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targaryenrealnessdarling · 22 days

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It's Who We Have | Part Eight

Summary: After escaping death together, both of them finally just want to feel alive. With each other. | Word Count: 5.6k~ | Warnings: SMUT (finally), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), escaped death sex, angst, mentions of death

General Taglist | Billy Washington Masterlist | Series Masterlist

There was only panic. The acrid taste of foreboding death on his tongue.

Billy could feel his chest caving in with despair, as if someone had plunged their fist into it, grabbed his heart in their icy fingers and torn it from between his ribs. Fingernails sunk into the hot, bloody flesh.

The image blurred at the edges, her face focussed in the centre. It was so bright and hot before. Why was it suddenly so cold and dark?

Billy fought against the police officers, clawing and belting her name from the depths of his throat in a state of desperation.

“It's always been us. It always will be.”

He had never seen someone look so petrified. Her hand stretched out, reaching for him, a soundless utterance of his name left her lips before her body was shrouded in flames and smoke.

Peeling away at her gorgeous face.

He felt the hellish heat of the fire engulfing his car, and felt nothing but a hollow emptiness, of self-loathing, when her screams from inside became swiftly quieter.

And Billy woke as he had done for the last two nights, drenched in sweat, gripping the bedsheets for some semblance of control and wide, blue eyes flitting about the room in panic.

He'd dreamt of many scenarios that could have played out that day. All of which ended with one inescapable ending, that she always perished in them.

He didn't sleep at all that first night, opting to spend it at his Mum and Dad's. Unable to face the unbearable and stark loneliness of his flat until his mind was more stable and not muddled by the threat of death.

He can still feel it. Deep in his bones.

The primal fear that gripped him.

But every now and then, like a warm, tender embrace. The memories of her would come just as easily. How she held his face. How her lips had pressed against his in relief. Her eyes, stark against the stillness of that twilight evening, as she was ushered away into her own ambulance.

It was a comfort for him to remember just why he was here. Alive.

All because of her.

He hadn't seen her since that day.

Val had offered at the first opportunity to have her over, just in case, like Billy, she didn't want to be alone on the evening her very life could have been forfeit.

But before she could even propose the idea, when she'd picked Billy up from the police station after submitting their statements, she was already gone. But the shadows of what happened to them both lingered in the bold letters of the local newspapers.

9th July. Bomb Defused in Targeted Attack on Anti-Fascist Activists Yesterday evening, a man and a woman narrowly escaped a deadly terror attack targeted at anti-fascist activists. The assailants had planted a bomb in the victims' car, intending to cause catastrophic harm. Police presence surrounding Farringdon Tube Station has been increased in response to the attack. Thanks to the swift response of the Metropolitan Police bomb squad team, the explosive device was successfully defused before it could detonate, averting what could have been a devastating loss of life. The heroic efforts of law enforcement officers ensured the safe extraction of the individuals from the scene, who were promptly transported to a nearby hospital for evaluation and treatment. As investigations into the incident continue, authorities are urging members of the public to remain vigilant and report any suspicious activity to law enforcement agencies. The MET police have confirmed the arrest of an individual in connection with the targeted attack. The suspect, whose identity has not yet been disclosed, was apprehended following intensive investigations into the incident.

As he sat up in bed then, throwing the sheets off his middle and twisting to plant his feet on the cool floor, he wondered if she was suffering as he was.

The ache of her absence gnawed at him, a hollow emptiness that seemed to grow with each passing day. He wondered where she had gone, if she was safe. The uncertainty weighed heavily on his mind, casting a shadow over his every thought and action.

He rose to face the new day, with dwindling purpose, but couldn't sit idly by while she was out there, lost and alone. He had to find her, to offer her the same comfort and support that she had once given him.

There was not one spot in his childhood home Billy felt safe from the concerned gaze of his parents, and sometimes when she bothered to come around, his sister. To be fair to Lana, everytime she saw him, she threw her arms around his neck and choked out something he couldn't strain to hear.

But the tug at his heart told him it was mostly out of guilt.

With unwashed hair, he stared at the kettle as it boiled, waiting for the button to click off in what became a monotonous task to just have something to do. The rumble of the water wormed its way into his brain.

The hum of the engine.

The beep of the timer as it counted down.

“Billy, look at me-”

“Billy.”

His mum's concerned voice rang through like a bell, tugging him to the surface. And he blinked a few times before looking at her, his mum's eyebrows furrowed together, her phone held in one hand, outstretched to him.

“Mum, I don't want to talk to Beck-”

“It's Libby, duck.”

With his phone dusted across Cranstead Fields, he felt like somewhat of a child, that everyone who wanted to speak to him, had to come through his mum first.

Since the incident, and he wasn't sure how Becky found out, but she'd been ringing his Mum non-stop, asking for him. To talk to him. But what would she even say? Some half-arsed attempt at sympathy?

Billy nodded a thank you, and bought the phone to his ear, sighing with relief when his mum gave him privacy.

“Hiya Libs, listen, right now's not a good ti-”

“Billy! Sorry, but I can't get hold of her. S-she’s gone off somewhere and-”

“Woah woah, calm down, what's going on?”

“She's turned her phone off and I don't know where she is! Her fucking dad turned up at her flat-”

He dropped the teaspoon then, completely focussed. Something akin to a cold wave sweeping over him. A flurry of memories came, of conversations had in Cranstead Fields on their walks home from school.

“I don't really know him,” she'd said, “if I saw him in the street, I wouldn't recognise him.”

“Her Dad? What the fuck-Libs, slow down and explain.”

“You know her better than anyone, Billy…can you please just make sure she's okay…”

Billy's mind raced with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. He made a quick promise to Libby that he'd do something, his determination fueling his actions. If he knew her, she'd be panicking at the mere sight of her estranged father showing up at her flat. He imagined her fears, her worries about what he could possibly want after all these years of abandonment.

Perhaps her father had his own family now, another life that didn't include her. Or maybe he had heard about the events at Cranstead and was offering some feeble attempt at support. Whatever the reason, Billy knew he had to act fast.

Brushing past his mum, he pulled on his jacket and headed out into the rain-soaked streets, the calls of his dad fading into the distance. With each step, his determination grew stronger, fueled by his love for her and his unwavering promise to always be there for her.

He had always said he would do anything for her, and now, with the rain pouring down around him and the stifling heat of summer weighing heavily on his shoulders, he knew he had to keep that promise. "I have to get to her. I have to get to her," he repeated to himself, each word a mantra driving him forward through the storm.

He already let her slip away from him once.

It wasn’t going to happen again.

16th September.

The date on Billy's phone screen seemed to mock him, the reminder underneath serving as a painful reminder of what could have been. The day she would leave for university. He had set the reminder himself, filled with visions of helping her with her bags, hands intertwined until the last possible moment before the train doors closed.

But those hopeful expectations had been shattered, crushed by his own foolishness. The memory of her hurt expression on their last day of college stabbed at his heart, a constant ache he couldn't shake.

He had realised his mistake too late, watching helplessly as she walked away from him. His friends had been rightfully annoyed at him for ruining the excitement of their next life stage. She was only following her dreams, trying to live her life to the fullest.

The only person who was tolerable to be around, was Harry.

He was at least easy to talk to about idle shit. Playing whatever shitty first person shooter he had in his arsenal of XBOX games. In between games, Billy checked his phone, but found no text lining his screen, blowing smoke between his lips out Harry’s bedroom window. Even in those moments of distraction, Billy couldn't shake the nagging feeling of regret.

“Have you told her you love her yet?” Harry asked, button smashing and catching his lip between his teeth in concentration.

Billy furrowed his brow, “Who? Becky?”

It was rare Harry paused a game if he didn’t have to. But his reaction was immediate, his expression filled with disappointment. It was then Billy felt the hot whips of panic and embarrassment at the back of his neck. Harry scoffed and turned back to his game, tight with some form of resentment.

He thought about fobbing off Harry, weaving through the tight alleyways of the local estate, running as fast as his long legs would carry him, to make it to the train station before she left him forever.

But when he checked his phone, the reminder was gone, and he felt the hole where she had occupied space inside him, cold.

Every corner of her home held the memory of her mother's voice.

“Where the fuck have you been all night? Ungrateful cow!”

“You're just like your bloody father! Useless!”

And one of her more colourful insults.

“You're about as useful as tits on a bull.”

It would almost be funny. Almost.

Her former home was caked with dust, formed thick in the weeks her mum had been in rehab. There were still dirty mugs in the sink, and an inch of milk in the fridge. But it smelled as it always had, musty and oppressive.

Her hair was frizzy from walking in the rain, and when she'd tripped past the pile of letters at the front door, it felt like she was a ghost in her own home.

One she never thought she'd set foot in again.

But she had to get away from him.

Just turning up, after years of pretending she didn't exist, without so much of a ‘sorry, I never bothered to give a shit about you’.

No.

So she ran. Socks and shoes completely sodden from running. That day at Cranstead Fields felt like a lifetime ago and not at the same time. The humid, blazing days had given way finally to raging thunder. Rumbling aggressively.

Her old bedroom didn't offer much of a haven.

As she entered her old bedroom, seeking solace in the familiarity of its walls, she couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over her. This was no longer her sanctuary, but a prison of her own making, a reminder of the pain and suffering she had endured at the hands of those who were supposed to love her.

Any sunlight that filtered through the thick cloud started to fade, sat on her childhood bed that felt too small now.

And she jumped when she heard the front door open, as if expecting the shriek of her mother, the slam of doors, the rise of an open hand-

“Hey..”

Billy's voice tore her away. He looked comical stood in the doorway, nearly filling all available space. His eyebrows furrowed beautifully, with little drips falling from the darkened sandy locks of hair over his eyes.

She'd not seen him since Cranstead.

And she felt her heart squeeze at the sight of him now. Looking just as worried we the day she first met him.

His clothes were soaked through, jeans a dark blue at the thigh where he'd been running through the rain. And if she hadn't felt so hollow, like her legs would break if she leapt forwards, she would have hugged him. And not let go.

Eventually finding her own voice was difficult.

“Mum's dead, Billy.”

Billy's lips parted, his expression unreadable as he processed her words. There was a sadness in his eyes, but also a sense of resignation, as if he had been expecting this news all along.

For a moment, he simply stood there, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air between them. And then, without a word, Billy crossed the room and pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she let out a shaky breath.

Billy exhaled, warm against her shoulder as he held her, “I'm sorry, baby,” he whispered. His words only made her arms tighten around him. He was her only anchor. Had always been.

11th July. Woman found deceased in local canal. A woman's body was discovered in the waters of the local canal early morning, 9th July. Sources close to the investigation suggest that the woman may have been under the influence of alcohol at the time of her untimely demise. According to preliminary reports from law enforcement officials, the woman, whose identity remains unknown at this time, had checked herself out of a rehabilitation facility mere hours before her tragic accident occurred. It is believed that she may have been attempting to navigate the area on foot when she accidentally fell into the canal. In the wake of this tragic event, local authorities are urging members of the public to exercise caution when venturing near bodies of water, particularly in the aftermath of heavy rainfall. The family of the deceased have chosen not to comment and request privacy during this difficult time.

Billy sat with her for a while, rubbing her back tenderly as she leaned into him, and both watched the river of rain slide down the road outside, the concrete shimmering.

“I've never been up here,” Billy commented, earning a mirthless laugh from her.

“You're not missing much, trust me.”

His hand found its way around her waist, and he pressed his lips to her hair, a silent gesture of comfort. “Is that what your Dad came over to tell you? About your mum?” he inquired gently.

She nodded simply.

Billy felt her tension, her inner turmoil palpable in the air around them. “I can’t do it,” she whispered, her voice strained with emotion. “Pretending nothing’s wrong…”

He shook his head, his heart aching for her. “Nobody’s asking you to,” he assured her.

“Yeah, but that's not what people want, is it? Stiff upper lip. Move on,” she lamented, her bitterness seeping into her words. "I just... I don't know how to feel," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's like... I should be sad, but all I feel is... relief.”

Billy's brows furrowed in concern, but he didn't interrupt her. He knew she needed to voice her thoughts, to untangle the complex web of emotions swirling inside her. He understands that feeling. That you should be sad, but you're not as sad as you think you ought to be.

"It's not like I wanted her to die," she continued, her tone tinged with bitterness. "But...now she's gone, and I don't know what to do with all this... emptiness.”

Billy squeezed her gently, offering silent support. "You don't have to figure it all out right now," he reassured her. "Just take it one step at a time."

She leaned into him, grateful for his steady presence. "I just... I don't want to see him. My Dad." She confessed, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "Shows up out of nowhere, expecting me to... what? Forgive him? Act like nothing ever happened?"

Billy's jaw tightened with anger, but he kept his tone calm. "You don't owe him anything," he said firmly. "You're allowed to set boundaries, to protect yourself from anyone who brings you pain."

I should know, he thinks.

She nodded. "Yeah," she agreed, her voice stronger now. "I'm not sure he's someone I want to figure things out with.”

Billy felt a pang of sadness at her words, the weight of her pain heavy on his heart. “Only you get it,” she added softly, her voice filled with longing. “Sometimes I think it’s only you who does.”

He smiled against her hair, his laughter a bittersweet melody in the quiet room. “Lucky you,” he teased, earning a breathy laugh from her that felt half-hearted, but a laugh nonetheless.

In the quiet intimacy of the room, he found himself lost in the warmth of her presence, grateful for the silent understanding that passed between them. They had weathered storms together before, and he knew they would weather this one too. He brushed a gentle kiss against her temple, his lips lingering there for a moment before he spoke.

After a beat, Billy squeezed her waist affectionately, “Come on, let’s get you back to mine. Get you dried up, yeah?”

It was clear the moment she walked through the door that his parents had been round to tidy up at some point after Cranstead.

The floor was visible. His kitchen, mostly spotless. And all the clothes had been put away. A stark contrast to how it appeared when she and Billy had been here last. It was night and day, compared to the chaos that had consumed their lives before everything unravelled.

On the walk home, Billy had confessed that Becky had texted him - probably feeling in some way, that he owed her an explanation about his ex. Not that she needed one.

When she asked if he texted back, he'd said no, reasoning that he had no desire to see or even speak to her again after the behaviour she'd exhibited when they had been together. Yet, there was no trace of jealousy within her. She knew, deep down, that she had Billy all to herself now, without any looming threats of loss.

By the time they'd made it back to his, the sun was starting to set over the rooftops, casting a rainbow through the shimmering rain that continued to fall. The walk back to his flat had drenched them once again, but neither felt the hurry to rush about and get dry.

“How's Lana?” She asked, watching from the kitchen doorway as Billy poured boiling water into two mugs.

He raised his eyebrows as if the question caught him off guard, “uh, yeah fine really…just being her usual bossy self mostly.”

Her throat tightened as she observed the movement of his hands, an unexpected pang of desire igniting within her. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the dormant feelings that had long been suppressed. In the quiet of the kitchen, she found herself drawn to him, her gaze lingering on his features as if memorising every contour. The air crackled with unspoken words, the weight of their shared history hanging between them.

“Good.” she added quietly, suddenly finding herself needing to do something with her hands.

With his sodden jacket now hanging over the door, her gaze lingered on the sight of his bare skin, his barely sun-kissed arms at his side. The memory of their kiss, passionate and electrifying, flooded her mind, sending a shiver down her spine.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume her. She couldn't afford to lose herself in him, not now, not like this, not after the trauma of what had happened. She had to maintain control, to resist the pull of her desires and stop acting like a lovesick little teenager.

As Billy turned to face her, his pupils widened with longing, and she felt her resolve weaken. In that moment, the palpable chemistry between them was undeniable, sparking like electricity in the air, pulling them together with an irresistible force.

Suddenly, she became acutely aware of her appearance to him. Her clothes clung to her damp skin, the scent of rain clinging to her hair, a tangible reminder of the storm they had walked through together.

But despite her dishevelled state, there was something in Billy's gaze that made her heart race. It was a hunger, a desire that mirrored her own, igniting a fire within her that she struggled to contain. Yet, there was something else there, something deeper, a glimmer of disbelief mingled with relief as if he couldn't quite believe she was standing here, alive and whole, in front of him. It added a layer of complexity to the intensity of their connection, amplifying the magnetic pull that drew them closer together.

And then, without a word, Billy stepped forward, closing the distance between them in one decisive move. His hands cupped her cheeks tenderly, his touch both gentle and possessive as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

It was a bold move, one that took her by surprise, but there was a sense of determination in Billy's actions that spoke volumes. For too long, he had taken a back seat in his own life, allowing others to dictate his choices and define his path.

But this, kissing her, was a decision he could make, a choice born out of his own desires and needs.

It was only when they parted and Billy pressed his tacky forehead to hers that he spoke, “I'm so fucking sorry…”

Between soft inhales, her voice came out weakened, “what for?”

She couldn't tell if the breath he let out was more of a choked sob rather than speaking. “For being such a twat before you left for uni, for fucking putting you in danger - I could never live with myself if you-”

Her head turned, capturing his lips once more to silence the words that had barely come out. She couldn't allow him to think like that, the what ifs. They were here. Alive.

Driven by an undeniable longing, they stumbled backward, their bodies moving in sync as they navigated the path to Billy's bedroom. His hands slid down to clamp around her waist, guiding her with a sense of purpose as they moved with a newfound urgency, barely giving space for breath as he surrendered himself to her.

Billy tasted faintly of cigarettes, and while her fingers slid up the nape of his neck, twisting themselves in his dark, blonde hair, she found herself thinking that there was nothing more addictive at this moment than kissing Billy Washington.

And wanted to kick herself for waiting so long to do it.

Lost in the heat of the moment, she found herself craving more of Billy's touch, a hunger that consumed her from the inside out. His hands roamed her body with a feverish intensity, tracing every curve and contour as if committing them to memory.

“So beautiful…”

Her knees went a little weak, and thank god that she didn't have to stand in front of him much longer. The back of her knees met the bedframe and as she stumbled with her back on the worn mattress, Billy was quick to follow, his knee parting her legs with quiet intensity.

There was no need for words, the depth of this bond had been communicated long ago.

If she paid too much attention to the way his large hands pawed at her breasts and slipped beneath the hem of her shirt to glide along her skin, her mind would spin. It felt so natural, chest to chest, tangled in bliss they had ignored for too long.

She tugged at his shirt, the burning desire building so quickly inside her, there was no way of stopping. He propped himself up slightly to grab his shirt at his back and pulled it off himself in one smooth movement, forgotten to the floor in an instant.

His lips trailed down her neck, collarbone, savouring every bit, before continuing south, softly kissing the skin that had become exposed at her torso as she assisted in guiding her jeans off her legs, struggling at the way the fabric clung to her skin from the rain.

“Fucking hell…” Billy whispered, her hips in his bruising grip, his lips brushing against the inside of her bare thighs. She felt his tongue tease that crease where her leg met her hip and the heat that rose to her face from it.

“Billy, oh-” her eyes slipped completely shut, stomach doing backflips when he laid an open-mouthed kiss to her centre, teasing the growing wetness with his tongue as if he couldn't wait to taste. Even through the thin fabric of her underwear, with his sheer determination to bury himself as far between her legs as possible, his nose brushed against her little bundle of nerves, stroking a long burning fire that brewed within her.

She could do nothing but thread her fingers through his hair, hips gently grinding on his face to search for that delicious friction she craved so much. Billy didn't mind the gentle tug on his roots, and simply slid down the underwear that was in his way and flattened his tongue with vigour against her, a broad stripe from her folds to focus his unwavering attention to her bud, if only to watch the way her thighs trembled in response.

The coil wound tight in her gut, and when she chanced a glance to see Billy's bright blue eyes looking back at her from between her legs, groaning, she nearly lost it entirely. The pleasant sting of his grip on her thighs where Billy was holding them apart, could not even be described.

Her fingers curled tighter, breath hot in her chest the feeling began to flood into her limbs, subconsciously grinding against his face as she rode out the high that shook her.

“-fuck! Billy-” is all she was able to whisper through hurried breaths, feeling that Billy was not about to falter until he had taken as much from her as he wanted, lapping up anything she gave him with a final flick of his tongue against her bud.

He laid one last kiss to the inside of her thigh before struggling to his feet with his fingers prying the buttons his jeans apart with difficulty. Merely watching him, she felt the dull buzz through her body still, and the rapid beating of her heart against her ribs.

Neither said a thing, too focussed on seeing each other like this for the first novel time. Her eyes followed the trail of dark blonde hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his black boxers before they came off as well.

She'd never given much thought to how he looked without his clothes on, that would mean opening a door she'd long locked away. But once she saw him as she did now, chest moving with barely-contained desire, his large palm running up and down his shaft that stood tight against his abdomen - she felt herself clench around nothing. And suddenly, his body was all she was able to think about as she pressed her thighs together.

As quickly as she closed her legs, Billy was forcing them open again, and her cheeks went all hot as he knelt before her on the bed, his eyes zero’d in on what lay between her supple thighs.

His hands drifted over her hips to her waist appreciatively, before taking his length in his hand and running the fat head of his cock over her glistening centre, “God, you're so fucking good-”

She was oversensitive, barely recovered from her first orgasm of the evening, and the sensation had her mouth go dry, but more so the lewd sound of her wetness.

Billy looked as if he didn't know what to do with himself when she pushed him back slightly with a hand on his chest, a puzzled look replaced quickly by intrigue as she manoeuvred her way on top of him, with boyish blue eyes staring up at her where she now straddled him.

She'd never felt so daring in her life. Removing her shirt purely on instinct, and the bra quickly joining it, she couldn't help but tease herself on Billy's length, glazing him with her wetness, if not but for the way that line between his eyebrows furrowed together and his hips twitched with need, jutting up to meet her.

His fingers bruised her skin, “stop-” he groaned loudly, feeling as if he were embarrassingly close but still without the sensation of being inside her.

Her hand trailed down his chest, over his stomach, “I love you-” she took him and slowly sank onto him, the stretch stealing the air from her lungs for a brief moment, expelled in a choked moan. “Love you…”

For a moment, she stayed there, savouring his tortured expression before she moved herself on him, the soft sound of her buttocks against his thighs accompanied with Billy's hurried pants were like music.

“Fuck - don't stop-”

And as if she would, when he spoke to her like that. His eyes cracked open and locked on the way her breasts moved, his hands around her waist guiding her pace on him. When he looked at her so reverently, like a longing gaze, combined with the way his curved length teased her g-spot when she ground on him in this position, she was powerless to stop that growing peak rousing up inside her.

Billy groaned aloud, feeling her tighten and greedily suck him further inside her, “Oh my god-”

“Billy-” she'd be embarrassed if she could see herself, all drunk on sex with Billy like this. He leaned up, thrusting up into her at a faster and needier pace, while his lips took her right nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing it slightly.

She whined, her hand finding its way into his hair, meeting his hips halfway. With Billy guiding the speed instead it felt exciting, with each thrust the air felt knocked from her chest, amplified as Billy let her nipple fall from his mouth and trail up to her neck.

“I love you-” he murmured, one hand drifting up her spine to her nape, gently but insistently pulling at her hair to crush her lips to his.

She wanted to sob with joy. How long had she wanted to hear that? To feel loved? And now she was being loved by none other than Billy Washington. And she held onto him tight, not wanting to let go, and instead let out a sob of pure pleasure as his thrusts became deeper and more insistent the closer he was edging to his own end.

It was quickly driving her to her own.

“Please, Billy-”

She squeaked when he was the one this time to pull her by her waist and rut into her aggressively. His breath was hurried and hot against her neck, but he felt he could barely suck in air at all, putting all his energy into fucking her until she could scarcely think of anything else.

“always…” he breathed out loud, as if he had not realised. He echoed her words spoken in haste, in fear, just a few days before when she held his face and reassured him.

Beneath her hands, his shoulders tensed, and she could tell he was close. And when Billy's hand stole between them, his thumb gathering her wetness where he was still pounding into her, he began tight circles against her bud, propelling her over the edge with another choked cry of his name.

White hot pleasure bathed Billy as he held her tightly, too tightly, but she didn't protest, and he trembled as he felt himself come deep inside her, her walls too quivering around him, seeking to greedily tease as much from him as she could.

With chests pressed together, she held him close, sucking in air as Billy was doing. Her fingers loosened in his hair, the desperate hold turning more so to a gentle embrace, with Billy's length tucked inside her and softening rapidly.

In the aftermath, with the room hot with sex, Billy pulled away from her neck only to flutter his gorgeous blonde eyelashes up at her, blue eyes peeking from beneath them, and his lips curling up into a boyish smile. He remained inside her, and wanted to for as long as he could. Where she sank in his arms, he tightened his.

The thin layer of sweat on their skin made them both shiver slightly, and she could find no words for him, only the ones she had uttered in a state of unadulterated bliss moments before.

“I love you…”

And Billy echoed the ones he had too spoken. This time with no quiver to his voice. “Always.”

The soft glow of morning crept through the curtains, casting warm hues across the room. She had been awake for some time, watching as Billy slept soundly beside her, his tousled hair a golden halo against the pillow. With each gentle rise and fall of his chest, she felt a sense of calm wash over her, soothing the lingering echoes of the night before. She shivered at the rush of air on her bare arms, pulling the bedsheets to her chest, but also felt the warmth around her heart, like a balm for her soul.

When her phone buzzed, having been silenced since she escaped her flat yesterday afternoon, she smiled at the message from Libs.

She bit back a smile, and replied with a sneaky photo of Billy, slept on his front, but revealing nothing more than his boyishly charming sleeping face.

With her heart feeling whole, mind clear, and that dull ache in her chest somewhat healed, her eyes glanced up at him, appreciating him, she thought.

Yes, finally.

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amtrak-official · 7 months

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MTA is a common acronym, but which MTA is the best?

#polls

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20th-century-railroading · 11 months

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Two freight locals meet in Long Island City November 1986

#lirr #long island rail road #mta #metropolitan transportation authority #1986 #trains #freight train #history #long island city #queens #new york city #new york

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aryburn-trains · 1 year

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The Long Island Rail Road acquired 222 owl-eyed MP54 class MUs in 1909 and 1910, and some survived in service past their 60th birthday. This riveted veteran led an outbound consist of mixed car types into Queens Village station. April 16, 1971

#commuter train #lirr #long island rail road #mta #metropolitan transportation authority #1971 #trains #passenger train #history #queens #new york city #new york

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use-your-telescope · 2 months

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When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 18: You Were in the Darkness, Too

Summary: The aftermath of the attack on the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Author’s Note: So… I meant to post a chapter two days ago, then Sunday morning I woke up and was like “nope I need to re-do some of this because I think it’ll be better if a certain event happens ‘on screen,’ so to speak.” Long story short, two days later, here we are! I feel like Oprah - “you get world building, you get back story reveal, you get plot progression, you get super self-indulgent hurt-comfort (maybe a bit more hurt in this chapter, but have no fear there is LOADS more comfort where this came from)!”

Another random note - back when I started posting snippets on the beloved hellsite, this song initially was set with an entirely different chapter. Then I concluded it worked much better here. So if you have been around for long enough that you’re like “hold up a minute!” when you see the song and what happens here, that’s why. Tbh, I think most of the songs that were paired up with chapters have changed since I initially posted snippets. That’s the beauty of drafts, I guess? Anyways, thanks for your patience, and hope you enjoy <3 reblogs are always appreciated, and lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

Contents: Descriptions of vomiting, in relation to describing a migraine. Nightmares. Tears. Loki being the actual MVP.

Word Count: 5,913

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

Song: Cosmic Love - Florence + The Machine

A falling star fell from your heart And landed in my eyes I screamed aloud as it tore through them And now it’s left me blind

Some types of pain could be relieved with medicine.

Others… not so much.

From the moment Theo found Chris outside of the Met, standing amidst the crowd of attendees in a makeshift triage area that had been set up by blocking off 5th Avenue, she could sense a difference in the way he looked at her. He didn’t rush towards her; instead, he approached slowly, scanning over her appearance with wide eyes and the color actively draining from his face. When they met in the middle, Chris reached out as if he wanted to embrace Theo, but he froze with hands hovering inches away from her body, as if he was afraid to touch her.

Even as Theo promised she was fine and that Chris shouldn’t worry – even as she checked him over, asking if he was okay, the short, half-hearted answers and the cold, wary look in his eyes didn’t diminish; instead of embracing her, he lowered his arms and stepped back, putting even more distance between them.

He looked at her the same way the council looked at her: as an abomination, a curse.

The exchange, however, was cut short - one of the medics employed by Stark to work with the Avengers spotted Theo and rushed over to request her help treating some of the most critical patients, who otherwise would not survive transport to the nearest hospital.

So, Theo pushed the raw ache that settled in her chest to the back of her mind, ignored the churning of her stomach and the pounding in her skull, and set about treating the worst of the injuries, even if it meant she would blow past her limits and pay the price later on. There was a physical cost to using magic, and with healing that cost was much higher - particularly when the scope of healing required was practically bringing someone back from the dead.

However, between someone dying or inducing a migraine from overexertion of magic, Theo would choose the migraine every time. At least when she healed, some good could come from her magic. Did it make her suffer? Yes, but she probably deserved it after everything.

And boy, she was suffering.

By the time she left, the only people who remained beyond the emergency response crews were paparazzi, lurking around the perimeter like predators stalking prey as they attempted to capture glimpses of the aftermath. They pounced at the sight of Theo, bloodied and drained after what was meant to be a celebratory occasion turned to a nightmare. Each burst of flash felt like an icepick to her skull and left her wishing she had enough energy to teleport herself home. Theo lifted one hand in a futile attempt to block some of the light, only for the shouting of the photographers to ricochet through her eardrums and into her skull.

How Theo survived the ride back to the tower without throwing up from motion sickness, she wasn’t sure. By some miracle she made it back to her suite, only to make it a few steps inside the door before the nausea and sensitivity to light and sound made her beeline for the bathroom, scolding herself for her earlier recklessness as she dove for the toilet and prepared to empty the contents of her stomach.

Over the sound of her retching, Theo didn’t hear her phone ring. Because her head was buried in the porcelain bowl of the toilet, she didn’t see the screen light up with Chris’s name.

As the nausea faded, Theo remained firmly in place, bent over the toilet bowl with both arms stretched across the top of the toilet seat. Once she knew she wasn’t going to be sick, Theo carefully eased herself down to lay on the floor, having spent the last of her energy throwing up.

Laying in her bed would have been more pleasant, but the thought of moving sent waves of churning heat through Theo’s stomach and made her entire body ache. Besides, the cool tile felt great against her uncomfortably warm skin and it was tolerable enough for her to pass out without even realizing she’d done so.

It was the vibration of Theo’s phone rattling on the floor that dragged her back to the world of the living, only to find she somehow felt even worse than when she passed out earlier. In her half-asleep stupor, Theo clumsily grabbed the phone from where she had tossed it as an afterthought. A wince snuck out as the light of the screen stabbed through Theo’s head; she squinted, trying to make sense of the contents on the screen.

The culprit was a text from Wanda, stating “you okay??” and then including what looked like a link. But Theo didn’t open the text right away - a different notification on her lock screen caught her eye. A voicemail from Chris, from right around the time Theo got back to the tower, elicited a sense of foreboding dread from Theo that she couldn’t ignore.

With shaking fingers, Theo unlocked her phone and went to her voicemail. She selected the message, relying on the speech to text feature to read the contents of the message instead of listening.

“Hey, it’s Chris. I’d been hoping you would answer, but I guess it is what it is. Look, I’ve been thinking - I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I know it’s cliché, but I mean it when I say it’s not you - it’s me.”

Even if Theo knew it was coming, reading the words still made her sick to her stomach.

“I know that you’ll always have to put your work as an Avenger first - I’ve always known that. I wouldn’t ask you to try and choose between being an Avenger and our relationship. But tonight, I saw you fighting, and I realized what it really means to date an Avenger, and– it’s too much. I can’t do it. If there’s stuff you left at my apartment, I’ll send it back to you. I’m sorry, Theo. Take care.”

Theo barely finished reading the transcription before bile clawed up from her stomach. She gagged, scrambling to her knees and barely managing to get into position before she threw up, this time expelling nothing but stomach acid in the process.

Between the cramping of her abdominal muscles, the burning in her throat, the pounding in her skull, the uncomfortable heat of her skin, and the aches radiating from her bones, Theo was miserable enough. The voicemail, however - that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

A gasp escaped from Theo before she could stop it, then a whimper. Her eyes were leaking - no, water poured from them. She tried to cover her face with her hands as a whine escaped her throat, but she couldn’t stop the sobs that shook her entire body. Moving was painful - crying was painful - but the ache inside of her was far worse than any physical discomfort.

She should have known it would end like this. This was always what happened when people got to know her - they realized she was no good, and then they abandoned her. Thinking this time would be any different was stupid. Even if she told herself that whatever she had with Chris was nothing serious, it didn’t make the fact that he saw her for the curse she was, and he left.

They always leave.

And the worst part? Theo wasn’t angry at Chris for leaving. As much as she hated when the council looked at her like the curse she was, she could understand why. Her family deserved better. The Aneterrans deserved better. They all deserved better than her.

Chris didn’t know the extent of the bullet he dodged, but he knew enough to make the smart decision and leave before he got hurt.

By the time the tears stopped, Theo felt like a mess through and through. She didn’t even want to think about what she looked like - eyes swollen, hair tangled, makeup smudged, her skin still sticky with dried blood, and her armor torn from fighting.

She needed a shower, and then a real bed.

As tempting as it was to lay back down on the floor and continue to wallow, the desire to feel less disgusting won out.

Theo sat on the floor as she peeled the layers of armor off her body, only standing when she absolutely had to in order to remove her pants. The addition of vertigo meant that she spent most of the short time beneath the spray of cool water leaning against a wall, eventually sliding down to sit on the shower floor when her legs grew too tired to support her weight.

The process of drying and dressing in pajamas required multiple pauses - one to be sick again, the others a result of aching limbs and muscles trembling from prolonged exertion. It took a herculean effort, but Theo finally made it to her bed, falling asleep before she even had a chance to pull the covers over herself.

The stars, the moon, They have all been blown out You left me in the dark No dawn, no day, I’m always in this twilight In the shadow of your heart

Once a bustling metropolis, Meridia had been known for its opulence and innovation. The streets were packed with vendors peddling their latest inventions and entertainers attempting to woo the staff of the royal court in hopes of securing an audience with the king and queen.

That Meridia was no more.

Theo stood in the center of a barren flagstone street, blanketed in the dark of a new moon. Broken glass clung to the window frames of weathered stone buildings long-abandoned, just one trace of the city’s descent into madness. Adjusting her mask, Theo pressed forward, relying on muscle memory to carry her into the underbelly of the city she once called home.

Theo used to sneak onto those very streets with her cousins, placing bets on which performers would successfully charm whoever was tasked with the day’s errands. Sneaking amongst the city was how Theo first learned her governess had a crush with the Apothecary’s son, always traveling to him whenever she needed some sort of potion or supplies for Theo’s lessons. Theo also once caught Ravenna performing to a crowd while in disguise, though Theo immediately recognized her sister and used the knowledge as blackmail. If she listened close enough, she could hear faint traces of musicians’ voices in the wind.

A chill wracked her body.

Throughout the streets, navy fog shimmered, emitting an iridescent glow as it weaved in and out of the alleys around her. When she left, this neighborhood had yet to be tainted by the arcane fog that had come to be known as the haze. An orange glow and billowing smoke in the distance highlighted the silhouette of a broken skyline.

Even after all these years, the ruins had yet to stop burning.

The city was but a shadow of what it once was.

This was no longer the Meridia that Theo remembered, much less the Aneterra that Theo hoped to one day return to.

Instinct led her down alleys and side streets, through what once were lush court gardens bursting with exotic blooms as she reached the rear of her destination. Dead vines of Ivy still clung to once-pristine stone walls; cracks in the weathered glass window panes only hinted at what Theo might find inside. Careful to avoid drawing attention to herself, Theo lurked in the shadows as she made her way round to the front of a building she once knew in and out, the place that she reminisced about on cold nights when the winds of winter rattled her windows as a girl in Michigan.

Somehow, the front door - crafted of thick lumber and held together with intricate metalwork that reflected the status of the home’s former residents - hadn’t been destroyed in the massacre.

Theo started to push the door open, but stopped short. She hadn’t been there since the night of the massacre, when she thought she lost everything. Even if Fury was right - even if Theo’s parents and sister were alive - they weren’t the only people Theo lost that night. The possibility that Theo might discover their remains just beyond the door was one she had to be ready to face.

Theo drew in a deep breath, steeled herself, and pushed the door open.

The creaking of worn hinges echoed through what once had been a grand foyer. A thick layer of dust coated the overturned furniture and picture frames along the walls, askew from the chaos of the massacre.

Theo’s boots clicked along the marble floor, each cautious step percolating through the air. The further she ventured into the room, the stronger the sense became that she was not alone.

Before her, a grand staircase curved up to the second floor, drawing the eye towards the massive windows which previously made the foyer feel particularly grand. In the dark, however, Theo couldn’t even tell if the glass remained in place, or if fighting had destroyed those windows too.

Without consciously thinking about it, Theo crept towards the stairs and began to climb. Halfway up the stairs, Theo swore she saw a silhouette amongst the shadows cast by the window frame. Curiosity spurred her forward, past the top of the stairs.

Someone stood just in front of the window, looking out onto the ruins with their back towards Theo. They wore a black cloak, its cape brushing against the stone floor as it obscured the individual’s identity.

As Theo drew near, they made no effort to look back and see who was there; as far as Theo could tell, they didn’t even seem to recognize she was there. With only a few feet between them, Theo opened her mouth and took a deep breath, ready to speak–

“...So…” The figure turned around, hands adorned with runes reaching out from beneath the cloak to lower the hood and reveal themselves to Theo. “... You are alive.”

Theo knew that voice like she knew her own name.

Ravenna stood before Theo, piercing lavender eyes filled with ice as she regarded her younger sister. Inky black hair tumbled over her shoulder, stopping just below her chest. Despite the lack of light, her skin cast a soft glow.

“Rae—“ Theo took a jarring step forward, only for her sister to step back.

“After all this time, you wander back here.” A bitter laugh escaped the elder sister. “What, are you here to save the day? We needed that years ago.”

“No, Rae–” Theo tried, “I had no idea—“

“No idea – what, we would still be here? Still fighting?” Ravenna spat, taking another step back. “Of course you wouldn’t - you brought this on us, why would you bother to try and fix it?”

She was the curse.

“No, Rae, please–” Theo extended a hand to her sister, desperate to plead her case. “I’m trying to get back so I can help–”

And in the dark I can feel your heartbeat I tried to find the sound But then it stopped And I was in the darkness So darkness I became

Theo awoke with a jolt, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. The sudden movement sent a wave of aches rolling through her limbs while her pounding heart throbbed between her temples.

Dreams of Aneterra were nothing new, but the nightmare was different from anything she had seen before. This wasn’t seeing the world from someone else’s perspective, or watching like a third party; it was as if she had actually been there.

It was just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare - she had experienced plenty of them before. It didn’t take a witch to know that this wasn’t a premonition or a vision - this was a manifestation of her worst fears. There was no reason to give this particular nightmare any merit - her anxieties were unfounded, at least according to Memere.

But this one felt particularly vivid, and it was hard to shake.

Just the thought of her sister’s anger brought another round of overwhelming nausea. Throwing off the covers, Theo nearly tripped over herself as she bolted for the bathroom. She shoved the door open and stumbled inside, wincing at the crash of the door handle slamming against the wall. Collapsing to the bathroom floor, she barely managed to get her head over the toilet before throwing up.

Despite the minuscule amount of bile, she continued to retch and gag for a couple minutes; it was as though her body was convinced something else was still in there, even though there was absolutely no way in hell that Theo hadn’t already emptied her stomach many times over.

Completely spent, Theo closed her eyes and slumped against the toilet, temple pressing against the cool porcelain of the tank. Even without her eyes open, the ground beneath her tilted and swayed like she was on a boat during stormy seas.

God, she was a mess.

“Are you alright?”

Theo’s head snapped up towards the voice, only for her to wrench her eyes shut and groan as a fresh round of misery bashed in her skull. When the worst of it passed, Theo cracked her eyes open, blearily peering up through the dark to find Loki standing in her bathroom, staring at her as if she was a ghost.

“What’re you doing here?” The question slipped out, her exhaustion and malaise resulting in a far too blunt delivery.

“I had been on my way to the sitting room when I heard crashing come from inside your quarters; when you did not respond to my knocking, I grew worried and came inside…”

It took a moment for Theo to register what Loki had said, but when it finally clicked, she burst into uncontrollable tears.

I took the stars from my eyes And then I made a map And knew that somehow I could find my way back Then I heard your heart beating You were in the darkness too So I stayed in the darkness with you…

Of all the things Loki expected in life, attempting to console a truly distraught Theo at three in the morning while sitting on her bathroom floor was nowhere among them.

And yet, that was exactly where he found himself - cross-legged on the marble tile as he cradled Theo in his lap, her face buried in his chest as she wept with such vigor that her entire body shook.

Loki replayed the series of events that led to his present position.

Like many nights, it began because of his inability to sleep. What was rare, however, was that his insomnia was not the result of some night terror, some monster that left his mind running in circles as if it were a dog chasing its tail.

No, he had been quite content when he settled into his bed, his well-worn copy of The Eye of the World in hand for some light reading. Yet, instead of dozing off to thoughts of Moiraine Damodred and her search for the Dragon Reborn, his mind wandered back to the attack on the Met Gala.

Theo had been the only one to successfully defeat one of the mystery beings that had been discovered, revealing an ability to control the shadow creatures that continued to antagonize Midgard. The carnage left behind, however, indicated that the being proved to be quite a challenge - beyond the mess in the gallery, Theo walked away from the exchange with no shortage of wounds that would require a healer to address.

Still, she hadn’t returned to the tower with the other Avengers. Instead, she insisted on ensuring her beloved actor was safe and seeing if any victims needed care - all the while acting as if she herself was not actively bleeding from multiple parts of her body.

Selfless, stubborn creature.

From there, his mind shifted to the being who had wrought such havoc. In the immediate aftermath of the attack, there had not been much opportunity to examine the corpse before it was whisked away by SHIELD agents for further study; what he had been able to discern remained fairly generic. Humanoid in form, though the shriveled appearance of their flesh gave the impression of some type of undead creature. Spider-like black veins stretched beneath their skin, as if they had been poisoned or cursed in some manner.

Yet, he hadn’t seen anything quite like it.

At that point, Loki accepted his fate: he was nowhere near sleeping.

With that in mind, he scoured his book shelves for one of the tomes he rescued from Asgard during Ragnarok - one that he referenced from time to time, usually when SHIELD requested his insight regarding creatures that Midgard had never seen before. Leatherbound book in hand, Loki began the familiar venture to the sitting room for a sleepless night of research.

Until heavy, syncopated footsteps and a muffled crash from the next room over stopped Loki dead in his tracks.

A heavy thud, as if multiple heavy objects had been dropped simultaneously, followed. The sound came from within Theo’s quarters - a realization which only brought an increased pulse and a festering sense of dread.

Loki approached her door, rapping his knuckles on the dark wood. “Theo?”

He pressed his ear to the door, listening for any signs of movement. If he strained, he thought he heard some sound - coughing, maybe? - but nothing indicating movement.

A twist of the doorknob indicated that it had not been locked. Before he fully thought the decision through, Loki pressed the door open. He slipped inside, carefully navigating the pitch black as he began to search for Theo.

Though Theo’s space was never perfectly clean, the sitting room appeared as if nothing had been knocked over or disturbed. The sense of urgency grew as he explored further, knowing that such a racket followed by such silence never had benign origins.

A painful-sounding retch came from the direction of Theo’s bathroom, followed by a groan.

Loki strode towards the sound, careful to remain quiet in case something foul was afoot.

He rounded the corner to find the bathroom door wide open, revealing Theo hunched over the basin of the toilet as if she had just been sick to her stomach.

The pieces fell into place - he must have heard her running to the restroom and throwing the door open.

When she finished, she slumped down a bit, eyes closed as she laid her head along the seat, breathing as if she had finished a grueling training routine.

Though Theo had clearly showered since her return, she somehow appeared even worse for wear than the last time Loki saw her. Her complexion rivaled that of a ghost. Her eyes, though closed, appeared red and swollen, lashes glistening despite the darkness. Wrinkled pajamas twisted around her body in a rather unnatural fashion; combined with an absolutely disheveled braid, Loki guessed she’d been tossing and turning in her sleep.

Loki stood there for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Should he say something? What would he say? After waiting this long, would it scare her? Would saying something make things worse? If he didn’t say something, would she think he was a creep? Should he just leave?

At one point, he stopped himself and nearly laughed. He was Loki, of Asgard. How a Midgardian would react to him should not have been of concern.

However, this was no ordinary Midgardian.

He drew in a deep breath.

“Are you alright?”

The way Theo’s head shot up confirmed she had no clue he was there, or at least he had startled her. A brief moment of horror flashed across her face, only for a grimace to take hold as she clutched her head and groaned.

Loki cursed himself for startling her with such a pointless question - of course she was unwell, she would not be in such a position otherwise.

Theo lifted her head once more and cracked her eyes open, squinting up at Loki as she blinked slowly. Something about her gaze seemed… Off.

“What’re you doin’ here?” The question came out half-mumbled and a bit slurred; she listed back and forth ever-so-slightly, almost like she could not keep her balance.

“I had been on my way to the sitting room when I heard crashing come from inside your quarters,” Loki replied, frowning at Theo. “When you did not respond to my knocking, I grew worried and came inside…”

Unsure of how to conclude his statement, Loki trailed off, running his fingers through his hair.

The predicament he found himself in was well outside of his area of expertise; comforting people was something Maximoff was far better with. He briefly debated leaving to fetch the Scarlet Witch – she would know the perfect solution in a moment like this. Yet, Loki remained frozen in place, mind reeling over how to proceed. Should he try to locate a healer? Should he try to soothe her? Should he leave her alone?

The silence stretched as Loki stared at her, frantically running through different ideas in his head and dismissing them for all the reasons they might not work. Loki found himself frozen, unable to make up his mind about what he should do.

In turn, Theo simply sat there, blinking slowly as she stared up at Loki…

… Until her face crumpled and she caved in on herself, a small, hitched breath giving way to a heartbroken sob.

Such a desolate sound had no place falling from Theo’s lips.

Spurred to action by Theo’s tears, Loki lowered himself to sit on the floor beside her. He may have been an Avenger, but he certainly was not a perfect hero. Despite bravery being in the job description, he had to dig up the last of his courage to pull her into what he hoped would be a comforting embrace.

At the new touch, Theo tensed, gasping quietly as her trembling hands flew up to cover her mouth and stifle her cries.

Loki froze.

Yet again, Theo had startled, all because of him. Loki cursed himself - of course he would make a mess of what should have been a simple interaction. With his luck, she wouldn't have a thing to do with him after tonight.

It was too far to turn back now; after all, in for a penny, in for a pound.

Just before Loki lost his ambition and pulled away, Theo settled beneath his touch, shifting so her face pressed firmly against his chest; hot tears dampened the knit fabric of his shirt as she somehow began to cry even harder. Her arms slipped around his waist, clinging to him despite the way her entire body shook.

Loki cupped one hand to Theo’s neck, the pad of his thumb slowly brushing against her unusually heated skin. This time, Theo did not recoil or freeze at the change, instead melting into the touch.

Perhaps there was hope.

Motivated by a surge of courage, Loki shifted from simply holding Theo close to tracing gentle, unhurried circles along her back.

With every new circle, the smallest hint of tension slipped from Theo’s muscles; as more of her body relaxed into Loki’s embrace, her cries slowed and grew softer. Even when Theo had loosened her grip and the only sounds she made were shaky, slow breaths, Loki had no intention of stopping his ministrations.

“Theo?” He murmured, nose brushing against her hair as he looked down at her.

“M’m s’rry…” With her face fully buried in Loki’s shirt, Theo’s almost embarrassed response came out almost charmingly muffled; however, she made no effort to move.

“It’s alright.” Loki used the hand on Theo’s neck to sweep her messy braid aside, flattening his cool palm against the overheated flesh. “I take it you do not feel well?”

She weakly shook her head. “Feel Awful.”

“How about I help you to your bed so you can get some rest?”

“No, please – I can’t – ” The force with which Theo shook her head the second time caught Loki by surprise, as did the rising panic in her tone. “– Can’t go back–”

“Darling, you need rest if you’re to feel better,” Loki gently tried to rationalize, though if the heat radiating from Theo was any indication, her ability to rationalize likely had been impacted by some level of a fever. “The floor is no place for someone who is ill. You ought to rest in bed.”

“Not mine,” Theo begged, ”I can’t–”

“Would you like me to bring you to the infirmary so you might rest there?”

Theo shook her head, tightening her arms around Loki.

“I’m not sure what other options there are, as I do not think I can bring bring you to your actor—“

“Broke up.” A new pair of damp spots on Loki’s shirt accompanied the two-word interruption, punctuated by a sniffle.

“Pardon?”

Theo blindly reached to the side, drawing Loki’s eye to her mobile. He unfurled one arm to retrieve it for her. Theo didn’t even pull away from Loki to look at what she was doing as she unlocked the device before handing it back. Loki accepted, eyes scanning across the screen.

The most recent of Theo’s voice messages was from her lover, not long after the events at the Met Gala. White, hot fury shot through Loki’s veins as he read the transcription; despite what Loki had been told of the Midgardian’s supposed kindness, the message he left Theo was short, blunt, lacking any sense of care for the recipient. If anything, it was downright cruel.

Perhaps it was for the best that Loki needed to ensure Theo was cared for first, as he otherwise might have tracked the bastard down and made him regret his callous behavior. The first thing to sort out, however, was where she might be amenable to resting, since her bed and the infirmary were, for some unknown reason, unacceptable.

An idea came to mind; though it might cause others to talk, it was, up to that point, the best he could manage without waking anyone else and dragging them into the conversation.

“How about you come with me to my quarters?” Loki cautiously suggested. “You can rest there for a while, then decide later if you’d like to return to your own bed or seek out the infirmary. Would that work?”

A slow, almost sleepy nod brought a swell of tenderness to Loki’s chest and a soft smile to his face.

Loki carefully adjusted to cradle Theo in his arms before slowly rising to his feet. In what almost seemed to be instinct, Theo pressed her forehead into space between Loki’s shoulder and the crook of his neck, letting out a strained breath before settling in. Though Loki had already established the presence of a fever, it wasn’t until carrying Theo that he noticed she was not simply trembling, but downright shivering.

Careful not to jostle Theo as he navigated the tower in the dark, Loki made the return journey to his quarters with restrained haste, relying on his Seidr to help with managing doors and other environmental obstacles that otherwise could have slowed or complicated the process of getting Theo to bed.

Upon arriving in his own quarters, the dim, golden glow from a nearby lamp provided the first opportunity to take in Theo’s appearance under any sort of light; Loki paused for a moment to confirm his prior assessments regarding Theo’s condition. Much of what he discerned in the dark remained accurate, though he did find the smallest relief that it seemed she had fallen asleep while in transit and appeared almost peaceful… Were it not for the tell-tale signs of tears previously being shed, one might have been fooled into believing all was well.

With a hushed sigh, Loki brought her from the great room to his bedchambers. A flick of one finger and shimmer of emerald seidr later, Loki lowered Theo onto the bed, carefully tucking her beneath the silken sheets and the plush duvet which Loki had crafted from the finest Asgardian textiles, pausing for a moment when a soft, breathy hum snuck out of Theo and she shifted, snuggling further beneath the covers.

A few minutes later, Loki had placed a bin beside the bed in the event Theo became sick to her stomach once more, procured a glass of water and set it on the closest nightstand, and drawn the drapes shut so the morning light would not wake her.

With nothing else to distract him, Loki now had to answer the question he had yet to consider: where was he going to sleep?

The proper answer, of course, would be to find alternate sleeping arrangements, lest anyone make inappropriate assumptions about the circumstances.

But doing so meant leaving Theo by herself, essentially abandoning her when she was in the midst of a particularly vulnerable moment. Surely, she would understand if he remained close by; after all, she trusted him up until this moment, enough to abandon her own quarters in favor of staying in his. Besides, he had stayed with her once before when she felt unwell. Precedent had been set to ensure no one mistook him for less than noble intentions, given the circumstances.

Yet, as Loki crawled beneath the covers on the opposite side of the bed, the distance still felt as if he were abandoning her. What if she woke up, delirious from fever, did not see him beside her, and panicked at the lack of familiar surroundings? If Theo laid with him, Loki would know the moment she woke and could ensure she had whatever she needed; even better, he could use his Jötun heritage for benevolent means, combining it with his seidr to reduce his core temperature so he could serve as a sort of full-body cool compress.

Amidst warring thoughts, the weight of an arm draped across his chest ripped Loki from his indecision. Theo had rolled over in her sleep, curling into Loki’s side with her head resting atop the dip between shoulder and chest and one leg wrapped around his as if second nature. She nuzzled into him, oblivious to the waking world, her breath slow and deep in contrast to Loki’s racing heart.

For a moment, Loki found himself dumbstruck by just how natural it felt to lay with her tucked into his side in such a manner. In her most vulnerable moments, she found solace in his presence. In her sleep, she sought him out. And though he could make any multitude of excuses as to why - she was not aware who she curled herself around, she was not of sound mind from illness - the excuses did nothing to dispel the pure awe that resulted from realizing the trust Theo placed in him.

In the morning, he would locate Maximoff and determine how to proceed; until then, he would embrace the trust placed in him, and hopefully repay it tenfold.

He willed his seidr to work, cooling himself to offer Theo some relief from her fever, then allowed himself to drift into a pleasant sleep.

The stars, the moon, They have all been blown out You left me in the dark No dawn, no day, I’m always in this twilight In the shadow of your heart

27 notes · View notes

fatehbaz · 11 months

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How is it that a small wedge of the South American continent, long claimed by a major European power and still administered by it, could present a profile of wilderness at the end of the twentieth century? How might this same location on the globe have proved useful for such an unlikely combination of purposes as the resettlement of convicted criminals and the launching of rockets?

French Guiana remains a remarkably insignificant artifact of the political landscape -- rarely noticed by most of France, let alone anyone else -- as well as one of the least settled regions of the world. It has also hosted two exceptional experiments of the French state: the historical penal colony known in English as “Devil's Island,” which operated between 1852 and 1946, and the contemporary space center that launches the European consortium rocket Ariane, responsible for transporting a good half of the commercial satellites orbiting our globe. [...] Its base, the Guiana Space Center (CSG), indeed lived up to its slogan, becoming “Europe's Spaceport,” a center of high technology near the equator. [...]

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After a number of earlier trials, the penal colony begins operation in the middle of the nineteenth century, partly as a substitute for a system of plantation slavery. It conceives of French Guiana as open land for agricultural settlement, fertile ground for a tropical -- and French -- Australia, where the action of moral reform can translate into a scheme of colonization. Following a quest for the proper site within the colony, these early hopes are belied by the high mortality of the convicts [...]. Despite periodic calls for reform and increasing international discomfort, the bagne lasts through World War II. It leaves a deep mark on French Guiana, in both symbolic and material terms. As the movement of seventy thousand exiles progresses, the surrounding landscape shifts from a luxuriant field of dreams into a tableau of terror. At the same time, the colony as a whole grows accustomed to the presence of this artificial prison world within it [...].

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The space center begins operation in the second half of the twentieth century, in the midst of the Space Race and in the aftermath of the Algerian War. It conceives of French Guiana as open land for technical experiments and a gateway into equatorial orbit, an even more tropical -- and French -- Cape Canaveral. [...] [A] regular stream of technicians and engineers arrives to assemble and guide it into space. The initial mandate to provide France with a launch site expands into a focus on commercial satellites, and although local opposition to the project continues, the effects of the enterprise on French Guiana in both symbolic and material terms only deepen. As the Ariane rocket gains importance, the surrounding landscape transforms from an orphan of history into a handmaiden of the future. At the same time, the department grows accustomed to an increased infusion of consumer goods, technical personnel, and [...] a new island with an artificial environment and a powerfully altered social profile.

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At slightly closer range a number of striking structural similarities emerge. Not only do both projects found towns (St. Laurent on the one hand and the new Kourou on the other), but both operate as rival poles of influence and authority relative to the civil administration of French Guiana. Each involves [...] its own hierarchies, its own links to bureaucratic networks in Paris, and its own claims to significant national French interests. Each [...] exerts considerable influence over the surrounding economy. Most crucially, each controls and orders a separate territory within the larger political entity; each has a spatial presence, a direct impact on the landscape. And tied to this spatial strategy, each comes to serve as a symbolic nexus in collective Metropolitan imagination. [...] One employs leftover forces of law and order, whereas the other employs highly trained technical personnel; thus [...] both [...] have ties to the military [...]. The penal colony imports the unwanted of France, whereas the space center imports the selected few. [...]

And the bagne reflects visions of an ancient underworld, whereas Ariane reflects visions of a new overworld. [...]

Each operation is predicated on a related but distinct spatial logic: the penal colony seeks open land to isolate and moralize convicts through labor, whereas the space center seeks open land to test rockets and maneuver satellites into orbit. Many of the specific additional attributes of a desirable site for penal colonization (distance from the Metropole, possibility of confinement and surveillance, and prevention of local disturbance) find echoes in the specific additional attributes of a desirable site for launching rockets (distance from the Metropole, adequate security, adequate possibility of transport, and political stability).[...]

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The penal colony takes shape at a crucial moment in European colonial understandings of place and labor. Slavery had just been abolished in the French Empire, and an accompanying understanding of work in terms of race had far from expended its interpretive force. [...] Work represented the route to a better future, to the growth of new, valuable lands. Who, then, would lend backs and hands to the enterprise? If slavery were at an end, then the crucial question facing the colony was that of finding an alternative source of labor. During the period of the early penal colony we see this search for new slaves, not only in French Guiana, but also throughout colonies built on the plantation model. Thousands of Asian Indians and Chinese found their way to new homes in different corners of the British Empire, serving as contract laborers on plantations. [...]

Kourou [the space center] is a neutralized, controlled corner of the tropics, with much of its cultural fabric simply imported. Amid the restricted space of artificially cooled buildings and automobiles, in zones free of carrier mosquitoes and amply supplied with wine and cheese airlifted from France, the distance between Paris and Cayenne shortens; the effects of translation between them grow less clear. If the island mimics the mainland successfully, if Crusoe builds a little England -- or France -- is his task done? [...] To answer this question, let us return to a crucial turning point of Guyane's history: the aftermath of World War II and the period of formal empire. It was during this era that the natural, political, and moral space of French Guiana was neutralized through a combination of DDT spraying, departmentalization, and the final closing of the penal colony. In 1949, a former teacher [...] in Martinique published an overview of the new overseas departments and territories. His description of French Guiana includes a call to arms for its development, a development still conceived in terms of a need for [...] agriculture, and industry [...]. Gold mines aside, it seems that the method of painstaking labor is the only one really applicable at present. Incontestably, there is magnificent work to accomplish there, such as should tempt young men fond of broad horizons and adventure. The appeal is for an army of Crusoes, advancing ashore to improve their collective island. The questions of race and level of expertise filter through patterns of history and perceived practicality. But the call remains, the call of a wilderness inviting domestication.

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Text by: Peter Redfield. Space in the Tropics: From Convicts to Rockets in French Guiana. 2000. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

#abolition #caribbean

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