, choking and gasping for air.

Remy manoeuvres the life buoy between us, urging me to take hold, his hand cupping my cheek, pushing back my sodden hair, eyes raking over me, “Are you ok??”

I cough and splutter as I nod my head at him: I’m fine. Remy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue with me either. He takes charge of getting us away from the yacht and I follow him blindly, feeling dazed, clinging to the buoy. Minutes later, the yacht goes under and the rapid movement of air and water sends pieces of debris swirling perilously to the surface. A watery scrapyard bobs around us.

I feel sick and dizzy and I’m so cold that my teeth chatter. Did anyone see the flare? Is help coming?

Remy repositions himself and wraps both arms around me as we float aimlessly together. I don’t know how long passes, but every so often he says my name and jolts me to keep me awake, and honestly, I’m trying, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. I tell him I’m trying, but I feel so weak. Remy says I’m in shock and I mumble, “That kiss was the best shock I ever had.”

I feel the rumble of his laugh roll through me, and then his lips meet mine again. Soft this time. Slow. Tender. His affection washing over me. I feebly smile and sigh into his kiss, his comforting warmth surrounds me. His touch is like a beacon in the bleak dark water, keeping me focussed, keeping me hanging on. The situation is desperate, but at least I’m with Remy.

As time swirls past us, I drift in and out of consciousness, pulled back a final time by Remy shaking me, “Listen!! Do you hear it??”

I startle and try my best to concentrate... Then I hear it, a horn blasting. Someone’s coming! They must have seen our distress signal. Remy’s swimming as fast as he can for both of us, moving our heavy, tired bodies in the direction of the sound until we finally see it. Remy yells until he’s hoarse, waving, whistling - anything to attract their attention. As the vessel approaches, I hear rough, deep voices yelling in Spanish but my head’s too fuzzy and it’s fast for me to understand. Remy is shouting back at them to take me on board first, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted - strong hands grip under my arms as I cry out for Remy. They pay me no heed: saviours in oilskins wrap me in a foil blanket, checking me over, patting my cheek and trying to get me to focus. I struggle to evade them, “Where is Remy?? You have to help him!!”

They won’t let me stand up, won’t let me move! Agitated tears blur my vision - they need to get Remy out of the water. And then I hear his voice and relief consumes me. The fishermen part to let him reach me, he’s dripping all over their deck and he looks so pale, but he’s here and we’re together. He throws his arms around me, clutching me close, face buried in my neck. We cling together, exchanging sweet words, counting our blessings and relishing the feeling of each other. A tall, thin, official-looking man wraps a second blanket around Remy’s shoulders, talking into his ear. Remy nods to him and then suddenly we’re moving below deck, to somewhere warm and dry. My good arm is around Remy’s neck, the other gentleman walks slowly by my other side, hand hovering to support me as my legs wobble. They give me a towel for my hair and large hooded sweatshirt to change into - Remy helps me and the feeling of the clean, dry fabric against my skin makes me want to weep. I sit on a makeshift bed, exhausted and sore, my head buzzing. Remy hasn’t changed into the fresh clothes they’ve left for him yet, he shivers but refuses to let go of my hand - as though he believes I might evaporate if he does.

The sailors tell us the coastguard is on their way and it won’t be long til we’re back on dry land. I can’t wait for my feet to be firmly on the ground. Remy asks the sailors for something to drink, but they refuse telling us not until we’ve seen a doctor. But Remy insists and eventually they relent, giving us both a large brandy. I swallow it down, grimacing at the taste and the burning sensation in my throat. I lie on my side, cheek pressed against a soft cushion, still shivering. I cradle my swollen arm to my chest, rising and falling as I struggle to come to terms with everything that’s happened today. Remy’s finally in dry clothes, and has crawled into the space by my side on the bunk. It’s going to take a while to process all of this, but it feels so nice to lie here with Remy gazing into my eyes, bodies close, to see him smile at me. I feel drained, but calmer now I’m near to him. I reach out and trace his features, just as I did when we kissed on the yacht a short time before; his stubbled jaw, the curve of his cheek, the little dimple that appears when he grins at me. He catches my fingers in his, and presses gentle kisses to my knuckles, to my palm, his other hand smoothing out my damp hair, “I promised you I wouldn’t let you go. We’re safe now. Your Remy’s here, it’ll all be fine mon coeur. ”

—- 24 hours later —-

Leon pats my knee affectionately as I slide into the passenger seat, “Ready to go home?”

I nod and thank him, as Remy reaches over the headrest, squeezing Leon’s shoulder, “Merci, Leon. Thanks for coming back to drive us.”

Leon meets Remy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, brows tight, looking perplexed, “It’s no problem. I still can’t believe Parker just... Left.”

Remy shrugs, “I can. Proves he was exactly the type of person we steal from.”

I sigh and scrub my hand across my face, “Except we didn’t steal anything from him, Remy. Everything’s gone. The film, lots of really amazing sculptures and artwork - all at the bottom of the sea...”

Remy shrugs, “But you and I aren’t at the bottom of the sea, and that’s what’s really important mon couer.”

And I know he’s right, but it just seems like such a terrible waste, that’s all. I suppose it might be better that no one has all of those treasures, than Parker hoarding them all and appreciating none of them. It was all just ‘stuff’ to him, for bragging rights, nothing more. Someone so shallow didn’t deserve any of-

Leon makes me jump, chuckling while reaching across me to clip my seatbelt in, exclaiming, “What’s this?!”

I glance down and see black Sharpie ink on my plaster cast. I lift my reset arm, and tilt my head to see it properly, there are two doodled little stick-people, one with my initials, one with ‘RC’, surrounded by sweet little hearts and the words ‘je t’aime, toujours ’ scrolled below. I feel my heart leap as I take it in. My cheeks start to colour as I stammer, “I don’t know- I- When-?”

Leon’s sporting a knowing smirk at Remy’s reflection, “To commemorate your fake marriage? Because there’s no need for you two to pretend anymore, right?”

I twist round in my seat to look at Remy who simply leans forward and cups my face in his palms. His eyes gaze into mine, face open and honest - no mask in sight. He meets my lips with a warm kiss as he confirms, “I’m done with pretending.”

#long fic #queen of thieves #remy chevalier #lovestruck #tw: drowning #tw: broken bones

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spookygrantaire · 3 years

Text

Of Heroes and Thieves

Part 4

Warnings: always shitty accents and swearing. implied future sex. Notes: uh. Shoutout to the three of you sticking through to the end with this. I really intended for this to just be a few parts, but I’m having fun with it and keep coming up with ideas. Also don’t be mad at me. There’s gonna be a happy ending, I swear. Oh! And The Dungeon was a favorite of mine. They played Rob Zombie, and anyone who knows me, knows I’m high key in love with both Zombies. I don’t remember the name of the drink I had there because, well. I was already wasted when we got there. But it was sweet and fruity and good.

Her head snapped up as she looked incredulously between the two Guild patriarchs. “WHAT?”

“Ta strengthen de alliance. Yo’ have a year. We won’ force yo’ to be home durin’ dat time, mais we do expect you ta be here dis weekend for Remy and Belladonna’s wedding,” Jean Luc looked at her knowingly. “Do what yo’ need til den, Chere. Yo’ dismissed.”

She all but sprinted from the room, making it to the nearest bathroom before getting sick. How would she tell Clint? She’d rather be excommunicated. Julien was a slimeball in the worst ways, and she was pretty sure he was actually in love with his sister. Belladonna at least only had eyes for Remy.

Her mind racing, she forced herself up and cleaned herself up before trotting off to find Henri. Surprisingly, she ran into him quickly. “Can you take me back to the Quarter?”

Both brows jumped up, “Oui. What yo’ gonna do ‘bout de bird?”

Y/N sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know. If I don’t obey and marry Julien, I could start a war. But,” her eyes met Henri’s. “Clint. I don’t know. There’s just something about him.”

“Yo’ love ‘im?” her brother in law questioned. They were now at his car and he was opening the passenger door for her.

She shrugged. “I don’t know if I do yet, but I know I could. And he’d make it so easy.”

The pair made their way through the bustling streets, and stopped when they made it to the Quarter. “Yo’ comin’ back to de house t’night?”

She shook her head. “I doubt it. Clint won’t be welcomed, per se, and I’m sure he’s not allowed to be my wedding date,” she scoffed.

“Hmm. I have an idea.”

“Henri?” her brows furrowed.

“Don’ worry none, petite. I’ll take care o’ it.”

“That’s not cryptic. I’ll call you tomorrow. Can you get us a room at the Dauphine?”

“Tryin’ ta scare him away with ghosts?” Henri laughed.

“Nah, I just like the haunted atmosphere,” she smiled. “Plus it’s close to everything.”

“Lots o’ other hotels too, though,” Henri acknowledged with a head tilt.

She nodded. “Eh, if you wanna pick another one that’s fine too. Just get us a room and text me. I gotta go.”

She ruffled his hair-something that earned her a protest-and exited the car, immediately pulling out her phone to text Clint. Fuck, how was she going to explain this?

She glanced around for Clint briefly before deciding to grab a drink at a bar nearby. As she began to walk around with the drink, smiling at the nearby street dancers and party groups, someone grabbed her arm. Ready to fight back, she immediately flipped the person on his back.

“Oof, glad you can defend yourself, babe,” he chuckled.

“Oh god, Clint, I’m sorry,” she leaned over to help him stand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, babe. Just surprised me, is all. What’s going on with you? Obviously not a death sentence, unless they’re letting you say goodbye and just have eyes on you to make sure we don’t take off into the sunset together,” he looked around. “Have you eaten? Let’s get you some food. And a uh, new drink,” he eyed the cup now laying on the ground. “Or do we need to leave town right this second? That’s fine too uh, I’m a little drunk, babe.”

She started laughing, laughing until tears threatened. He watched her for a moment, concern flooding his eyes, before she calmed down enough to stop and kiss him. “Get a room!” someone in the background yelled.

She pulled back and looked at him. “We have to talk.”

“Oh god, you’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” Clint frowned. “I really can’t keep a woman, can I?” he sank to the edge of the sidewalk.

“No, no, Clint, baby, no,” she quickly knelt in front of him, grabbing his face. “No. I just. Have bad news. Like, really bad.” She moved to sit next to him, looking at the ground now.

“Fuck, Babe. How much time do you have?” he put an arm around her.

She glanced at him and sighed. “A year.”

“Oh! Do you have to stay here or like under constant supervision? I’ll stay with you.”

“I’m not being killed, Hot Stuff. Though I might as well. I’m. They’re forcing me to marry the son of the Patriarch of the Rippers,” she sighed once more. “I have to stay for Remy’s wedding this weekend but I can go wherever and do almost whatever until my own wedding.”

“You’re getting married.”

“They’ll be checking in and tracking me a lot, more than likely. And I’m sure I’ll be forced to come back every so often. But I can spend most of my time in Europe if I want, technically,” she contemplated.

“Let’s get married,” Clint suddenly blurted.

“What?” Y/N met his eyes, shocked. “Clint, I can’t-I would in a heartbeat-but they’d kill both of us, and it would start a war. Maybe not as drastic as if Remy skipped his wedding, but still bad.”

“There’s nothing that can be done?” he frowned. “This sucks.”

“We can still have a year together,” she shrugged. “Unless you’d rather just. Rip the band aid off now.”

He took a deep breath and stood. “That’s a problem for future Clint and future Y/N. Present Clint and Y/N are going to drink themselves stupid tonight and enjoy this city of yours.” He held out his hand and she took it, jumping up and smiling.

“Sounds like a good plan,” she checked her phone to see if Henri had texted yet. “Ooh we have a hotel room for the rest of the week. Do you wanna go move the car and put our stuff in the room before we party?” she tilted her head.

“Lead the way babe.”

A half hour later, they were all checked in, and back out on Bourbon Street. Y/N was leading Clint to a bar she thought he’d get a kick out of.

“Where are we going?” he asked, following her as she pulled him through the crowds.

“A bar that’s gonna make your best friend regret not being here?” she grinned, looking back at him as they turned down the next street. “It’s right up ahead!”

He looked up at the sign and looked at her. “The Dungeon? This is a bar?”

Y/N laughed. “You’ll see.” They went down an alley and followed the path til they made it to the dark bar, rock music blasting from the speakers. She led him upstairs to another bar and ordered him a drink.

“Here you go, Hot Stuff,” she smirked, sipping her own drink.

“Cheers,” he gestured and took a sip. It was definitely some kind of bourbon mixture. “What is this?”

“Heaven in the form of booze, baby. Just drink it and we go to the next bar. We’re hitting at least two more bars, and then I’m going to have my way with you in our room.”

He smiled and stepped closer to kiss her. “Sounds like a plan.”

#Of Heroes and Thieves #Clint Barton x reader #Hawkeye x reader #Marvel imagines #Clint x reader #part four #X-Men inclusions #thieves guild #assassins guild #New Orleans

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authordoewhite · 4 years

Text

7 Minutes in Marvel Heaven - Remy Lebau Fluff

Intro & Masterlist

You quickly dipped your hand in and pulled the first thing out your fingers touched. A playing card, you fiddled with the card and Tony smirked from above you. “X-Men… Remy get your butt over here!” Tony turned towards the powerful X-man, playing cards with some of the others. He looked up at Tony, his eyes moving to you and to the playing card in your hand. He slipped the cards he was holding into his jacket pocket – probably so no one could chest off him – and stood up, offering his hand to you. You sighed and stod, ignoring his hand and walking into the closet. Remy paused for a moment, confused, but quickly followed you in, spotting your figure in the dark corner with your arms crossed.

There was no chance Remy would get anything from you, you had been evidently pissed at him since the party had started, since he had walked in with some floozy hanging off his arm. It hadn’t even been a week since you had had your… moment with him. During a mission with the Xmen, you had gotten yourself cornered while running, there was no escape. Until Remy showed up through a locked door, pulling you into a small closet away from the soldiers. This closet was small, very small. Small enough so that you ended up chest to chest with Remy, you could feel his breath on your cheeks, see his smirk up close.

In those few moments we had shared an almost kiss, then the week after he had flirted and brought that moment back. Stupidly you thought he might actually like you, but as soon as he showed up with that floozy hanging off his arm, you knew it was wrong. So you sat in the closet counting down the seconds until this 7 minutes was over.

‘What’s wrong, doll?’ he whispered, ‘don’t you remember the last time we were in a closet.’ You sighed and shook your head. ‘Do you need a reminder?’ he stepped closer but you quickly placed your hands against his chest, stopping him from coming closer. You knew if he got any closer you’d be under his thumb quickly.

‘What did I do?’ he asked, taking a step backwards.

‘Did that moment in the closet mean anything to you? Or was it just a game?’ you asked, looking up at him through the darkness. He actually looked offended and he stated down at you.

'A game? Why would you think that?'

'You spend all week flirting with me and then at this party you bring some model?'

'A model?' he chuckled, but you had already gone into a rant.

'To think I actually liked you. I thought at moment would have meant something to you, but now I realise it was obvious just a-' you were cut off by Remys lips, feeling them pressed against yours. You couldn't pull away, you didn't want to pull away. Feeling his hands on your hips and pressing his whole body against yours. When he pulled away, you saw a smile pull across his lips.

'I am not playing a game. I brought a friend of mine to the party so she could meet Tony Stark. My eyes have been stuck on you since I got here.' he whispered.

'On me?' you whispered, not quiet believing him.

'Only on you.' he smiled.

You were blinded by the light entering the closet, Tony had ruined it by opening the doors. Remy pulled away from you, taking your hand and resting it in the crook of his elbow, escorting you out. As you walked out you you spotted the girls Remy arrived with, standing very close and seductively to Tony, only sparing you a glance as Remy walked you to the bar.

'Care to spend the rest of the evening with me?' he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

'I couldn't think of anything better.’

#remy #remy lebeau #gambit #xmen #marvel #7MIH #7 minutes in heaven #remy x reader #remy lebeau x reader #gambit x reader #xmen x reader #marvel x reader

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max-is-tired · 4 years

Text

You Got Me Hypnotized (So Mesmerized)

Pairing: Remile

Characters: Remy Sanders, Emile Picani, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders

Words: 4.458

Warnings: homophobic parents, misgendering, teen pregnancy, getting kicked out, medical drugs, labor mentions plus its aftermath, swearing, freaking out, mentions of death (just Remy being their dramatic self), alcohol mention (two characters get tipsy), past & internalized aphobia -this is mostly fluff I promise

Notes: First of all, an enormous thank you to @adultmorelikeadolt for commissioning this big boi, I fell in love with the prompt almost immediately and I’m super proud of how it turned out. Genderqueer Remy and asexual Emile? How could I refuse?

Writing this was so fun, there are points in this fic where I legit had to stop typing because I was too busy laughing to make any sense. I hope you guys like it at least as much as I enjoyed working on it!!

Commission me!! Buy me a coffee!!

Join my Discord server!!

Of all the things Remy thought they would end up as they'd never considered becoming a single parent at 18.

Their parents had not been happy about it, obviously -when had they ever been when it came to them? They had been furious, shouting and screaming as they’d never done before.

"How could you ever do this to us?" their father had roared, "we already put up with all that genderqueer crap of yours, even when heavens only knows we didn't need to do that. But this? This is outrageous!"

"Get out," had seethed their mother, "no daughter of mine will be such a disappointment -so get out of my sight, and don't you dare come back."

Remy had simply gotten up, biting the inside of their cheek until the taste of iron filled their mouth.

"I was never your daughter," they had said as they threw the door open.

"Glad we agree on something, then," their mother had answered before shutting the door behind them.

After that, with their parents and the kid's father out of the equation, Remy had had quite a hard time figuring out what to do.

Thankfully, they were not as alone as they had previously thought. As soon as Virgil heard of what had gone down, he and his mothers basically adopted them on the spot, giving them a home and all the support they had needed.

Fast forward eight and a half months later, they found themselves hunched on a hospital bed, screaming profanities at the top of their lungs as they pushed and pushed and pushed and tried with all of themselves to not punch the nurse if she said "breathe, you're almost there!" one more goddamn time-

Remy doesn’t remember much of the actual labor, aside from the pain of the contractions and the doctor and nurses telling them what to do. They remember the cry of a child suddenly filling the air, piercing and full of life as they slumped tiredly on the bed, exhaustion hitting them full force.

They remember a solid, warm weight being gently laid in their arms, the doctor's voice barely making its way through the metaphorical cotton that seemed to have filled their ears as they looked at the little human squirming in their arms -their child, the distantly thought, something warm and fuzzy taking residence in their heart.

"Congratulations," the doctor was saying, Remy's brain barely registering his words, "he's a very healthy boy."

Now, normally it would have been pretty clear the doctor was talking about the baby and not the parent. However, Remy was exhausted, 10 hours of labor weighing on their shoulders as they fought valiantly to keep their eyes open just a little bit longer.

So yeah, sue them if they slightly misinterpreted the doctor's words.

“Actually-” they slurred, attracting on themselves the gazes of everyone present as they pointed and accusing finger towards said doctor- “actually doc, you could not be more wrong. Because you see, I may be very healthy but I’m sure as hell not a boy, and if you call me one one more time I will take that folder in your arms and slap you with it. We clear?”

Remy nodded to themselves and closed their eyes, cuddling their child close to their chest with a contented sigh.

“Well, that’s very nice to know,” the doctor said after a moment of silence, making Remy open their eyes once again to glare -why was he smiling like that? And why was Virgil laughing his ass off on the chair?

“However, I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding,” the doctor continued, barely containing a chuckle himself as he watched Remy’s expression become more confused by the second, “because, you see, with that statement I was, in fact, referring to your son.”

Remy blinked, the gears turning sluggishly in his head as the last minute or so replayed in their head. “Oh.”

Virgil -who until that moment had more or less managed to get his laughter under control- broke down again, falling from his chair as he merrily cackled his lungs out on the hospital room’s floor.

“Oh, heck off,” Remy grumbled.

“I’m sor- I’m sorry-” Virgil wheezed between fits of laughter, not looking apologetic at all- “oh my god Rems I’m never letting you live this down-”

Remy rolled their eyes, opting to ignore their best friend as their gaze moved on their son's little face. Bright blue eyes stared back at them, wide and curious, and Remy felt the warmth in their heart grow and grow until they felt like there wasn’t a place for anything else.

“So… he’s okay? No complications?” they asked, unable to tear their gaze away from the little bundle in their arms.

“Everything went as smoothly as it could’ve,” the doctor assured them, “your child is the epitome of healthy and I’m sure you’ll be able to-”

“Patton,” Remy piped up, wiggling his finger in front of his son’s face and smiling as he let out a happy gurgle, “his name is Patton.”

The doctor hummed, nodding. “Very well,” he said with a smile of his own, “as I was saying, I’m sure you’ll be cleared to bring Patton home very soon.”

“Mhm, sounds perfect,” Remy answered, clearly distracted.

The doctor chuckled, scribbling something in the folder in his arms before turning towards the door. “I’ll leave you two to get to know each other,” he said before heading out, “congratulations on the successful birth, Mx. Astoreth. Now get some rest -you both deserve it.”

A comfortable silence fell into the room, broken only by Virgil’s wheezing breath and Patton’s occasional happy gurgle.

“So-” Virgil said when he’d finally managed to calm down enough to formulate a coherent sentence- “Patton, uh?”

“I think it fits him, don’t you agree?” Remy hums, a tired grin stretching on their face as Patton let out a particularly loud squeal.

“Hello, Patton,” they said, kissing their son’s head, “welcome to the world.”

+++

Remy yawned, sliding the last batch of freshly-baked pancakes on a plate as they idly hummed along with whatever song was now playing on the radio. They padded out of the kitchen and finished setting the table, before moving towards the stairs and cupping their hands around their mouth.

“Patton!” They called out, hoping their son hadn’t fallen asleep while washing his face again, “breakfast is ready!”

Almost immediately they heard a muffled thump coming from the upstairs bathroom, followed by all-too-familiar quick steps sprinting down the corridor.

“Breakfast!!” Patton cried happily as soon as he reached the top of the stairs, throwing himself down into his ren’s arms.

Remy -who had since gotten used to their son’s antics- simply smiled and easily caught the little boy, swinging him around a little as Patton giggled his little heart out.

“Here is my little Pattycake!” they exclaimed, giving him a big kiss on his cheek, “what incredible adventures did my favorite son in the world have tonight?”

“Ren!” Patton squealed, barely keeping his giggles at bay, “I’m your only son!”

“More of a reason to love you!” Remy grinned, relishing in their son’s delighted laugh as they set him down at the kitchen table “now sit down and eat your pancakes, you don’t wanna be late for school.”

“Can uncle Virgil come to pick me up today?” Patton said between mouthfuls of pancakes.

“Wow, you choose him over your own parent?” Remy asked, putting a hand on their chest in mock-offense, “I’m hurt, Pattycake, really.”

“He promised me ice cream!”

“Oh okay then,” Remy snickered in their coffee, “nothing can beat ice cream.”

“Exactly!” Patton agreed, dutifully nodding with his mouth full of food. He almost looked like a hamster, Remy mused while trying with all of their might to not squeal out loud and reach for their phone to take a photo.

“Well, sorry to disappoint-” they finally said, grabbing the dirty dishes from the table and putting them in the sink for later- “but today you’ll have to make do with little old me.”

“Aww, but I wanted ice cream,” Patton pouted, crossing his arms as he glared at the floor.

“I know, honey,” Remy said, carding their hand between Patton’s wild curls and crouching down in front of him, “but there’s a parent-teacher conference today, and I’ve gotta be there for that."

Patton still didn't look up, gaze stubbornly fixed downward. Remy sighed, tapping their chin in thought.

"How about this?" They finally said, nodding to themselves, "I come to pick you up, and after I've talked with your teacher we call uncle Virgil and we all go to that ice cream parlor you like so much."

Patton gave them a furtive glance, and Remy could see their son's pout already start to melt away.

"The one near the dog park?" Patton asked tentatively.

"The one and only," Remy nodded, grinning.

"Can I go play with some puppies too?"

"After you've eaten your ice cream, and if it's not too late, then I don't see why not."

"Yes!!" Patton exclaimed, his previous pouting session completely forgotten as he happily jumped into his ren's arms, "I love puppies!!"

"I know you do, bud," Remy laughed, spinning their son around for a few seconds before gently putting him down, "now go get ready, you don't wanna be late for school!"

"Okay!" Patton said with a big smile, before sprinting up the stairs towards his room.

Remy sighed, shaking their head with an amused smile on their face.

Patton sure was a handful, but god if they didn't love that little ball of sunshine.

+++

After dropping Patton off, Remy got back home and officially started their own day.

They turned on the speakers and connected their phone, their favorite playlist immediately filling the house. Whistling happily along with the music, Remy set to cleaning around a little, washing the dishes and collecting some clutter from the floor with a pep in their step -they may not have been that much of a morning person and have the habit to curse their alarm to hell and back almost every single morning, but there was something calming in their routine that they wouldn’t trade for anything else in the whole world.

After their little spring cleaning was done, they grabbed their sketchpad, laptop, and tablet and half-sprawled themselves on the couch, letting the music wash over them as they set to work on their most recent commission.

When they got up again, it was way past noon and their stomach was very much protesting the lack of lunch. Groaning, Remy put aside their work and stood up, stretching their arms into the air and sighing when some very satisfying popping sounds came from their back. Humming, they moved to the kitchen, enjoying a quick lunch as they idly scrolled down their phone -and sent a quick message to Virgil, telling him to keep his afternoon free for an ice cream trip.

Panic!AtTheEmo: will do, can’t wait to see my favorite person in the whole world

Panic!AtTheEmo: oh and you too ig

Remy let out a snort, typing out a response as they moved to fill their third cup of coffee for the day -they were trying to cut their caffeine intake, but it was a work in progress.

SassyBitch: how very much dare you

Then, they put down their phone and got back to work, setting an alarm to alert them after another two hours -it would do no good to have promised their son ice cream only to completely miss the parent-teacher conference, after all.

+++

Emile sighed, slouching back on his chair as another mother filed out of the classroom with her child in tow. He loved his job, he really did -interacting with the children, even the rowdiest ones, almost always brought a smile to his face and fondness in his eyes- but dealing with the parents was always more tiring that he would like it to be.

Set on enjoying the few minutes of peace before the next parent came in, Emile stood up and stretched his arms upwards, letting out a satisfied hum when some popping sounds reached his ears.

Then, he heard the door open again.

“Mr. Picani!” someone squealed, Patton’s very familiar voice his only warning before a blue blur tackled his leg with an excited squeal.

“Patton!” Emile laughed, before registering someone else’s calling the kid’s name at the same time -one of Patton’s parents, he presumed.

“Patton, you can’t tackle people like that, we’ve talked about this!”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Emile said, kneeling down to give Patton’s nose a little boop - he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face when Patton let out a delighted giggle. The kid was just too adorable not to. “I could never refuse one of Patton’s pattoned hugs.”

“Fair enough,” came a chuckle from over them, making Emile finally look up to greet the newcomer -only to feel himself freeze on the spot, eyes widening slightly as he felt his heart make a little jump in his chest.

“Oh fuck they’re hot,” was the only coherent thought inside Emile’s head as he took in the black leather jacket, black hair framing a very, very handsome face and a pair of gorgeous, deep brown eyes staring back at him from behind a pair of sunglasses.

Yes. Sunglasses. Inside. Emile was too busy having a mini gay crisis to care too much right now.

“Uh-” he said, very eloquently, before scrambling to stand and try to get back some of his composure as he worked very hard on fighting down the blush currently threatening to take over his face -if because of embarrassment or a gayness overload, he was still too busy panicking to figure it out.

“Hello!” Emile said, voice jumping an octave higher as he threw a hand forward to shake, “I’m Emile Picani, Patton’s teacher -How do you do?”

“Nice to meet you,” the other grinned, “Remy Astoreth, I’m-”

“They’re my ren!!” Patton interjected, eyes sparkling as his grin seemed to widen even more.

“That I am,” his ren -Remy- chuckled, briefly kneeling down to scoop Patton in their arms, “so, I hope Patton has been behaving in class?”

“Oh, he’s a literal angel,” Emile sighs, a smile stretching automatically on his face, “he’s always so kind and sweet, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen him helping his classmates. Your son is a joy to work with, Mx. Astoreth, there’s nothing bad I could say about him if I tried.”

“That’s very good to hear,” Remy said, grinning as their son giggled at the praise, “and please, none of that “Mx. Astoreth” thing -it makes me feel old. A cutie like you can absolutely call me Remy.”

Emile squeaked, cheeks burning as he froze like a deer caught in the headlights -not that Remy was much better, the confident expression they had been wearing until that moment melting away in barely-concealed panic as what had just come out of their mouth started to set in.

“Shoot, sorry!” they exclaimed, trying not to jolt the kid in their arms too much in their panic, “I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable, oh my gosh, that was totally uncalled for, I usually have a much better filter-”

“No, no!” Emile interrupted their rant, clearing his throat as he gave the other a tentative smile, “it’s okay, really. I, um, didn’t mind, Mx. Ast- Remy.”

“oh- oh!” Remy grinned, before looking away, cheeks aflame, “great, that’s, uh, great.”

Too caught up in their own embarrassment, none of them noticed the little stars quite literally dancing in Patton’s eyes, hands pressed on his mouth to stop a squeal from coming out.

+++

Remy managed to keep their composure up until their scheduled meet-up with Virgil. They managed to keep themselves together -even if only barely, if Virgil concerned glances were anything to go by - all throughout their usual greetings, the quick ice-cream trip and letting Patton roam around to pet dogs, with the promise to not stray too far off.

Then -when their son was finally out of earshot- they finally lost it.

“Holy shit I’m so fucking gay-” they shouted-whispered as they hid their reddening face in their hands. Beside them, Virgil startled, sending his ice cream flying and splattering on the ground.

“A warning next time would be nice, thanks,” he grumbled, throwing a mourning look to his now inedible ice cream.

“Sorry,” Remy said, not looking very apologetic as they peeked at him from between their fingers, “I’ll buy you another one when I’m done having a crisis.”

“You’re an absolute disaster of a person,” Virgil sighed, slouching back on the bench they were sitting on as he ignored the withering glare Remy sent his way, “anyway, care to elaborate? All I know is that you got out of that parent-teacher thing looking like you had just seen a fucking ghost or something.”

“Seen an angel, more like,” Remy muttered.

“... Remy, did you get the hots for your son’s teacher?” Virgil asked in disbelief, barely fighting down a snicker as Remy whipped their head out of their hands to glare at him full force -which would have maybe been intimidating, had it not been for the raging blush covering their cheeks and ears.

“Oh my god, you do!” Virgil grinned, obviously delighted by the sudden turn of events. “Spill. Now.”

“V, I don’t even know where to fucking start,” Remy said “he was just so sweet and polite -Patton introduced me as his ren and he didn’t even blink? Like, immediately used the right pronouns, nothing of that misgendering bullshit.”

“I already like him.”

“I know, right?!” Remy grinned, pushing on with their story -they were not gushing, no ma’am, Remy Asthoreth does not gush, what are you on about. “And he’s so cute?? Like, pastel hair and sweater cute, and he had freckles!! Freckles, V, and also apparently he adores the shit out of Patton which is even worse because I’m way too gay for this! I’m gonna die of gay overload and I’m not even angry about that.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows, blinking. “Oh wow, you really are smitten.”

“Shut your fuck,” Remy grumbled.

“You wish,” Virgil snickered, “so got any plans on how to woo this sweet angel of yours? What’s his name, by the way?”

“Emile,” Remy answered, slumping, “and I don’t know if I even want to pursue this, honestly -he’s my son’s teacher, for crying out loud!”

Virgil hummed. “Well, at least you already know Patton likes him. That’s one less thing to worry about, don’t you think?”

“I guess, but still-”

“You could invite him for dinner at our house!” Patton’s voice piped up from behind the bench, startling the both of them and sending Remy almost with their ass on the ground.

“Patton!” Remy squeaked, blush returning full force as they looked at their son’s innocent grin, “honey, what are you talking about?”

“You should invite Mr. Picani over for dinner!” the boy repeated, grin widening even more, “and then you can kiss and be in love and get married and then he’ll become my papa!”

Silence fell on the little group.

Then, Virgil rolled out of the bench onto the ground, wheezing in laughter as Remy let out a strangled noise, cheeks flushing with a blush so vibrant it could probably be spotted even in pitch darkness.

Patton tilted his head to the side, clearly confused, before shrugging bouncing back towards a little group of dogs to pet them. “Adults are weird.”

+++

Remy knew their son had inherited some of their stubbornness. They’d just never realized just how much, until the kid decided that his only goal for the school year would be to set his ren and his favorite teacher together.

It was almost cute, really, to see him continuously drop some not-so-subtle hints about them going to lunch together -that is, if the simple thought of a lunch date actually happening didn’t reduce Emile to a stuttering mess and Remy to the best imitation of a red tomato the world had ever seen.

(Virgil found the entire thing hilarious, of course. Watching his best friend struggle with their hopeless crush on the cute teacher was quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes -getting systematically pushed down from the couch by said best friend was a price he was more than willing to pay if it meant he could keep his front seat for the whole she-bang.)

This all went on for literal months, with Patton trying to “subtly” push two of his favorite adults together while said two adults seemed to lose any apparent braincell in their possession as soon as they were in proximity of each other.

Then, tired of playing nice, Patton got out the big guns.

“Ren?” he said one day, not looking up from his coloring book, “if you don’t stop being silly and go to lunch with Mr. Picani, I’ll tell him about the Doctor Incident.”

From the kitchen, Remy let out a startled sputter, fumbling with the pan in their hands as a now-familiar heat started spreading on their cheeks.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Would I?” Patton asked, blinking his big blue eyes at his ren.

Remy groaned, pinching the bridge of their nose. “You’re spending too much time with uncle Virgil.”

Patton simply gave them a dazzling grin, going back to coloring.

+++

Remy -who wanted to keep some of their dignity, thank you very much- did end up asking Emile to lunch the following day, much to Patton’s delight. And you know what? It went even better than they could’ve ever imagined. They talked, they laughed, enjoying the meal and each other’s company with smiles on their faces and warmth in their hearts.

That afternoon, Remy bought their son an ice cream to celebrate -and to silently thank him, since they knew that, without Patton’s constant meddling, they would’ve never gathered the courage to actually ask Emile out.

Fast forward one month -and many other cute dates- later, the two were still going strong, and Emile had grown to become a beloved constant in the Astoreth household.

Like right now, for example.

Remy and Emile were sprawled on the couch, a bottle of wine and two empty plates sitting on the coffee table in front of them. They were enjoying a quiet night in, with Patton spending the night at his uncle Virgil’s place.

Emile let out a contented hum, his head resting on Remy’s legs as his partner gently cradled a hand through his hair. He could feel the four or five glasses of wine buzzing in his blood, leaving him feeling tipsy in the best way. He felt relaxed, at ease, and for the first time, Emile couldn’t feel an ounce of anxiety about being alone at home with someone he was undergoing a romantic relationship with.

For the first time since he could remember, there was no pressure, no expectations, no voices in the back of his head sounding so much like his parents telling him to just stop being such a prude, that he was just leading Remy on and that if he didn’t get over it already then they would leave him for sure, just like everyone else did.

Just like Aaron did.

Emile couldn’t help the little pang of hurt in his chest even after all these years, a tiny, dejected sigh leaving his lips without him even noticing. In some ways, Remy reminded him a lot of Aaron, with their witty humor and flirty, sweet advances -he probably had somewhat of a type, Emile mused as a tiny smile tugged at his lips.

He just hoped Remy wouldn’t walk away too when they finally learned the truth about him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Remy suddenly piped up, startling the man in their lap.

“Uh?” Emile answered, much eloquently.

Remy snickered, and Emile felt a dopey smile form on his lips at the sound. “You were looking pretty deep in thought, babe. Wanna share with the class?”

“I was just, uh, thinking about some things,” Emile said, looking to the side.

“Good things or bad things?”

“... yes?”

Remy snorted, shaking their head with a fond smile. “Fair enough. But please remember that if you need to talk I’m here, okay?”

Emile nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak -he felt as if there was a lump in his throat, his feelings and thoughts running wild in his head and making him feel dizzy as his heart beat wildly in his chest.

Emile was not stupid, he knew very well he had fallen hard and fast for Remy. And how could he have not? They were always so sweet and considerate, showering him with compliments and affection and never raising a single eyebrow at Emile’s quirkier habits and enthusiastic personality.

Emile didn’t regret it, not one bit. He loved Remy, and that was not something he could -or was willing to- change.

Which made the prospect of sharing his secret much more terrifying.

Unfortunately for him though, tipsy-Emile seemed to have even less of a filter than sober-Emile, and his mouth opened before his brain could properly register what he was about to say.

“I’m ace,” Emile blurted out, slapping a hand on his mouth immediately after.

Oh my gosh what the heck did I just say?!, he mentally yelled, bracing himself for whatever Remy would say.

He did not expect the soft laugh that reached his ears, the hand carding his hair not stopping its ministration as Remy didn’t even look up from their phone.

“Nice,” they said, leaving their boyfriend completely dumbfounded.

Emile stared, feeling his already-sluggish brain metaphorically break in his head as he tried to make sense to Remy’s nonchalant attitude. “What?”

Remy glanced down at him, a teasing smile dancing on their lips. “Hun, do you know what happened last time I slept with someone?”

Emil cocked his head to the side, clearly confused. “No?”

“Patton happened.”

Emile blinked. And blinked some more. And then-

“Wait, do you mean-” he suddenly said, eyes widening in realization as he shot up from Remy’s lap, “you gave birth to Patton?!”

“...Yes?”

“Oh,” Emile said, flopping back down, “alright, a lot of things make more sense now, okay.”

Remy snorted, shaking their head as their shoulders shook in time with their laugh. “You’re really something else, Mr. Picani.”

Emile hummed, feeling as if he’d gotten a huge weight off of his shoulders as he cuddled closer to his partner.

A comfortable silence fell over the two, interrupted only by the occasional car driving through the neighborhood as they simply enjoyed each other’s presence.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#sanders sides #remile #remy sanders #emile picani #asexual emile #genderqueer remy #virgil sanders #patton sanders #kid patton #he's a ball of sunshine and i love him #fanfiction #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #maxiswriting

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systemrestart · 10 months

Text

i find it interesting that both of the girls labeled as "particularly special/special in a different sort of way", Halimede and Pluto, are also both labeled as "Princesses" by their respective organizations...........

a position of power and privilege in some ways, but ultimately one that is stifling. it's an 'honor' to be a Princess, but it brings with it incredible burdens..... both the weight of responsibility and Expectation, and the alienation from others.

what is "you are uniquely gifted, you are above others, you are Special in a way no one else is", but another way to say, "You Are Not One Of Us"?

#heaven will be mine #hwbm #remi plays heaven will be mine #idk if that was the intent exactly..... and theres likely some layers im missing #but im speculating #im on my replay of Luna-Terra's route so im trying to pay more attention to the details i missed my first playthrough

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etherealblasphemy · 6 years

Text

Falling Slowly

So I made a thing because pre-calc sucks and I wish it were summer already.

(based off the song “Falling Slowly” from the musical Once- go check it out, it’s awesome!) (apologies if the text messaging is difficult to understand. i spent an hour trying to format it in HTML but that didn’t work so here we are.)

update: here’s where you can read the sequel, Africa!

…

“I don’t know you,

But I want you”

…

He knew he should’ve brought an umbrella. He had glanced up at the darkening sky as he closed the door of his townhouse and shrugged, figuring it was simply overcast, as it had been for the past week. He hadn’t expected his bus to be more than half an hour late, nor had he expected for the clouds to open up and let out a torrent of rain beating down on the roof of the little shelter. The bakery wasn’t more than a minute’s walk away from the stop he got off at, but he would’ve preferred keeping his hair dry.

Virgil pulled out his phone once more, trying to update the bus schedule to see how much longer he’d have to wait for the absent bus. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw someone sit down on the other end of the bench, dripping wet and coughing. He chanced a look at them and nearly dropped his phone in the puddle of rainwater at his feet.

The man was gorgeous. His skin was perfectly smooth, almost like a statue sculpted by the gods. His hair was soaking wet, droplets of water rolling down his face as he flicked his head, throwing the curly brown locks out of his eyes. A tooth peeked out of his lips, biting down on the pink flesh as a soft sigh escaped his mouth. His eyes- holy shit, his eyes- were the color of hazelnuts, full of warmth and laughter and met his for a fraction of a second before they flickered to the rain pouring from the heavens like the tears of some divine being.

The man slipped off a red jacket, shaking it. Virgil continued to watch him out of the corner of his eyes, entranced with this beautiful newcomer. His phone buzzed, making him yelp as he saw a text message appear on the lock screen.

“Hey, kiddo! I checked WMATA’s website, your bus seems to have broken down about a mile away! They’ve almost got it fixed, it shouldn’t be more than 30, but i thought i’d let you know so you don’t worry! See you at the bakery, kiddo!! :DDDD!!!” it read. Virgil smiled at his friend’s kindness, almost able to hear Patton right behind him, telling another awful dad joke that would still make him snort.

At least he knew now when the bus would come. He felt his gaze wander back towards the pretty man, a blush creeping onto his pale cheeks as he caught notice of the man’s tight white shirt slightly tugging at the muscles underneath.

“Dammit, Logan,” he whispered, adjusting his shirt. “I told you, this is a hand wash shirt; it can’t be thrown in with the colors, it’ll just shrink.” Virgil would never admit it, but he secretly thanked whoever this Logan person was for making the shirt caress the planes of his body just so, altering his mortal appearance into that of a god. The blush on his face spread to his collarbones. Ah, fuck.

Virgil averted his eyes, dragging them back his phone were they should be. If he focused enough, he could hear the man’s quiet breaths over the sound of the patter of raindrops. NO. No. No, Virgil, show some restraint. He stared intently at the little white lights on the screen, willing the little butterflies in his stomach to fuck off. His last relationship hadn’t ended well, to say the least.

He jammed earbuds into his pierced ears, playing his list of rainy day songs on shuffle. He nearly gagged as the first song turned out to Falling Slowly. The first line, mournful and bittersweet, swam through his ears as his eyes glanced back to the man sitting opposite-

Holy shit.

Virgil blinked hard, tilting his head more to confirm, yes, really, the man had scooted down the bench. Closer to him. He made some awkward sound of surprise, grabbing the man’s attention.

“Bless you,” he mumbled as Virgil muttered a thank you, hiding his blushing head in the blinding lights of social media. The man fiddled with the arms of his jacket as Virgil watched from the corner of his eyes.

Virgil’s heart was hammering. Ooh, he was in deep. Chewing his lip, he sent an SOS to Patton.

[chat log: he regretti the spaghetti]

chemically imbalanced: patton help cute boy @ bus stop

he regretti the spaghetti: Omigosh WHAT?!! PICS PLEASE

[chemically imbalanced has sent one image]

chemically imbalanced: sorry quality sucks

he regretti the spaghetti: Don’t tell me you’re crushing…?

chemically imbalanced: fuck that sixth sense of yours

and.

yes. i think i’m crushing

he regretti the spaghetti: JSABJGFHKJ YES

WAIT TIL I TELL REMY

chemically imbalanced: he scooted closer, what do?

he regretti the spaghetti: Scoot closer, of course!

chemically imbalanced: WAT.

NONONONO WHAT IF HE FINDS IT WEIRD?

he regretti the spaghetti: Virge.

i can hear your typing from here,

Don’t worry!

I will physically fight him if he hurts my son

chemically imbalanced: pfft

shit i think he heard me laugh

eeeerrrrgh he’s smiling at his phone what if he has a bf????

he regretti the spaghetti: Well you can break them apart! :D

chemically imbalanced: patton wtf

he regretti the spaghetti: I’m kidding! :)

Anyways

Back on subject

SCOOT.

THE BOOTCH.

chemically imbalanced: if i move closer will you never use that phrase again

he regretti the spaghetti: DEAL :D

Virgil sighed as he turned off his phone, feeling his anxiety swell. He gave him a side glance and saw him still entranced with his phone, shaking his head as he let out a little sigh. If he actually did have a boyfriend… he shut down that thought.

He took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. Slowly, he shuffled down the bench as his anxiety screamed this was a horrible idea. He kept his eyes trained on the falling rain, chewing his lip faster as he stilled his movements, his eyes flickering quickly to the man, who hadn’t looked up from his phone.

All at once, the silence was interrupted by a loud voice. Virgil startled, clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his shriek. The man sheepishly answers the call, cutting off General Shang in the middle of his belting as Virgil paused the music he was listening to.

“‘Sup, Logan?” he answered. Oh, God. Logan might be his boyfriend, which would explain why he was washing this man’s clothes, though maybe they were roommates, but maybe he actually- Virgil let out a whistle of air between his teeth, breathing firmly.

“Oh, come on, nerd, I’m not that late to band practice… Well, it’s not my fault the bus broke down! ...Yeah… Elliot’s on their way, they shot me a text just now.” So that’s who had him smiling at his phone. Were they…? “Yeah, they were telling about some more of October’s antics. I swear, that kid has too much energy for the morning. Apparently they met some kid named Ed in school yesterday and wouldn’t stop talking about hamsters or something? I’m not really sure what happened.” The man laughed, throwing his head back, flicking away the rain that still clung to his hair.

Virgil felt his heart skip a beat. Oh, sweet MCR, he was cute.

“Don’t you fret, dear noble,” the man said suddenly in a theatrical manner. “Your prince shall arrive to rescue from distress!” Virgil unconsciously scooted closer to hear Logan’s response.

“...last name…” was all he heard.

Virgil crossed his legs, hoping to draw attention away from his colored cheeks. He studied an ad on the side of the bus shelter, promoting a new show at the local theater. Maybe he’d check it out.

“Alright, Calculator, I gotta go. Keep that guitar tuned for me!” The man gave another chuckle that gave Virgil a storm of butterflies in his stomach. With a start, he realized he had moved closer to the man, almost able to reach out and touch this divine figure sitting beside him.

He pretended to look for the bus, stealing a glance at the man. Up close, Virgil could see hints of a golden eyeliner, making his hazelnuts eyes stand out against dark eyelashes that enticed Virgil to touch them and see just how soft they were. His eyes seemed to smile at Virgil, promising him a tomorrow and a today and a yesterday and an always.

[chat log: he regretti the spaghetti]

chemically imbalanced: i swear on the holy emo trinity i’m love with him

he regretti the spaghetti: Woah, that’s pretty serious, Virge

Are you sure, kiddo?

After, y’know...

chemically imbalanced: i don’t know

...

what am i supposed to do?

he regretti the spaghetti: Try talking with him

chemically imbalanced: holy shit he just scooted

we’re almost touching

he regretti the spaghetti: IS THIS A DRILL

VIRGE, THIS IS GREAT!!

chemically imbalanced: NO IT’S NOT

WHAT IF I LED HIM ON AND HE GETS MAD

he regretti the spaghetti: If he’s a good person, he won’t

Good people understand if you explain

chemically imbalanced: HOLY FUCK HIS HAND IS JUST THERE

AT HIS SIDE

LIKE HE WANTS TO HOLD MINE

he regretti the spaghetti: THIS IS NOT A DRILL

I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT jfhgashel

chemically imbalanced: patton?

he regretti the spaghetti: vee, it’s remy get to work and stop distracting patton

chemically imbalanced: yessir

he regretti the spaghetti: and you better tell me everything when you get here

chemically imbalanced: fuck

He was breathing too fast. His heart was beating too hard. His mind was racing. His cheeks were blushing. He could hear Patton in the back of his mind, telling him to breathe. To focus on one thing and one thing only. He concentrated on the rain, still pouring from the sky like whoever was up there had a broken heart.

He unpaused his music, the sounds of Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova crooning together filling his ears as he tuned out everything else- except the man beside him. His hand was right there. Right. There.

Virgil swallowed thickly, and dared to put his hand down on the bench. He held his breath. He could see the man’s hand out of the corner of his eye. Their pinkies had but a breath between them. If any one of them moved, their hands would touch. The thought made his heart skip a beat, and made his stomach crawl. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

He saw movement and panicked.

He stood up suddenly, startling the man, who yanked his hand away as if it had been bitten by some venomous creature. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out, hating how his voice noticeably cracked. Virgil grabbed his bag and ran, the rain soaking his face mixing with the storm pouring out from his eyes.

…

“Raise your hopeful voice

You had the choice

You’ve made it now”

…

Others would have been brokenhearted. Even others would have been mad, distraught, or confused. But not Roman. He took it as a challenge, this mysterious shadowling who had fled from the bus shelter, soaking his beautiful ebony locks tied back in a small ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Every day, he went back to the bus stop. Normally he’d walk to band practice, but after that chance encounter with fledgeling thunderstorm, he couldn’t help himself from going back to the bus stop everyday to see if the man who listened to Falling Slowly loud enough for him to hear was back. Something in him yearned to see his enigmatic eyes again, to unravel all the secrets of this pretty mystery, to learn his name and treasure it like gold.

It had been almost a month now. Either the guy had just been looking for an escape from the downpour, or he was avoiding Roman. Roman didn’t know which thought made his heart hurt more.

Roman walked sullenly to the bus stop today. It was overcast and chilly, much like that fateful day, and the gloom of the world was starting to make him doubt that the shadowling would ever turn up again. He looked up from the slate sidewalk as he neared the stop and choked on his breath.

There he was, lissome as always, the tintinnabulation of his earrings enrapturing Roman immediately. He was focused on his phone, typing away rapidly. Roman sighed happily, sitting down on the bench opposite this enigma as discreetly as possible.

[chat log: dic(k)tionary]

prince charming: Logan.

Logan.

Logan!

dic(k)tionary: I’m not talking until you tell me where my glasses are.

prince charming: NO TIME LOGAN

HE’S HERE <333333

dic(k)tionary: Who?

Oh, is it ‘Hot Topic’?

prince charming: Obviously hun

[prince charming has sent one image]

dic(k)tionary: If you want advice, give it up.

Where are my glasses, you CENTURION?

prince charming: *sigh*

they’re in your I Believe mug.

dic(k)tionary: Thank you.

And also why did you actually type out “*sigh*”?

prince charming: Why do you actually type out grammar corrections?

dic(k)tionary): Fair enough.

My advice to you is to see what he does.

Perhaps you were being too forward last time.

Let him make the first move.

If he shows indications of romantic interest,

you can take things from there.

See you at band practice.

…

Good luck. :)

prince charming: WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT THANK YOU

THIS IS WHY WE’RE FRIENDS

LOVE YOU NERD

:DDD <3333

Oh. Now he had to wait. Great.

Roman twiddled his thumbs as he leaned back against the bench, sighing. He peeked at the mysterious man, who had yet to look up from his phone. He looked up towards the sky, which was growing darker and darker by the second. Good thing he brought an umbrella.

As it would turn out, the bus was late again, up to its usual antics, as per usual. Roman saw the first few drops of rain splatter the pavement a few minutes later, the calming pitter-patter soon escalating to a full-on northern downpour.

He chanced a glimpse at the one he had fondly nicknamed Hot Topic and felt his heart sink. Nothing had changed. Should he really wait for Hot Topic to make the first move? What if Roman had been leading the poor man on? He brushed his curly bangs out of his face, deflating. Perhaps the man didn’t even like, and the whole thing had been a trick of the mind-

He heard something shuffle. His eyes went wide, his breath hitching, his heart swelling with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, this whole not-exactly-a-plan of his would work. He waited a beat before briefly turning his head to look. His heart soared, an eagle navigating the dusty skies of the savanna.

Hot Topic had slid down the bench, still as a statue as though waiting for some sort of reaction from Roman. Holy shit. Holy shit, this was happening. He wasn’t dreaming, of that he was sure. Roman let out a breathy giggle, quiet beneath the steady drumming of rain on the roof of the bus shelter.

[chat log: dic(k)tionary]

prince charming: LOGAN HE DID IT

HE SLID CLOSER

WHAT SHOULD I DO???

dic(k)tionary: I told you.

“If he shows indications of romantic interest,

you can take things from there.”

prince charming: BUT WHAT DO I DO

dic(k)tionary: Roman.

You do whatever your heart tells you.

For lack of a better word,

duh.

Roman held his breath, and moved over on the bench. He could feel his palms sweating beyond belief as he bounced his leg rapidly in hopes of quelling the anxiety rising up inside him. He let out a rush of air. Do what his heart told him, eh?

Well, his heart told him to run off with this dream of a man, riding upon a majestic horse off into the sunset of a thousand hues. And Roman was pretty sure that’s not what Logan had meant.

His attention was grabbed by someone coughing. He looked up at the man and held his gaze, his eyes met two violet irises filled with wonder and hope that whispered to him tales of a day by the beach, resting in each other’s arms, of a day in bed, cuddling together, of a day spent sneaking glances at each other when the other wasn’t looking, creeping closer together on a bench of a bus shelter they just happened to be in together on a rainy day.

They broke their gaze at the same time, faces flushing with color and painted with hopeful smiles. Roman was struck with an idea. He took a deep breath and began to sing. “Take this sinking boat and point it home, we’ve still got time.” He heard a gasp from the pretty mystery as he joined in.

“Raise your hopeful voice, you had the choice, you’ve made it now.” Without thinking, Roman slid the remaining distance to the man and crashed into him, the touch of their shoulders electrifying and invigorating and everything he ever hoped it would be.

They finished the song, falling into silence that brought youthful hearts to the brink of madness, wondering who would speak first.

Roman’s hand fell back to bench, jolting slightly when it touched warm flesh rather than the cold bench. He saw the pale hand and followed the path of the arm attached to it to meet with those awe-inspiring violet eyes that made his heart tremble with want.

He knew what he had to do.

He turned his whole body towards this mysterious man and stuck out his hand, smiling genuinely. “My name is Roman Prince. What’s yours?”

The rain calmed down, two crepuscular rays of light breaking through the storm clouds to greet the two strangers waiting side by side at bus stop, strangers no longer, but two people falling slowly.

…

“Falling slowly

sing your melody

I'll sing along”

…

#prinxiety #fanfic #Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides AU #human AU #falling slowly #my writing #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #look at my references #I tried to format it all cool and fancy but tumblr said fuck that #so now I just spent half an hour of my life adding chat names #and I don't regret a single thing #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders

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emmelfish · 6 years

Text

So, it looks like the roaring success of a wedding party added to Brandi’s reputation. You sure you don’t wanna roundhouse kick your BFF Dina there for smooching your firstborn son?

(John Burb – lover of drama, sitter of fences, gossip extraordinaire and never met a dirty joke he doesn’t like – glides by without a word but a mental note to regale his wife with all the sordid details.)

I still don’t know which of the two of them initiated that, but I guess this is what happens when you combine cute blond Fortune sims, one of whom has recently reached an... eligible age?... and our old friend ACR.

youtube

Darren had at least five of those six beers, so this doesn’t surprise me in the least. Dreamer, I’m cutting you off!

Time to celebrate the transition of the terrible twins, the perfect ending to this... interesting wedding.

Growing up next to a rain puddle, is it everything you ever dreamed of Skip Jr?

Sadly, it’s also time to say goodbye to the Mortimer Goth cosplay and the buzzcut...

... and hello to... this! I’m pretty sure given he’s Sloppy and Playful, SJ’ll be a Nature sim, so it’s not even like this is hobby-appropriate costuming (it’d be better for his sister, she’s bound to be Sports or Fitness with her personality points).

There’s something so ritualistic about the way they stand around cheering somebody aging, I love it. It’s even better in weddingwear.

I’m also a big fan of how different Skip Jr looks to his older brothers. And this genetic correctness! I’m not sure how we ever put up with the gender-reversed Brandi clone EAxis stuck in the vanilla game. THANK YOU @meetmetotheriver 💟

I’m excited that he grew up well, but scared of what kind of child he’ll be. Nowhere near as terrified as I am re: Suse though.

Darren finally told one dirty joke too many? And in front of A CHILD?! No wonder he and John Burb get along so well.

Beau: Hey I’m gonna be a teenager in like a day, I can take it.

We’ll be the judge of that.

Oh god, I don’t know if I even really want to do this, but here we go.

Yo Bran, when did you change into your afterparty gear? (Seriously, I had no idea she had that maternity formalwear lurking in her wardrobe.)

Susie: *stares at fire* Yes, yes, consume the souls of my nemeses...

Skip Jr: Uh, Mr Dad, I think you’re supposed to put her down.

Beau: This is gold.

Skip Jr: Seriously DreamerDaddy, I really think she’s meant to be on the floor...?

Skip Jr: I can’t watch.

(Legitimately though, at this point I was hiding from the screen and peeping through my fingers to take these screenshots. I love a good glitch, but this was beyond terrifying.)

OH MY GOD.

THEY’VE MERGED INTO SOME KIND OF MONSTER.

Oh thank heavens. I just had Darren do the ‘put Susie here’ action and while her arms did get stuck like this for a while, everything went back to normal and she was a child and not some warped giant baby. Good bloody lord! Darren, had you forgotten how to transition a toddler? Dirk’s not that old!

Hey Suse, you’d better not be hunting bugs just to set fire to them.

Susie: Well I won’t be setting fire to anything if my stupid jar stays this empty.

While I’m kind of loving Susie’s blazer and jeans, gotta get those twins into the colors they were in as tots. It’s my rule! (When feasible.)

Yeah we get it guys, you love each other because you’re both pretty awful. Had enough of this yet Beau?

Beau: Urgh. I’m disappearing into a place where I can control everything, thank you very much. This here dollhouse.

That sounds like a strangely familiar concept.

Ah, back to some semblance of a (relatively) normal life! Skip Jr’s already making good use of those Playful Grouchy traits by beating Beau to death with a pillow, and Susie’s slyly charming her way into an older brother’s affections just as she did with Dustin.

This loading screen will look rather different... imminently. Room for two more?

Oh yeah! Remember Dustin’s strange schoolfriend who marched brazenly into the Broke trailer and randomly picked up and snuggled the twins when they were but babes? Skip Jr clearly does, and now that he can articulate this experience, is telling Beau just how traumatic it was.

Back to plate-making, you! Yes I know you want a vacay, and you’ll get one when you sell several more of these. Also what’s that ‘get caught cheating’ fear? Why is cheating even crossing your mind? You literally just got married and it upped your chem with Daz by one whole bolt – three is the magic number, don’t mess with perfection!

With Susie being an active-grouchy sports lover, I got her a nice Goal of Paul to play with. Of course the first thing she does is stand in it and jeer her brother.

Skip Jr: Listen sis, this is your game not mine.

I’m fine with whatever happens as long as that ball doesn’t hit poor Darleen’s gravestone.

Susie: So what we got going here.

Beau: Well we have this whole saga, see. Shirley here has been struggling with her feelings towards Muriel for quite some time now –

Susie: So she sets fire to Muriel’s hair in a passionate fury and then these two ladies over here come and chop her good with samurai swords to avenge Muriel?

Beau: Uh, no –

Susie: ‘I curse the day Shirley was born!’ ‘As do I, we will demand blood for blood!’

Beau: *sighs* Not really what I was going for. How exactly are we related again?

Susie: This is great! Do you have any of those little green army men? Let’s have them explode the house in an act of WAR.

Oh hi! Tinkering Lady is COOL! Dirk finally bagged the elusive invite to go play with cars and trains and robots. I think he’s our first too.

I am going to aggressively marry her into one of the families at some point, I have to. Boho style, badass purple streak in her hair and pink eyes too? She has it all!

Brandi, that is not acceptable. You have a pottery badge for crying out loud.

Oh okay, you’re going into labor. I suppose that’s a fair excuse.

Even cool Tinkering Lady is running to see the miracle of life!

Darren: Oh, you’re having the babies, love? That’s nice.

THE MOTHERFUDGING VERTICAL RING GLITCH IS BACK AGAIN ON HIS SECOND FRIGGING MARRIAGE

Susie?

Susie: Astarte and Proserpine are busy avenging Muriel and fending off acts of terror, god, leave me alone.

Dirk looks like he’s singing a power ballad and I’m loving it. Meanwhile Beau is like, this ain’t my first rodeo.

Here we go... again. AGAIN.

The cramming into the doorway while Brandi gives birth in the narrowest place in the whole house is a treat tbh.

And here they are! We gots two gals. Not saying they’re not lovely, call me a picky sim breeder but I was expecting them to be... at least S3? The genetics in this game confuse me sometimes.

Speaking of genetics, look at this brown-eyed babe! Take your pick, they could be from Brandi’s dad or either or Darren’s parents. I’ve named them after surrealist artists (because I figured their parents’d be into that), so we have little Frida here...

... and mere seconds younger, her sister Remedios!

As per usual everybody cheers the firstborn twin and poor Remy doesn’t get a look-in. Even Susie dragged herself away from her macabre soap opera to say hi.

Susie: Who run the world? GIRLS! Who run the world?

Skip Jr: Bang bang!

Beau: No. I only have three Playful points. I refuse to engage in your nonsense.

And here are the twin ladies in their matching rubberbabybuggybumpers. Next up, we have our dearest Beau hitting teenhood! I’m gonna miss him as a kid.

#emmelfishuberhood

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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His House Ending Explained – the Apeth, the Ghosts and the Meaning of the Title

https://ift.tt/32fYLnj

Remi Weekes debut movie, His House, has taken Netflix by storm. It’s a very current story of two Sudanese refugees who are given asylum in Britain but under some oppressive conditions including that they must not work and they must not leave the house which they are assigned. But the couple has brought something with them on their journey and the two are tormented inside the squalid house by ghosts and apparitions who live in the walls but can inflict very real damage on the pair.

His House is social commentary but also an out and out horror. It also uses elements of Sudanese myth as Rial (Wunmi Mosaku) and Bol (Sope Dirisu) are haunted by an ‘apeth’ or ‘night witch’ who has risen from the ocean and pursued the couple, who wants them to atone for their sins.

As the house deteriorates further and further the film leads us to a first shocking but then redemptive conclusion.

Bol and Rial’s secret

Rial believes the couple has brought an ‘apeth’ with them who wants them to repay a debt, it’s only as the film progresses that we understand the full weight of that debt. At the start of His House we see Bol carrying a young girl, Nyagak (Malaika Wakoli-Abigaba) in Sudan and later on a boat across the ocean. We understand the girl died during the crossing and think that Nyagak is the couple’s daughter who is now haunting them.

Later, during the night time crossing the boat capsizes and while Bol helps Rial to the safety of a rescue vessel, Nyagak and many others drown. Rial has blanked out part of the memory and still believe Nyagak is her child, it is only in a dream in union with the women of her village that she comes to the full realisation of what she has done.

Later we understand their guilt and shame runs much deeper. Under extreme threat in Sudan a truck taking passengers to the boat to escape is already full, without Bol and Rial having a seat. In a moment of panic, Bol grabs a young girl, Nyagak and claims a place in the truck for her as well as Bol and Rial on the pretence that she is their child. But when the truck starts moving and Nyagak sees her mother out of the window, the two start screaming for each other. As her mother runs after the truck she is gunned down.

The Ghosts

The ghosts that inhabit the walls and haunt the rooms of the house are of different sorts. Nyagak, wearing a grotesque face mask, is one of the more tangible of the ghouls, often wielding a knife and able to switch lights on and off.

But the house is full of other ghosts too – the ghosts of others who had drowned while trying to escape across the ocean, the ghosts of Nyagak’s dead mother and the ghosts of the women who were massacred in the village in Sudan, and by the end, any number of other ghosts from the couple’s past. These are not necessarily malevolent.

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Then finally there is the apeth.

The Apeth

An ‘apeth’ or Night Witch is a figure from Dinka culture. Rial explains that her mother used to tell her a story of a good man who wanted his own house so desperately that he began to steal from other people. But he stole from an old man who turned out to be an apeth. When he built his home the apeth lived there too and would whisper spells and would never stop until the man repaid his debt. Because of Nyagek an apeth has risen from the ocean and followed the couple to England, she explains. It speaks to Rial and tells her that they do not belong here and they must leave and repay their debt.

Bol won’t accept this at first.

Initially he tries to burn Nyagak’s doll and other stuff from Sudan and to lean hard into British culture – into ‘fitting in’, believing that erasing their past is the only way to move forward. When he is still tormented by Nyagak’s ghost he hacks apart the walls and screams that ‘this is my house!’.

Still not at peace, Bol tries to throw himself at the mercy of the councilman Mark (Matt Smith) begging him to house them somewhere else and claiming there are rats – when Mark visits, Rial insists on telling him about the witch.

When Mark threatens to report the damage to the house Bol promises to fix it. He now barricades himself and Rial inside and removes all the door handles and locks all the windows in an attempt to force them both to stay in, and then he contacts the apeth himself.

The apeth tells Bol, “No matter where you go I will follow. You are mine now.” and says that he must exchange his life for Nyagak. While he is in a trance-like state Rial manages to escape the house but finds herself in a traumatic memory from Sudan where she hid in a cupboard while a massacre of women took place. The apeth implores her to give his her husband’s flesh.

Ultimately Rial returns. Bol decides to face the apeth and cuts into his flesh, and the apeth comes. The apeth, played by legendary creature performer Javier Botet who has appeared in numerous horror films including the [REC] franchise, It Chapters one and two and The Conjuring 2, is a very real physical presence that tries to get under Bol’s skin (literally) but Rial, realising what she must do, slits the apeth’s throat, killing it and saving Bol.

The Final Inspection

Bol has had to accept and embrace his heritage rather than trying too hard to to be ‘one of the good ones’ – director Remi Weekes explains this: “One of the books I really enjoyed was The Good Immigrant, and that says a lot about the need for immigrants to be good or to be accepted by society or the government. And so I guess that’s an acknowledgement of the need for immigrants or people who could be demonized, to be performative, in order to be accepted.”

While Rial, who has struggled to feel any sense of belonging – she gets lost, some black kids she asks for help mock her accent and tell her to go back to Africa – attempts to embrace their new way of life a bit more and let go of the ghosts of Nyagak and the massacred women, while acknowledging they will always still be there.

“It’s there still a witch?” Mark ask the pair when he and some colleagues come to inspect the house, which is now beginning to see signs of repair.

“Rial killed it,” replies Bol, in a moment of humour but also in an act of acknowledging his own heritage rather than hiding it.

“Your ghosts follow you, they live with you, it’s when I let them in I could start to face myself,” says Bol.

“This is our home. We are happy here,” says Rial.

We see that the house is filled with ghosts, but they are no longer hidden in darkness but standing with the couple, all together in a group.

His House

So what does the title mean? There are a few possibilities. A line that we hear variations on a couple of times in the film is “his house is bigger than mine” – it’s a line which encompasses many of the themes well in that the Brit council workers see asylum seekers being given a large property and want them to be grateful without understanding the effects the tiny amount of money they have to live on, the endless list of rules they must abide by, not being allowed to move and not being allowed to work and the difficulty of fitting into a whole new community where you are completely ‘othered’ have.

That it’s ‘his’ house (as opposed to ‘my house’ for example) immediately casts Bol as ‘other’ – that he’s not even the protagonist in his own story.

That it is ‘his’, as opposed to ‘her house’ or ‘their house’ is also worth noting. Weekes says there’s an element of critiquing “how you have to be to be a man” in the film and it’s clear that Bol is trying to lead and be in control – while ultimately it is Rial who saves him. There are moments of masculinity where he behaves with aggression – taking a hammer to the walls, burning their stuff, locking Rial in the house and stopping her from leaving, which ends in her stabbing him with a screwdriver – which are at best futile and at worst incredibly damaging.

Finally – and this might be grasping at straws but, we’ll throw it out there – to some viewers the phrase ‘His House’ has links with the Christian Church. A church would be known as ‘His House’ as in God’s, and in addition there’s a line from John 14:2 where Jesus says: “My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?” – this as in Heaven.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

His House the movie doesn’t especially seem to have anything to do with Christianity and it’s not the religion or culture of Bol and Rial but the house that they move into does indeed have many rooms which now house the ghosts of the dead. A bit of a stretch, but still.

His House is available to stream on Netflix now.

The post His House Ending Explained – the Apeth, the Ghosts and the Meaning of the Title appeared first on Den of Geek.

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