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ironwhumper359 · 8 months

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The Tenets of Growth: Part 4

Atonement

First: The Path of Cultivation Prev: Flowering || Next: Replanting

CW: torture, restraints, hung by wrists, stress position, beating/caning, religious themes, religion used to justify torture, multiple whumpers.

Word count: 1900~

Author's Note: Putting the author's note at the top this time because this is it lads, this chapter actually contains actual, physical whump. Not referenced whump, not whump that's alluded to happening, this is an actual scene with two whumpers physically hurting a whumpee. Hooray! As much as I love the character and world building I'm doing, I do also love writing whump for whump's sake, and from here on out the amount of whump in this story is going way up, so if you saw the previous parts of this story and thought "hm, not whumpy enough for my tastes" then I'd ask you to check this chapter and the next chapter out and reconsider, because we're getting into it in earnest now! Anway, I'll stop rambling and let you enjoy the show <3

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The guards came for the thief early in the morning. They yanked him to his feet, clapped iron cuffs around his wrists and ankles, and threw a bag over his head before hauling him out of the prison.

The transport was a confused blur full of manhandling, jostling, and painful jabs, and by the time they reached their destination, the thief had nearly gone slack in the guard's grip. He let himself be dragged through he didn't know how many hallways and corridors, until finally coming to a halt.

He heard someone knock, followed by the sound of a squeaky hinge, then he was shoved so suddenly that he fell forward, catching himself awkwardly on his hands and knees.

“Ah, excellent. His papers, please?” said a woman’s voice, followed by a rustling as the guards complied with her request. “Thank you. You may go.”

The guards’ footsteps receded, but before the thief could even catch his breath, a new pair of hands grabbed him by the arms and tugged him to his feet. His arms were pushed above his head, and he heard the rattle of chains before the hands retreated. He tugged experimentally, and found that the cuffs on his wrists had been attached to something above him, forcing him to keep his arms raised.

“Very good,” said the woman’s voice. “I must see to other preparations now. Inform me when he is ready for Replanting.”

More footsteps, then the squeak of the hinge again, followed by the clang of the door shutting. The thief swallowed, doing his best not to think about what the other prisoners had said.

“Some folks say they get killed…used as sacrifices in rituals and the like.”

That had to be nothing but a rumor, he simply couldn’t believe that the Order was performing secret human sacrifices. Perivyta was a harvest goddess, for goodness sake. But why else would they chain him in a dungeon like a slaughtered pig? Was there some other ritual they performed that required a live victim?

“I don't know what happens in those Nurseries of theirs, but mark my words, boy. It's nothing good.”

“Lift him,” said a low voice, interrupting his thoughts.

The thief barely had time to wonder what “lift him” meant before the sound of a crank turning filled the room and his wrists were raised higher above his head. With each rotation of the crank, his arms were pulled higher and higher, until his bare feet were scrambling against the stone floor for any purchase he could get to relieve the pressure on his wrists and shoulders.

“Enough,” the low voice finally said, and the cranking stopped, leaving him precariously balanced on the tips of his toes. “Remove his clothing.”

“What?!” the thief cried out. “Hey! Stop!”

He jerked wildly as a pair of hands began pulling on his trousers, but he froze when he felt something cold and sharp press into his neck. Once he stilled, his trousers and shirt were briskly stripped away, leaving him in only his underthings. The blade withdrew from his neck, and he shivered, from cold or fear, he wasn’t sure.

"Remove the hood."

He blinked at the sudden flood of light as the bag was pulled roughly from his head, then quickly looked around, trying to get a read on his surroundings.

The room was fairly small, with wooden walls and a stone floor, and he was suspended from the ceiling in the very center. Two people stood in front of him; one was shorter and wore a simple robe of undyed linen tied with a red sash, while the taller man wore a robe dyed fully red, tied with a sash that matched. Both had the hoods of their robe pulled up, and their sleeves were tucked into the ends of thick leather gloves. This alone made for an unsettling silhouette, but what were particularly nerve wracking were the cloth masks covering the bottom halves of their faces, leaving only their eyes visible.

“What’s going on?” he asked, hoping that his voice didn’t betray his fear. “What are you going to do to me?”

Neither responded, but the shorter one in the uncolored robe glanced briefly to the taller one in red.

So, there was a hierarchy between the two.

As if to confirm his suspicions, the man in red nodded to the other, who stepped behind the thief and out of sight. The man in red tilted his head back, lifted his hands up, and spoke.

“To walk the path of Perivyta is to embrace Her will and grow in Her light. When we forsake Her ways, we forfeit our place at Her Table of Plenty.”

The man lowered his hands and looked the thief in the face.

“What rot has manifested in your life that has brought you here to me?”

“I- what? What are you talking about?”

The man did not reply, and looked over the thief’s shoulder. Before he could turn to see what the man was looking at, he heard the sound of the crank again and found himself being hoisted higher, until he was dangling nearly a foot off the ground.

“What rot has manifested in your life that has brought you here to me?” the man repeated.

“Nothing!” the thief exclaimed. “I don’t know what you mean!”

The man just shook his head.

There was a *thunk* from behind, and the thief craned his head, trying to look at where the sound came from. The assistant had dragged over a crate, and the thief watched in morbid curiosity as they reached inside and pulled out a set of iron spheres connected by a chain.

“Listen,” he began. “I don’t-”

His words were cut short by the assistant, who draped the chain connecting the spheres over the cuffs between his ankles. The weight couldn’t have been much more than five pounds, but it was enough to put noticeable strain on his already aching shoulders.

“Every time you lie,” the man in red said calmly. “The weight will increase.”

“But I’m telling the truth!” the thief insisted. The assistant added another pair of weights, and he grunted as the pressure on his shoulders intensified.

“I will ask until you answer,” the man said. “What. Rot. Has manifested in your life.”

“I don’t know!” The thief groaned as the assistant placed more weights. “I don’t know what you mean, what do you mean?”

“When rot enters our lives, we forget Perivyta’s way,” the man said. “We turn from her path of light and lead lives that bring only suffering, to ourselves as well as others. What rot has manifested-”

“Theft!” he cried, understanding at last what the man wanted from him. “Theft, I- I stole from people. Broke into their houses.”

“How many lives did you allow your rot to poison?”

“I…don’t know,” the thief said. The assistant added even more weights, and he choked back a cry of pain.

“How many lives did you allow your rot to poison?”

“I, I broke into three houses,” he said. “I don’t know how many people- agh!”

“Still you continue to lie,” the man said, shaking his head. “Or perhaps you are merely a fool.”

“I don’t know!” the thief insisted. “It was three houses, I don’t know how many people lived there- no!”

His shoulders were screaming with agony; every additional weight threatened to pop his arms out of their sockets completely. Tears welled unbidden in his eyes, and the man in red stepped closer to him.

“The Goddess knows the truth of your heart,” he said. “You cannot hide your wandering from her, and you cannot atone until you admit fully to what you have done. How many lives did you allow your rot to poison?”

“I- ten,” the thief gasped. “I robbed ten houses, please, I don’t know how many people were there but I robbed ten houses, please, please…”

“Repeat these words: I submit to Perivyta’s will, that she may welcome me once more to Her Table.”

“I- I submit to Perivyta’s will,” he repeated helplessly. “That she may welcome me once more to Her Table, Please, no more, I’m sorry, please…”

The man in red nodded to the assistant, and after a moment the chain holding the thief up suddenly went slack, dropping him back to the floor. His feet had gone numb and he landed hard on his knees, but the sob he let out was one more of relief than of pain.

The assistant quickly gathered up the weights, returning them to their crate. The man in red lifted his hands above his head again and turned his face up towards the ceiling.

“The Goddess has heard your confession,” he said. “We prune away our rot in life, so that in death we might rightfully join with Her and be fruitful in Her eyes.”

He lowered his hands, then nodded to his assistant.

“Position him.”

The assistant began to turn the crank again, and the thief’s eyes widened as his arms were pulled back over his head.

“Wait, wait!” he exclaimed.

He tried to scramble to his feet, but a gloved hand pressed between his shoulder blades, forcing him to stay on his knees.

“I confessed!” he pleaded, looking up at the man in red with wide eyes. “It was ten, I robbed all ten houses! I confessed!”

“You did,” the man in red agreed. “And now you atone.”

The man held out his hand, and the assistant appeared, placing a long, thin cane in the man’s grip.

“Turn him,” the man commanded.

“No, stop, just wait, please-”

His begging fell on deaf ears, and the assistant grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around so that he was facing the opposite wall. His breath caught in his throat, and he stared in horrified disbelief at what was now visible to him.

The wall was neatly lined with dozens of tools: blades, pliers, shears, chains, whips, coils of rope, and other things he couldn’t even name. This wasn’t a cell, as he’d first assumed.

This was a torture chamber.

“In Perivyta’s name, I restore you to Her favor,” the man in red said, and the thief braced himself.

The first strike across his back was harder than he’d thought it’d be, and he let out a strangled cry.

“One,” said a small voice, the first time the thief had heard the assistant speak.

The cane connected again and the thief’s body jerked.

“Two.”

Again and again, the cane cracked across his back, and again and again he spasmed with pain. The assistant counted quietly for each strike, and the thief tried to focus on their voice, on counting the tools on the wall, on anything other than the white hot pain exploding across his back.

After the sixth blow, there was a pause, and for a moment he thought it was over, but then the man spoke again.

“Repeat these words: I give thanks to Perivyta for this Pruning, that I may walk Her Path of Light anew.”

“Please,” the thief whispered, tears streaming down his face.

“If you do not, then we will begin again.”

“I…I give thanks to Perivyta for this P-pruning….that I may walk Her Path of Light anew.”

The cane struck, and he screamed.

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Prev: Flowering || Next: Replanting

Tenets of Growth Masterlist

#whump #whump fic #whump blog #whump writing #chained #beaten #caned #religious whump #tenets of growth #stress position #cedar

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renecdote · 7 months

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“You’re not dead, Neil,” he says, firm like he can make the words true by willpower alone. Neil smiles. He wonders if it looks as fuzzy around the edges as he feels. “You saved me,” he says, and he’s not quite sure if it’s meant to be a statement or a question. Maybe it’s a paradox. “Of course,” The Protagonist answers. “That’s what we do, remember? We save each other.” Neil wonders whether this is a life where that’s enough. In which there's a parallel life out there (or two or ten or a hundred) where they live happily ever after.

#Tenet #fic #hi I watched this movie and had too many feelings #so enjoy whatever tf this is I guess

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theroseandthebeast · 4 months

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Yuletide Recs, Batch Five

16 recs for The Queen's Gambit, Red Eye, Sable, Severance, Sherlock Holmes, Silo, Singin' in the Rain, Some Like It Hot, SurrealEstate, Tenet, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, Watchmen, and Worlds Beyond Number

something beautiful, Beth Harmon/Jolene

Jolene remembers the first time she looked at Beth and thought her best friend was pretty. No, not pretty. Beautiful.

Sunk Cost Fallacy, Lisa Reisert/Jackson Rippner

The Keefe job gets cancelled. What's a guy to do?

No Straight Roads, Gen, Sable + Original Characters

Five paths taken, six masks cast. Or: On a particularly windswept morning, a young girl comes a-knocking on Sable's door.

O, Lazarus!, Helena Eagan + Helly R.

Losing oxygen slowly as she hangs in the elevator up from the severed floor, Helly’s fractured mind confronts itself.

Double Tongued, Irving Bailiff/Burt Goodman + Burt Goodman/Burt Goodman's Husband + Irving Bailiff & Irving B.

Irving's falling asleep – he almost misses Burt leaving forever. Can his outie make it up to him by reuniting them, one last time? Or, MDR decide to test the Overtime Contigency Protocol on Irving before the Waffle Party, and the code detectors are only equipped to handle certain types of ink.

Indispensable, Gen, Sherlock Holmes + John Watson + Mrs. Hudson

Holmes' gift attempts have fallen through, so he offers a letter instead

her dust was very pretty, Gen, Original Female Character(s)Juliette Nichols

Dore was six when she told Missus Park that she wanted to be her shadow. “You want to work in recycling?” “I don’t want to shadow garbage,” Dore said, nose wrinkling at the thought. “Your art. Art that stays.” Missus Park repeated the words silently, then her mouth dropped open in understanding. “You mean tattoos.”

Working Honeymoon, Cosmo Brown/Don Lockwood/Kathy Selden

If you weren’t getting married, you didn’t get to go on the honeymoon. Wasn't that how it was supposed to go?

That Wondrous Thing, Cosmo Brown/Don Lockwood/Kathy Selden

2 + 2 + 2 = 3. This math works. Really it does.

Girl Talk, Gen, Jerry "Daphne" & Sugar Kane Kowalczyk + Jerry "Daphne" & Joe "Josephine" + Jerry "Daphne"/Osgood Fielding III + Joe "Josephine"/Sugar Kane Kowalczyk

Sugar wants to know if she should be saying "Jerry" or "Daphne" and, since Joe and Osgood don't seem to agree and can't be relied on to tell her which is right, she goes to get it right from the horse's mouth. The horse needs to think about this for a bit.

did we get there yet (somehow), Luke Roman/Susan Ireland

It shouldn’t be a surprise, is the thing. Luke’s always been attracted to smart, competent women. It just hadn’t occurred to him to look at Susan that way until now.

Coffee Meeting: 11 o'clock, Gen, Susan Ireland & Zooey L'Enfant

Susan has a mysterious coffee meeting on her schedule.

pull up if i pull up, Neil/The Protagonist

A safe house in the sea of time. (You’re trying to remember if Neil was smiling the last time your eyes met.)

and in the daylight, you're crossing all your wires, John Connor/Cameron Phillips + John Connor & Derek Reese & Kyle Reese + John Connor & Sarah Connor + John Connor & the Specter of His Future Self

No one’s ever died for him, here.

Across Vistas, Dan Dreiberg/Laurie Juspeczyk/Rorschach

Laurie and the boys take a roadtrip across the country to see her mom.

Charted, Gen, Ame & Suvirin "Suvi" Kedberiket & Eursulon Toma + Grandma Wren

All stories started somewhere, even if that somewhere is far from here.

#yuletide #yuletide 2023 #the queen's gambit #red eye #sable #severance #sherlock holmes #silo #singin' in the rain #some like it hot #surrealestate #tenet #terminator #the sarah connor chronicles #watchmen #worlds beyond number #fic recs #fic rec

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ithappensoffstage · 11 months

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if you ever want to write something for Protagoneil again I would love to request something where it's the Protagonist who takes care of Neil for the first time. Neil was always the one to save his ass and now it's time for John to do the same. Perhaps Neil got drugged on a mission and he's really out of it so John takes care of him while drugged Neil looks at him all lovingly.

I'm so sorry that this got buried in my ask box for 3 years, but thank you for your prompt and here's the finished fic! You can read it here or on AO3.

To Think That We Could Stay the Same

Earlier—later—in Neil’s other life, he was a little bit dramatic. A little bit cocky, a little bit of a risk-taker. But he was also careful and rational.

This later—earlier—Neil is reckless. Bold, bordering on stupid.

John blames it on Neil’s youth. Of course a fresher-faced Tenet has something to prove. He wants to be valuable, worthy of John’s praise, and first in line for promotions. John wishes he could tell him he’s already proved himself—will prove himself. That John already trusts him with everything he has.

He can’t, though. And it’s like Neil knows there’s some secret between them. Neil, before, he was so good at lying. Pretending at ignorance, feigning that he didn’t feel … whatever it was—hopefully is—that he felt, feels, for John.

Lying is standard operating procedure, and the policy is to suppress. Fine. John’s good at restraining his feelings, but not at burying or concealing them completely. It causes Neil to be desperate to be deserving of those secrets.

He recalls Neil in Mumbai. That’s not possible, he had said. But to this Neil, everything is possible. It scares the hell out of John.

They’re in Tokyo. John’s there to supervise the retrieval of a large inverted munitions shipment. Ives is there to run security. Dark suit, concealed weapons, beard shorter than it’s ever been, and hair longer than it’s ever been. John wonders when he’s going to shave it off.

Neil, of course, is bouncing between Ives’ and John’s teams. Ives has been teaching him the militaristic ropes. John has been preparing him for his inevitable leadership role. Between Ives and John, they should be able to keep track of one overly ambitious rookie.

As it turns out, they’re wrong.

“What the hell happened, huh? You were supposed to be watching him!” John shouts.

He bursts into the med room of their Tokyo base like a man possessed. It’s clean and white, bright and sterile. John hates it. He wants it to be as ugly as his mind right now. Uglier, actually—as awful as what he wants to do to the men who hurt Neil.

“He said he was on his way to you,” Ives replies calmly.

“And you believed him?”

Ives raises an eyebrow, and John knows he’s being unfair. He’s angrier than he ever has been with Ives. Even counting the time Ives let Neil invert himself and die for them.

John closes his eyes. Exhales. What’s happened, happened. Neil was going to, will always, die for him. And Neil was always going to wander off and get himself drugged by an idealistic bunch of thieves.

They’re Yakuza. And after the guns, nothing more, nothing less. Still, Ives has them all rounded up and is on his way to question them. He’s lost patience with John already, but he’s waiting, stiff and at attention, anyway.

Then there’s Neil, opposite at every angle.

The medical team told John that Neil’s been injected with a benzodiazepine cocktail, but John thinks Neil looks half-okay, considering the circumstances. He’s sitting in the corner of the room, wearing a light blue button-down, open a bit at the chest with the sleeves rolled up, and light gray pants. No shoes. One gray sock. His bare skin shines with sweat. There’s red high on his cheekbones and an uncharacteristic glassiness to his eyes. His head lolls as he tries to listen to John and Ives’ argument.

“I found them, y’know,” Neil interrupts. “Before I… Iv…” He gestures to his commanding officer. “He did. I wanna… wanted you to… know…” He trails over, looking confused. “Who put me on the floor?”

“Tell ya what, we’ll flip a coin,” Ives says. “For him or the Yakuza.”

John sighs. “That’s not really your call. I’ll take care of him. You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then, John and Neil are alone together. John feels it in his blood, like a cord tied around his veins. It tugs at his heart until he can’t breathe. He thinks of the freeport, and inhales sharply.

“There you go, hiding things again,” Neil says. With his inhibitions gone, his accent is a little less refined. Posh but kind of sloppy, like how he dresses.

“I’m not hiding anything. Don’t get up.”

Although he’s tried several times by now, Neil never made it off the floor. Instead he’s now fully on his back, hair askew, shirt completely open. The fabric hangs by his sides and his hands slide from his ribs to that soft linen.

John envies those hands. He tells Neil, “You compromised the mission.”

“I saw something suspicious,” Neil protests, sputtering through the last difficult word. “I, I saved the mission.”

“You made a move on your own because you were trying to be a hero,” John hisses. “Look at yourself, Neil.”

John walks forward. He crouches, trying to meet Neil’s eyes. It’s difficult when they’re fluttering closed every second or so, but eventually John manages.

“How did a trained agent get jumped by a bunch of gangsters? Hm?” He doesn’t want to be cruel. He can’t favor Neil, though. Telling himself any other soldier would get the same treatment, John continues, “What if Wheeler didn’t find you?” Or.” John clears his throat, bombarded with memories of Stalsk-12.

Neil is beaming. His smile is beautiful, and it blindsides John like it always has.

“You were worried about me!” Neil yells. His joy ricochets around the room in cascades of laughter. “You care!”

John looks away. “You’re not sober enough to have this conversation.”

He attempts to stand, but suddenly there’s a palm pressing down on his knee. Reckless.

“Neil.”

“Wait.”

Against his better judgment, John does. He pushes Neil’s hand away, but he also sits on the floor next to Neil’s prone body. More than anything, he wants to draw Neil’s head into his lap. To brush that damp blond hair out of his face, check for a fever. To kiss it better.

John clasps his hands tightly in his lap. “Of course I care. Everyone on this team is vital to this operation.”

Neil shakes his head. After some flailing about, he manages to right himself, sitting with his legs crossed to match John. “No,” he says.

“No I don’t care? You just said I did, so make up your mind.”

“You… about me… differently,” Neil explains. “More…ly.”

“Wow.”

“S’not a word, is it?”

“No it is not. I’m not sure you’re capable of coherent sentences at the moment, actually.”

Despite the curt comment, Neil is looking at John with such adoration. Puppy love, that’s the term John’s heard. Utter devotion. As if John is Neil’s entire world. But when John insists that he’s leaving, Neil’s eyes brim with tears.

He lunges forward, wrapping his arms around John. Now he’s really putting some weight into it, holding John here. It’s John’s turn to be amused. Chuckling, he extracts himself—easily, with Neil’s drug-addled, pliable limbs and lean frame—enough to speak face-to-face.

“Let me go.”

“Okay,” Neil replies. Yet his grip doesn’t loosen.

“That’s an order, Neil.”

“Right.”

When John returns a few minutes later with food and water, Neil is slumped over on his side, asleep on the floor, an unhappy expression on his handsome face. John sets the plate and cup down on the nearest surface before walking gently over. He slides his hands underneath Neil’s knees and back, picks him up.

After putting Neil in the med room’s small bed—still on his side, facing the door like he’s always preferred to sleep—John pulls up a chair. He washes Neil’s face with a cool, damp cloth. He tends to the few cuts and scrapes Neil got fighting off his assailants. He brushes Neil’s hair, and buttons his shirt. Finally, John tucks a blanket around Neil’s shoulders.

“‘More-ly’ still isn’t a word,” John murmurs, thumb brushing Neil’s jaw, “but you’re right. I do.”

And then he leaves again, exactly the way he arrived: with a guilty conscience, carrying a love confession in his hands.

#tenet #protagoneil #instinct series #the protagonist x neil #my fic #movies #ask #anon

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thedragonagelesbian · 3 months

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ok the first section of the pally!wyll fic is drafted!!

#one tenet of devotion down four to go #thinking about releasing the fic in chapters rather than as a long one-shot...#i crave....... engagement...............................

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captainpoopweinersoldier · 2 years

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Night & Day P3

Battinson!Bruce Wayne x F!Reader x Neil

Ratings/Warnings: Mature; angst if you squint. Kissieeeesssss.

Word Count: 2K

Link to AO3

Part One Part Two Part Four Part Five Epilogue

Tags: @ursulaismymiddlename @salt-is-a-terrible-currency @sassymemesfanficfestival

Even after having the realization that Neil wasn’t Bruce, the staff catered to his every whim as he worked the room with fluid command in a way Bruce found surprisingly comforting. Fight tactics, evasive maneuvers, those were topics he was most familiar with. He’d even identified safe exit points on the way in on the off chance someone dared to come near him with a measuring tape. But… fashion?

Racks were brought in and carried out at Neil’s discretion while Bruce stood idly by, at a complete loss as to what he was meant to be doing.

“We’ll get you all set with the basics,” Neil told him, thanking the staff and gently ushering them out of the room to leave the two men in private. “Then we’ll need something special for dinner tonight.”

“Dinner?”

“Oh, yes, darling.” He had a pair of pants slung over his forearm, and rifled through the suit jackets, occasionally approaching Bruce to hold something up to his chest. “I’m a tourist, remember? I’d like to be shown all the fine things Gotham has to offer.”

“I take it this doesn’t count,” Bruce asked dryly.

“I am a needy man,” Neil sassed back. “Besides, after this sort of effort I think it’s only fair I get to show you off some. You will woo our lady yet.”

Bruce swallowed hard, feeling an uncomfortable flutter in his stomach. Was it that obvious?

Romance - another area he was not familiar with and strived pointedly to avoid. Only once before you had there been a tiny glimmer of an instance remotely close to it - the occasional awkward stints of experimentation in his early twenties certainly didn’t count - but it was fleeting and left the city without ever looking back.

Still, it meant compromise, for himself and you. A potential compromise to your safety, which he could never forgive himself for - if that was even what you wanted -

“Blimey.” Neil’s voice cut through Bruce’s internal spiral. He looked up only to find him standing directly in front of him, an odd expression on his face.

“What?”

“I think I’m finally starting to see this resemblance people keep insisting on.” He tilted his head, jaw rolling as his tongue pressed into his cheek. “Telling that it has to take pining for me to notice but.. Nevertheless…”

He stepped aside as he trailed off, then began unbuttoning his blouse and Bruce took it as a cue that he should also be undressing. He couldn’t think of many people he’d be comfortable taking his clothes off in front of. Intimacy was one thing he often lacked, but besides that there was always the question of his scars. Even after the toll his body had been through, it was the rare shocked stare that was more uncomfortable than the old wounds themselves.

But there was something about Neil and knowing that you trusted him that gave him the courage to do so.

Did he… like Neil?

“She uh - she told me that you were together once.”

“That’s true.”

It wasn’t entirely his business, but mutual interests had gone well for them so far. “Why didn’t it work out?”

“The same reason relationships rarely work out for people like us. Our work comes first.”

It was a sentiment Bruce understood all too well.

“Couldn’t tell her where I was half the time. Often spent weeks not knowing if I was dead or alive, with no one to call should she try to find out.” He busied himself with hanging their discarded clothes, back and forth until the two were down to their boxer briefs with nothing else left to hide between them.

As it turned out, Neil had scars of his own; a scattered map of tender pink tissue that piqued Bruce’s curiosity.

“But you seem to have given her something stable here,” Neil added; if he noticed Bruce’s hypocritical scrutiny, it passed unacknowledged. “Something I could never do, not that I never wanted to.”

“You still love her.” It was less a question and more a statement, and the sight of Neil’s instant heartfelt smile spread an unusual heat through Bruce’s chest.

“Reckon I always will.”

He did like him; he liked his honesty and his loyalty, his investment in your needs even if it required total selflessness of him - things that Bruce only hoped you saw in him as well.

Neil might’ve been there to give him a lesson in self care, but it was all in favor of you. And suddenly Bruce felt more up to the task to see it through than he had mere moments ago - even if the predicament terrified him…

"Look at us,” Neil said, cutting through his reverie once more. “Just two men in our undergarments talking about love. I'd say this was a breakthrough for you, Bruce."

He nearly offered him a lopsided grin when his eyes landed on a set of too brightly colored shirts nearby. The turn of expression must have been all too apparent; Neil chuckled and gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

“Not to worry, those are for me,” he told him. “Self-discovery or no, I don’t think you’re ready for florals just yet.”

By the time you found the way to their dressing room, Neil was alone in the spacious area as decadent as your own had been. The rich mahogany paneling could’ve made for a dim atmosphere were it not for the art deco chandeliers, their light glimmering on each pristine floor to ceiling mirror.

Neil stood beside a fitting platform, and you leaned against the doorjamb to admire the view. Gaze slow up the length of his legs suited in tan, well-fitted dress pants; linen by the looks of it. His torso was adorned in a white blouse of comparable softness, and so sheer you could see the contrast of tanned skin within.

His eyes caught yours in his reflection, occupied with tying the knot of a skinny tie beneath the upturned collar of his shirt, and the corner of his lips pulled into a cocky smirk.

“Like what you see?”

“Oh, absolutely. Though I do wonder if that’s dinner attire…” you teased, then stepped away from the door to take a closer peek; on such display, he was impossible to resist.

“You mustn't provoke me,” he chided playfully. He held out his hand as you approached, and with a small squeal of surprise, you were pulled onto the platform with him. Long arms instantly circled your waist, and he swayed you to the low drum of music flitting about the room. “Given the occasion, Bruce and I were warranted more than a single outfit.”

It was still second nature to lean into Neil’s touch, drape your arms over his broad shoulders, and tilt your head back to stare into those dreamy eyes. This was like a day of ping pong - juggling personalities and your feelings for them both - the close proximity was only slightly overwhelming, especially when he looked at you with a weight behind his gaze that hadn’t quite been there before.

“So it went okay, then?”

“Oh, we’re best mates now.” You cocked a brow at him, suspicious. “Well, I’m not on Buzzfeed’s ‘Top 10 List of Batman Nemeses’, but we’ll see how he feels after I’ve done his hair.”

“Neil,” you groaned. “What are you gonna do to his hair?”

He stopped moving to the music at once, a genuine look of dismay on his face.

“You’re right, I’m so sorry,” you were quick to butter him up. Even ran an appreciative hand through his hair, fingers lingering through the purposefully messy, perfectly styled quaff. “I love your hair…”

No matter how cross he was pretending to be, you could see him fighting back a smile.

“Don’t placate me.” And before you could retort, his lips descended upon yours

This was unlike the just beyond friendly greeting in the airport; this was shared history and unrequited feelings. Neil kissed you like he never would again, hands sliding up your spine, moving around your arms to clutch you by the neck.

His stubble pleasantly scratched your chin as he tilted his head, lips parting over yours, and you were shocked by the volume of your own whimper at the feel of the tip of his tongue. Your heart thundered in your chest while the kiss deepened, taking hold of his hips for the sole purpose of staying upright.

You were dazed when he pulled away and set his forehead on yours, eyelashes slowly fluttering as you watched panting breaths cut through his swollen lips.

“Nothing but whiplash with you two…” you murmured.

“It’s not my intention to confuse you,” Neil said earnestly, a huskiness to his voice you’d forgotten how much you missed until right then. "Or interfere with whatever's between you and Bruce."

“I know.” Trembling hands busied with fixing his shirt collar and tie, the job having been left unfinished. You sought his gaze and shared a warm smile amid soft, adoring touches. "Thank you. For doing this."

"It's like I said.. Anything for you, my darling." He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, the knuckles of his hand tracing its remnants. "Besides, I can see why you’re so attracted to him. Would it be terrible of me if I was as well?”

“I know.” You said again, struggling to regain from swooning - a losing battle between the weakness in your legs and the way Neil’s hands continued to roam - hardly picking up on that last bit there until it was almost an afterthought.

“Wait, what?”

“Will that be all La Boutique can do for you today?” the brunette receptionist asked.

You couldn’t help but scrunch your face at her. After all was said and done, it took four individual assistants to carry the new wardrobes out of the boutique and into the town car you’d taken from the Tower. Though you had an inkling most garment bags belonged to Neil, he assured you thrice over that Bruce had gotten plenty to hold him over without needing further guidance.

“That will be all, Gina. Thank you so much, the service was impeccable.” He leaned onto the countertop once more, body language reeking so strongly of schmooze, your eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets.

“Piacere mio. And what will be your form of payment?” Her fingers danced over her tablet before sliding it across the table, and Neil blocked your path, shielding your view of the screen.

“What’s the damage?”

“Oh, Brucie, darling!” he sang, letting loose a beckoning whistle over his shoulder.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Neil. How much?”

Bruce smoothly slid himself between you and the counter, wallet in hand, and sunglasses covering his nocturnal eyes. Evidently, the clouds had dispersed and made way for the sun since your arrival at the boutique, and the brightly veined marble of the lobby was too much. Either that, or it was another attempt at disappearing into the background.

“I got it.”

“But this is supposed to be a gift for you, Bruce,” you tried insisting, bouncing on your toes in attempt to glance over the pair of strapping shoulders. But he swiped the credit card through the card reader before you’d even finished speaking.

“You think I’d let you bring me to a place like this and expect you to pay?”

You gaped at Neil. “Help me out here -”

“No can do, love.” Neil propped his chin on his hand, peering up at Bruce with a little too much fondness in his eyes. “Sugar Daddy Bruce suits him almost as well as his new clothes. And they do fit damn good.”

What the hell had gotten into them? “Did you just call him -”

Bruce shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Your jaw fell slack; speechless when you caught the wry grin pulling at the corner of his lips. Had they tapped into the champagne without you noticing?

The embodiment of night and day, they escorted you from the boutique, torn between who to sputter at more. Wondering if this budding relationship would backfire on you, even if it was in the sweetest way possible.

#bruce wayne x reader #neil tenet x reader #the batman 2022 #tenet #rob pattinson #bruce wayne x reader x neil #my fic

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imaginingmarvelandeverything · 2 years

Text

5.5k Follower Celebration Fic Recs!!!

This took me a while to put together and I’m still not sure I’ve got everyone, so sorry to anyone I’ve missed! I’ve been on this site a long time, so these range quite a bit in time, but they are all still as good as the first time I read them.

Bruce Wayne (mostly Battison, but some are more general):

Love me by the night part 1 and 2 - @inklore

Some wounds leave scars part 1 and 2 - @a-reader-and-a-writer

Lingering shadows - @foreverindreamlandd

Be safe - @twinklelilstarkey

The way down part 1, 2 and 3 - @whats-rambled-rambled

Take care - @moonlitdesertdreams

Come back to me before I come to my senses (series) - @eravanaaaah

Across separating souls - @embrassemoi

Middle of the Night (series) (and the sequel: Shadows in the night) - @hollandorks

I want you to love me - @imaginedisish

Waiting for the night (series) - @neutron-stars-collision

Running up that hill - @pasukiyo

When our souls collide (series, AO3) - @lovers-liability

Coloured flower petals (series) - @blue-aconite

All of @xxgoblin-dumplingxx Bruce fics which can be found under their Bruce Wayne x reader tag

Mr and Mrs Wayne (series)- @drifterbruce

At the front steps - @devilfic

Blue blood - @yanna-banana

Dismantle - @maharani-radha-writes

Neil (Tenet):

All of @whats-rambled-rambled Neil fics are amazing, and can be found here!

A consistency constraint (series) - @eravanaaaah

Flora (series) - @eravanaaaah

Rebel yell? - @neutron-stars-collision

Déjà vu - @yanna-banana

Billy Hargrove:

All you have to be is here (series) - @staticscreenwriting

Jason Todd (most of these are not for titans, it’s just a nightmare to find a decent Jason gif that’s not from titans):

All of @xxgoblin-dumplingxx Jason fics which can be found under their Jason Todd x reader tag

All of @makethatelevenrings Jason fics, which can be found here!

Learning to love slowly (series)- @to-the-stars8

Quiet Realisations - @dxckgrxsonx

Venom in your voice (titans Jason) - @thewritingdoll

Slumber party - @moonlitdesertdreams

The cosmic horror of Gotham City (series, AO3) - @whltlock

Eddie Munson:

Teach me? Part 1 and 2 - @thefinalgirlpng

Proximity (series) - @thefinalgirlpng

Cassian Andor:

Not until morning - @princessxkenobi

Mi Estrella - @princessxkenobi

Our chance - @princessxkenobi

Dissimulato - @hansoulo

Oberyn Martell:

And so we sing in elegies (series) - @haildoodles-writing

Andrew!Peter Parker:

Fractured and familiar - @spidervee

#fic rec #follower celebration #bruce wayne #neil tenet #Billy Hargrove #andrew!peter parker #oberyn martell #cassian andor #eddie munson #x reader #imagine

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mamawasatesttube · 10 months

Note

Do you have any headcanons/thoughts abt Kon and Jon being brothers?

yeah buddy i sure do!!

#now i have plenty that didn't actually make it into the fic #but if you want to know the central tenets of my kon and jon thesis. well there it is #like if you haven't read that one. well. that's required reading for my superbros thoughts i think actually #it's a good starting point #answers

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teecupangel · 4 months

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Abstergo made very edited games of the assassin ancestors. What if the assassin's made the true version of what happened available to the public?

That was always an option so I did think of why they wouldn’t want to do it.

The biggest one I could think of is that it would go against the third Tenet “Do not compromise the Brotherhood”.

Secrecy is paramount to the Brotherhood and even the Templars keep the Isu stuff a secret.

The Brotherhood is probably worried of what would happen if those in power learn about the POE considering what those in power have done according to history.

The narrative is putting them into an antagonistic light with the Templars being crowned as heroes but, as they say, they ‘work in the dark to serve the light’.

They’re used to being seen as ‘evil’ or murderers.

This is just the 21st century equivalent to it.

Also, they cannot be certain that showing the true version would be better.

Not only does it include information about the POEs and the Assassin Brotherhood as a whole but…

Well…

Abstergo is a large company with far-reaching influences.

What’s to say their version wouldn’t just be ridiculed and treated as ‘fanwork’ or the insane edits of disgruntled employees/Assassin stans.

The Assassins work in secrecy and it’s because of that secrecy that they can still protect the world, both from the Templars and the POEs.

The only way a true version would be ‘leaked’ is either through a ‘fuck it, let’s see what happens’ Assassin who did it without the approval of the mentor or an incident in the database (a bad update that uploads it to the public or a hacker who got lucky and got a copy of it).

Let’s be honest though…

In the AC world, there’s gonna be fans who stan the bad guys. They’ll probably think that Assassins are so cool and the Templars are kinda boring (Abstergo risks making the Templars ‘bland’ by removing the bad parts of their lives that will incriminate them and the Templars in general).

Like, remember how Berg sent the Assassins a heavily edited copy of Shay’s memories in the end of Rogue and how it was a footnote later on that the Assassins were like “cool story bro, obviously edited, go fuck yourself” and nothing really happened with it?

If that’s how the Templars edit the stories as Templar propaganda then it’s not… Abstergo has a history of making good premises but mediocre to bad execution XD

The Assassins have a better chance of having someone write for them a fanfic of the games in a kinda ‘novel adaptation’ format and put the real version in that one. It won’t get them as much exposure as trying to pass it as real history BUT it will make it easier to stay under Abstergo’s radar and, even if Abstergo sees it, the fanfic is protected by “this is fanfic, why are you bullying someone writing what they want for free in their own free time, Abstergo???”

#if you notice #whenever i have an idea of something going viral #it's always either in accident #or someone fucked up #or desmond didn't realize just how bad for the third tenet he just did #assassin's creed #ask and answer #this is more of...#teecup analyze more than necessary #than an actual fic idea

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antimonyandthyme · 2 years

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Athy, I saw you also like tenet as well 👀 So I wanna hear your thoughts on sebchal tenet au. Like seb, as an experienced spy who's fiercely loyal and got recruited into the undo-apocalypse team project, meets with a puppy-eyed man named charles for the first time. But why doesn't it feel that way? How does charles know about jägerbomb? What are those gazes charles gives him when he think seb doesn't notice? And then some tokens give charles away and seb gets his italicized oh moment 🥺 The tension and angst of this au. . . chef's kiss!!

Anon. Anon. This is only the most perfect idea ever. Oh my gaude. Oh my gaude! A sebchal Tenet AU. It’s never even crossed my mind but now I see, I see! It couldn’t be more fitting! Anon your mind. Your mind! I have to write this. I have to! Thoughts under the cut, will be a little scrambled at the moment so bear with me!

Imagine Charles as Neil and Sebastian as the Protagonist! A reminder to everyone that the world didn’t end because Neil loved the Protagonist!

Anyway. Sebastian’s on this mission. It’s so top-secret he doesn’t even have details of what it is, or who he’s going to meet. Is it nuclear? Probably. (It isn’t. It’s temporal.) He dresses up in a midnight blue pinstripe suit for his first meeting with his contact. In a crowded bar, someone slides into the seat on his left.

Jesus. He’s young. The circles around his eyes are deep, like he hasn’t slept for two days. His suit is rumpled and marred with gunpowder stains. He already looks like he’s seen too much. Sebastian wants to yell. He keeps his tongue trapped behind his teeth. The fate of the world doesn’t care for the corruption of innocence. And anyway, the man before him is staring at him strangely, drinking him in like he’s seeing a ghost from his past. (Charles is, by the way. Sebastian is alive, alive! Come back to him at last, for this period of time that Charles needs to make the most of. To save the world and to convey to Sebastian just how much he is to him. The love of his life. Sebastian just doesn’t know it yet.)

Maybe he’s nervous, this young man. Sebastian smiles a little, to try to put him at ease. Oddly, it just makes the man’s lip wobble.

He clears his throat, flags a waiter down. “Vodka tonic,” he says, and points to Sebastian, “and a Jägerbomb.”

Sebastian blinks. “That’s for teenagers.”

The man smiles. “You still drink it.”

It’s the truth, though not one Sebastian has ever broadcasted. There’s so much more the man seems to want to say. Sebastian shifts, feeling like he’s being held up to the light and examined. It’s unlike him to feel out of control and wrong-footed in first meetings. There’s something so familiar about the way the man’s sitting, hunched but leaning persistently toward Sebastian. “You’re well informed.”

“It pays to be in our profession.” The man holds out a hand. His grip around Sebastian is tight, and he pulls away with what can only be described as reluctance. “Charles.”

Sebastian nods. Charles’ eyes are eager and determined and so, so wide. (Much later, Sebastian will look back upon this meeting and wonder. If it would’ve been better for them never to have crossed paths. It’s stupid. He would trade the world for more time, looking into Charles’ eyes.) “Let’s get to work.”

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ironwhumper359 · 9 months

Note

Whumper prompt 3, have fun~

The Tenets of Growth: Pt. 1

The Path of Cultivation

CW: submission, allusions to torture, religious themes, religion used to justify torture, whumpee turned whumper, stress position

Word count: 1500~

---

“So, what did we learn yesterday?”

Aster considered the question carefully as she knelt at her Cultivator's feet. She’d learned long ago, when she was merely a Seed, not to speak a single word without considering whether or not it could be misconstrued by the harsh woman as too stupid, too clever, or too disrespectful in general.

"We learned that life...does not flourish without decay. That the rot and filth that surrounds us need not kill us, but can enrich our surroundings and make us stronger. But if we succumb and become a part of it, rather than use it as fuel, that is when we cease to grow and begin to wilt."

Aster desperately wanted to sneak a glance up at the Cultivator's face, to gauge her reaction to her words, but she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, hands clasped behind her back and her head bowed low.

"Then you have learned well," the Cultivator said, and relief and pride flooded through Aster in equal measure. "Rise, and accompany me. There is something you must see."

Aster obediently got to her feet, hands still folded behind her and head down as she walked, but her breath came a little easier after the words of praise. She walked through the Nursery's winding corridors without truly seeing her surroundings, placing her full trust in the Cultivator to lead them on the right path. As was true in all practices at the Nursery, this was to remind her of humanity's dependence on the Goddess Perivyta for all things, but Aster longed for the day she would finally Flower and begin to learn the layout of the halls for herself.

Finally, they stopped in front of a door, and the Cultivator pulled a key from somewhere inside her robe. Unlocking the door, she stepped back to allow Aster to enter the room first. As was customary, Aster stepped inside and immediately knelt at one side of the door.

"Her Ladyship Lantana, Third Cultivator of the Durtham Nursery enters," Aster announced, and the Cultivator swept into the room. Aster rose long enough to close the door behind her, but before she could kneel again, the Cultivator grabbed her by the arm.

"Hold," she said simply, and Aster froze. "You are very close to your Flowering, Initiate Aster," the Cultivator continued. "And in spite of your early difficulties Sprouting, my fellow Cultivators and I have taken note of your growth."

Aster bowed her head.

"I am grateful that your ladyship saw the weeds at work in my heart and Pruned them in time to allow me to flourish," she intoned.

"Your growth is my growth," the Cultivator replied lightly. "Lift your head, Initiate, and observe the room."

Aster did so, and a wave of nausea rolled over her. They were in a small cell, sunlight from a single barred window shining into the room and illuminating a large patch of rough, exposed earth in the middle of the stone floor. A long shadow was cast by a single metal loop bolted to the floor, and Aster could feel her heart beating faster in her chest at the mere sight of it.

"You may speak, Initiate," the Cultivator said, and Aster swallowed.

"Your ladyship, I...I thought you said that my growth was sufficient?"

"Did I also not say that you are nearing the time of your Flowering?" the Cultivator asked, and Aster nodded quickly. "I have meditated upon the will of Perivyta on where to assign you for specialty study, and it has been laid upon my heart that you are to walk the Path of Cultivation."

It took every ounce of Aster's meticulously crafted self control to keep her mouth from falling open. The Path of Cultivation? Her? Aster had only heard whispered rumors of what the path for initiates was like, but everyone knew that to be a Cultivator was the highest honor in the order. Everyone else, not just the initiates, but the Sowers, Tenders, and even Pruners had to answer to the Cultivators.

"I have spoken with the other Cultivators, and they have agreed," Lady Lantana continued. "However, the Path of Cultivation is unlike the other paths of the order. Training is only given to one initiate at a time, and only when the circumstances are right."

Aster nodded absently, their mind spinning with a dozen questions. Why was only one initiate trained at once? What circumstances? What was even the difference between the Path of Cultivation and the Path of Sowing, shouldn't it basically be the same information? Why was she the one chosen, out of the dozen or so Budded initiates who were nearing their Flowering?

"Praise Perivyta for her goodness, for she has provided us an opportunity," the Cultivator said. "This morning, the city courts delivered a guilty verdict to a notorious thief that plagued the streets for months before he was finally caught. He is being transferred here tomorrow, and the First Cultivator has agreed that you, Initiate, shall undertake his Cultivation."

"I...I am honored, my lady," Aster stammered. "But...forgive me, I just...would expect such an important task to be carried out by one with more experience."

Or any experience, she thought, but did not say.

"The Path of Cultivation is not one to be walked lightly," said the Cultivator. "It is one thing to plant a flower in a bed. It is quite another to coax fruit from a tree that has been set upon by rot. Initiates purposely are trained with initiates sent to us by tribute or sentencing, so that in the future they will have the skills necessary to deal with any difficulties in their future plots."

Aster swallowed, then nodded.

"I understand, my lady. What are to be my first steps?"

"Tomorrow, you will start your studies, beginning with the performance of Ritual Re-Planting. But first, you must demonstrate your readiness to walk this path. This cell is to be the site of your study, and must be consecrated. Assume your meditative position."

Aster turned around, and for a moment caught a glimpse of the Cultivator's sharp face before bowing her head again. The expression was unreadable, and Aster forced herself not to squirm as she knelt on the patch of dirt.

She brought her arms out from behind her, clasping her hands over her heart and curling low to the ground. She pressed her forehead to the earth and counted silently to three before straightening again, resting her head on her still clasped hands.

"Thanks be Perivyta, by Her grace I grow," she murmured, tucking her chin to her chest.

She extended her arms out and up until they were raised above her head, palms facing upward in a gesture of acceptance.

"You are to remain in meditation until I return," the Cultivator instructed. "At that time, if your heart is prepared, you will undergo your Flowering."

Without another word, the Cultivator turned and strode out of the room, leaving the door open behind her. Aster saw her feet disappear, but did not lift her head to watch her go. She inhaled deeply through her nose, held it for a moment, then released it through her mouth and began to murmur softly to herself.

“Perivyta, Sower of Life, from whom all life derives. All life is your holy and sacred gift, and we give thanks to you in all we do. We are your Purest Seed, created from your being and scattered by your hand into the world to produce your fruit. The Earth is your holy gift to us, yet we also are your gift to the Earth. All we take from it, we return to you in glory. As you nurture us body and soul, so we shall nurture others, and their growth shall be our growth, and our growth shall be your growth. You are the holy giver of life and the holy giver of suffering; when we flourish we rejoice in your bounty, and when we suffer we rejoice in your Pruning. We submit to your will, that at the end of our lives when we are gathered into the Great Harvest, we may be counted among the fruitful and brought to your Table of Plenty. Let us not stray from your ways, lest we be cast aside with the chaff and burned in the fire of your hearth.”

Aster had never been good with time, but she’d once heard another initiate say that it took less than two minutes to recite the Tenet Prayer. Of course, that was if you were simply reciting the words with the goal of reaching the end; Aster found that if she slowed down and focused on each line, connecting it with the deeper meaning of each tenet in her mind, the prayer would take even longer. Which, on the one hand, made the time spent meditating seem to pass slower, but on the other hand, at least it gave her something to think about other than the deep, persistant ache that was already beginning to develop in her arms.

She closed her eyes, and began again.

“Perivyta, Sower of Life, from whom all life derives…”

---

Author's Note: Aaaand that's where I'm leaving off this first installment! Don't worry, there's more coming very soon, and while it won't necessarily have less world building, it will definitely have a lot more whump! If you'd like me to make a taglist for this fic, let me know and I'll definitely do that!

#whump #whump fic #whumpee turned whumper #religious whump #stress position #female whumpee #female whumper #male whumpee #multiple whumpers #multiple whumpees #some of these tags are more relevant to the series as a whole: this one just has the girl whumpee and one whumper right now #let me know if I should tag anything else!#tenets of growth #aster

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spikybanana · 1 year

Text

thursday (friday?) snippet

@wanderingdonut tysm for the tag!! <3<3

for the record, I've lost the plot of this fic months ago. but hey! I've indulged in A Trope so here's an (unedited) snippet!

-----

Patronus. A magical guardian conjured out of an impression of what anchors the most profound parts of ourselves and what constitutes the substance of our very identity. In other words, one’s deepest, happiest memories.

Sirius blushes, because it’s sickeningly obvious what he would need to think of. It takes a few tries, his bare hands not always cooperating with the precise movements designed for tips of a wand, but he eventually gets it. A few puffs of white mist later, he closes his eyes and re-summons the brightest sight of Remus he can think of. The thousand shades between his eyes and his smile, the sound of his laughter, rare and ringing in the depth of the forest. His own lips pull up when he feels a bright, certain warmth gather in his chest, and upon murmuring the incantation with sharp twists of his wrist, the incandescent thing bursts forth, lighting up the small bedroom in twilight.

Only, he realises too late that he isn’t alone. Remus is by the door, back pressed to the wall and watching. Sirius has been so focused, he didn’t even notice Remus enter the room.

“How much did you see?” He wants to frown, but the warmth of the four-legged regal creature prevents even that.

Remus doesn’t answer. It’s not like he needs to see much more than the glowing figure of the wolf. And the raw look in his eyes says clear as day that he’s seen more than enough.

Between some moment and another, they meet each other in the middle, the kiss breathless and bruising and Sirius feels like Remus is trying to take a bite at the meat of his soul, because surely, this feeling is too big, too intense for words. But he leans his head back and bares his neck anyway, and Remus follows the motion immediately, mouth dipping past his jaw, panting against his pulse point.

There, he pauses, and lets out a choked noise.

“I can be all of you, Sirius.” He whispers.

“Oh?” Sirius forces his tone to be light, feigning aloofness, even though the words make it feel like his heart is dropping through his stomach. Suddenly, he feels indignant, and challenges boldly, in the same whisper, “Am I not the same for you, then?”

Remus freezes, “That’s not the same, Sirius.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t— possibly explain to you—”

Remus’ arms are still wound tight around Sirius’ waist, his fingers tightening, digging into skin.

Sirius lets out the next breath slowly. He works his jaws, breathing in through his teeth as if it could dilute the scent of Remus in his skull. One day, all that Remus cannot explain is going to crush them. But if Remus wants to break them both into a thousand pieces to be sprayed onto the forest ground, Sirius thinks, then so be it, he would still gladly follow. Perhaps even for good reason.

He squeezes the hand on the back of Remus’ neck, pulls him back until their eyes lock. He tilts his head, and asks, “What’s your patronus, then?”

Remus’ expression is helpless when he admits.

“It’s you, of course.”

-----

open tag!!!

#fic: trees etc #they're meant to be time travelling #they aren't very normal about each other I know #it's because of all the time travelling #which they're not doing #which is mildly annoying #for me #listen I might wake up and decide 'wth is all this'#but what's happened's happened or whatever it was that edward cullen said in tenet the movie

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