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iaeriy · 1 day

Text

noiseless • jude bellingham.

summary: remaining silent can be difficult, but can your boyfriend too? (based on this request!!)

word count: 1.3k!!!

warning: smut, cockwarming, unprotected sex, jude choosing video games over u sighs.

note: NOT PROOFREAD , i apologize if this was short. I couldn’t think as much of nothing and i just thought it’d be better like how it is 😞, if it seems rush or anything i apologize..again. anyways, hope y’all enjoy!💗

You don’t know how you ended up like this, but here you were. Legs wrapped around judes torso, butt naked as your juices were leaking and drenched onto judes dick. You currently had your face burried in his neck, attempting to hold in any noise. “Judeeee..” you whispered, he slapped your ass. “shut up..” he mouthed. you sighed silently, nibbling his neck. You rested your head on his shoulder, lips facing away now from his neck. Minutes ago, you were in the sofa begging for judes attention or something to do together, watch a movie and cuddle, take a nap together or possibly get something to eat.

30 minutes went by..you were gripping onto his arm. Every movement he did from getting upset, or a tiny thing that made him rage. He’d move up, precisely his dick would squelch and slight thrust up, it was difficult for you to stay quiet. You were clearly just wanting some type of affection, clearly that failed. Although some of it was mostly your idea, you thought of being needy and being touchy would make him stop playing video games and he’d ignore everything but you—jude wouldn’t even let you get off his lap, one little move and immediately a tight grip held onto your hip. Heaven, must’ve been for jude, it felt amazing to him having your walls squelching and pooling around his cock doing nothing.

You sighed, whimpering attempting not to move at all. jude looked at you, scoffing. “Who are you banging now..” his friend laughed, you were able to hear the voice call. You whimpered burrying your face into his neck, chewing on your bottom lip holding in your noises. Jude chuckled, squeezing your ass. You held back a moan, breathing shakily.

Well, This was not fair at all..

After an hour, sitting on judes cock. Juices soaking down to his shorts, nearly staining. He decided to end the voice call. He just couldn’t stand the teasing from his friends, especially the way they kept saying y/n this or y/n that or anything with your name. He couldn’t stand the way your noises were probably only visible to his friends and them only and not you. He just couldn’t stand it. Jude had looked down, bucking his hips up to your g-spot causing you to moan loudly. You covered your mouth, squelching around him again. You felt your cheeks warm up, “j-jude! y-your mic-“ you said, whining in between your moans, eyes rolling back. Finally after waiting something happens. Jude pulled his headset off, he smirked to himself at the mess he just made you, listening to your moans. “hung up on them baby.”

He looked at you, pulling your hair making you look at him. You moaned uncontrollably, he desperately yet hungrily kissed you deeply. You kissed back as he whimpers into your mouth, gripping onto your waist. “You’re fault for what happened.” He said, you kissed him shutting him up. He slipped his tongue in between, the two of you sloppily, desperately kissing. Your hands cupping his cheeks, “i-it i-isn’t..y-you made m-me wait f-for-ah!” You moaned louder, he held onto your ass thrusting deeper into you causing the chair to squeak louder than the two of you. “fuuuuck, that’s more like it.” He chuckled, nibbled your ear lobe as he moaned into your ear. You whimpered, moaning onto his lips. You threw your head back, jolting forward within every thrust.

He moaned feeling you everywhere, you leaned closer to him wrapping your arms around him. He smirked before getting up, his cock slipping out of you. Your mouth dropping and whining at the loss of contact, he carried you to the room, he threw you on the bed. He got rid of his shorts and shirt, you took your shirt off. He grabbed your legs pulling you closer, you giggled bitting your lip as he lowered his head down. Kissing and bitting onto your perky tits, your hands resting next to your head flat on the mattress. He towered himslef above you looking down at you, your legs next to his waist as he pushed himself in. Thrusting slowly, you held onto his bicep. He leaned down, kissing you again. The two of you whimpering into each others mouth.

He fondled with you boob, loosing his patience as he lifted your hips up. Your lower back in the air, he thrusted up into your g-spot again. You moaned loudly, eyes rolling back as your head fell forward making eye contact with jude, you bit your lip in between your moans. You gripped onto the sheets, skin smacking against your thighs. He moaned deeply, hand still gripped onto your waist as you jolted forward. He burried his face into your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin pounding into your g-spot. You had nothing left to say, nothing but judes name. You moaned out judes name over and over, again.

He moaned into your ear, your legs slightly expanding wanting to feel him in deeper. It drove him crazy for how you were right now, he gripped onto your ass as you whined. He looked at you, as you looked at him. You wrapped your arms around him, biting on your lip attempting to hold back your sounds. “babe, let them out, please..” he said, you whined, shaking your head. “That’s okay..maybe i’ll get it out of you.” He said, thrusting harder, causing you to moan louder. He smirked, caging your head with his hands. “Y-You..k-know..y-you’re..mmhngh..a-a..t-tease..r-right..” You cried out with every hard thrust, he chuckled at your stutter. “Wanna repeat that again?” He said chuckling, you whined, looking away he grabbed your chin making you look at him.

He kissed your forehead, thrusting harder into you. His cock brushing against your cervix, your eyes rolling back as he groaned feeling you tighten. You arched your back onto him, forehead resting on his shoulder. You moaned uncontrollably, holding onto his bicep. You clenched around him again, he groaned in your ear. His thrusts become sloppier, indicating he was close himself. He groaned, thrusting quicker into your g-spot. Your vision going white, “j-judeee!” You screamed out.

your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Leaving you gripping onto the sheets.

jude pulled out of you, stroking himself as spurts of his cum landed on your tummy. you breathed heavily looking down. your thighs trembling, jude picked up your cum with his fingers. You giggled looking at him, as you sat down on your knees. He held your chin, you licked his fingers, sucking every little droplet of his cum off. He smiled, kissing your forehead. You fell on the bed, trying to catch your breath and calm yourself down. You knew by tomorrow you’d be sore due to the slight roughness, jude looked down at you caressing your waist. “Did i hurt you?” He said, you turned your head to look at him, shaking your head. “n-no, it’s okay..” you said, he smiled.

You laid down against the pillows, he laid next to you. Fingers running up and down your leg. “sooo..you want to sleep with it in you..” he said, your eyes widened. “Jude!” You smacked his arm, he smiled. “I promise i won’t do anything..” he said, you looked at him.

“..That’s what you said the first time..” you said, he pulled your leg. You winced in pain, “i’m sorry..” he kissed your cheek, you smiled. He let your leg rest over his waist, you were slowly starting to fall asleep. He covered both of you with the blanket, you were already under the sheets. He slipped himself in again causing you to whimper from the over sensitivity, he kissed your forehead. You moved closer, resting your head on his chest. He kissed your forehead, as he played around with your hair.

#jude bellingham one shots #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham imagine #football imagine #football x reader #football smut #𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐬ꪆৎ𓏲 ๋࣭

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bruh-myguy-what · 2 days

Note

Can I request Crosshair with "sorry, that was my first kiss." "i could tell." "...." "i'm kidding!" I don't imagine any of the Batch have ever kissed someone before. 🤭

Jealous Much?

Pairing: Crosshair x Fem!Reader Warnings: Massive fluff, Crosshair being a cutie pie and not understanding his own emotions because he's silly, light cursing, nothing other than that really Word Count: 2.2K Summary: After running into a "Reg" in the halls of Kamino, Crosshair hears something he doesn't like and it bothers him. A/N: I really liked this prompt for Cross and I've actually not written anything for him yet, so this was fun! Thanks for request precious anon! I hope it was what you were looking for when you sent in the request!

Requests are currently closed until I finish the ones I have in my inbox!

Don't forget you can also support me on ko-fi! If you like my writing, you can always just give me a little tip to help me continue my work!

_______________________________________________________

"Mesh'la~" A clone trooper called after you with a smile, "Why don't you stop hanging out with those defective boys and come hang out with real men, huh? I know you miss me~" He teased, mirthfully, as he blew you a kiss.

While you found the trooper's antics amusing, evidently none of the other Batchers had. Crosshair hissed a snide "filthy reg" under his breath as he took your arm and positioned himself between you and the other man. Hunter rolled his eyes with an exhausted sigh, Echo shrugging when Tech looked between you and the other clone. "What precisely does he mean when he says 'I know you miss me'?"

You only chuckled and shook your head in reply but flinched a little when you met Crosshair's sharp eyes. "W-What?" Your voice was hushed as it passed through your lips, almost as if you were intimidated by him.

The sniper simply lifted a brow at you, the tattoo over his eye elongating. "You didn't answer Tech." He answered with his coiled voice, toothpick moving over his thin lips. Was he serious? Why did it even bother him? You knew very well he had more contempt for the regs than even the others did, but for him to care so much about why the other trooper mentioned you neglecting him was odd- even for Crosshair.

You shrugged unhurriedly, eyes wide, as if you'd been caught in a speeder's headlights. Glancing toward the others to see if they were as confused as you were, but instead noticed they were also staring at you- waiting for a response. Tech adjusted his goggles on his face while Hunter rested his weight onto one of his hips, arms crossing over his broad chest. Echo blinked at you, and Wrecker tilted his head curiously. "What, seriously?" Was all you could summon as you looked at them all in amazement. "Is it really that big of a deal to you guys?"

"Well," Tech began simply, glancing at Hunter, "yes."

"Seriously?!" You shot back, your voice filled with offense then huffing out loudly at their insanely meddlesome behavior.

"Seriously." Crosshair's whispery tone upset you and the glare you sent him scarcely made him shift. "So, are you going to keep us waiting...or?"

"For kriff sake..." You muttered as a hand ran across your face, bitterness lacing your breath. "Fine! I made out with him once while we were at 79s on shore leave, are you happy now?" Your answer stunned them and they once again shared of look amongst themselves. "Stars. Karking fools, not everything is your business." Breathing out an annoyed sigh, you forced past them and fled into your bunk room.

"It would seem we have upset her," Tech noted after a beat of silence, to which both Hunter and Echo gave him a disapproving glance. "What? I am not incorrect. I am merely stating a factual examination as I have observed the situation."

"Stow it, Tech." Echo growled with a fatigued voice, pushing past him as they all began striding back to their own shared bunk room. Crosshair, however, lingered; eyes still eyeing where you had disappeared further down the hall. Why was it bugging him so badly to know that you had kissed that reg? It felt like gnawing in his chest like a wild nexu was bitting him.

He loathed it.

Why wouldn't it go away?

"Cross?" Hunter's deep voice broke the taller clone out of his thoughts and he looked over at his brother who was standing in the doorway. "You coming?" He questioned, a raise to his brow as he scrutinized him.

Nodding, Crosshair joined the others in the room with a faint 'yeah' and flicked his toothpick aside.

The night went on without much more discourse about your "adventure" with the reg but Crosshair couldn't get the idea out of his head and he was increasingly becoming cranky. Far more cranky than usual. The trooper was practically seething at one point while taking apart his rifle for the fourth time, griping to himself and shoving the pieces together sharply. "Any harder and I think you'll bust it, Cross." Echo comments, stepping over to his bunk to lie down.

"Shut up." The sniper hissed grouchily, driving a piece together especially hard and pinching his finger. He cursed under his breath spitting out his toothpick and placing his finger in his mouth to numb the ache.

Hunter chuckled at the exchange, "Listen, if you're so bothered by her kissing that reg, why don't you go make up for lost time and stop making the air so sticky with your angst." The man lounged in his own bunk, twirling his vibroblade around nimbly.

Crosshair prickled at the remark and turned to look at Hunter with a dangerous glare. "What do you mean by that?" His voice was low and lethal as he spoke, daring his brother to repeat himself.

"I believe you heard him well enough, did you not?" Tech piped up from his workbench, accommodating his goggles to look over at Crosshair. "However, if you were not clear on his meaning, he was proposing that you go and kiss her to make your intentions apparent."

Crosshair's nasty glower slowly landed on his intelligent brother and narrowed even further, his brow now raising in challenge. "What in the galaxy are you idiots going on about?"

"Well, you want to kiss her, don't ya?" Wrecker chimed in with a careful voice, making sure he was following the conversation correctly. Echo suppressed a laugh at Crosshair's dumbfounded expression at his larger brother.

"Of course, he does, Wrecker," Tech replied in Crosshair's stead with a matter-of-fact tone, restarting his work on whatever gadget sat in front of him.

Crosshair growled, stood up from the crate he was sulking on and lurked out of the bunk room into the hallway. Gritting the toothpick between his teeth, he groused to himself again, brown eyes traveling in the direction of your door. Hunter's comments persisted in his mind about going to you and...

But Crosshair barely considered the thought and waved his hand in the air as if he could swat away the notion. There wasn't any way in all the galaxy he was going to show up at your door like some loser with a crush.

The tall sniper rolls his eyes and then blinks in shock as he finds himself in front of a door. Your door. "What the hell?" He murmured to himself in bewilderment, eyes narrowed as if the door could give him an explanation.

He stood there for a surprisingly long time, debating with himself mentally; attempting to figure out what to do. Knocking on the door would require him to follow through with something he could easily make a fool of himself with, or...he could turn away and continue to seeth in jealousy over you being with other men.

Jealousy?

Wait...

That had just struck Crosshair.

It was the first time the idea of him being jealous truly passed his thoughts, though it made sense...the sentiment lingering in his chest corresponding to the word flawlessly.

He was jealous.

Aggravatingly so.

He hated to admit it. The thought made him feel...vulnerable; as if you have power over him in some way. But if he considered it in more depth, you did. Secretly he had been admiring you for months, amazed at how you took his brazen nature in stride and followed thoroughly alongside his banter. It startled him, pleasantly, when you first quipped back at him so effortlessly- his brothers typically being the only ones able to handle their comebacks well enough to leave him in silence. However, within weeks with the group you had smoothly grinned at him and shot back as if his offensive mood hadn't phased you in the least. He'd found himself gravitating toward you after that, interested in why you were able to tolerate him so well, wondering if he could push you further or cross a line that would make you furious; to which he uncovered nothing. The only thing he'd encountered was your gentle nature, sparked by sass and a smirk that made his heart race.

A whooshing sound startled him back to the present and he was met with your face. "What the hell are you doing out here, Crosshair?" You asked with a bothered expression.

Apparently the decision had been made for him. He was fully aware that if he turned around now he'd never live it down and would seem like a coward. He'd also have to deal with hearing about you kissing other regs which irked him even more than the idea of his brothers teasing him for being a wuss. So he rested his weight on one of his hips and smirked at you, flicking his toothpick past you. "You seemed annoyed back there, sunshine." He chose to go the route of antagonizing you, his more preferred form of communication; especially when breaching a matter he felt out of his depths to manage.

You rolled your eyes, infuriated. "That's because you and your idiot brothers were being assholes. It's none of your business what I do in my free time."

"What if I want it to be?" Crosshair heard himself speak before he could stop it but he chose to remain steadfast in the face of your changing expression.

Your raised brow and slow hand gestures implored him to continue as if what he said was unfinished. "And so what if you did want that? I'm not your-" Then it hit you and a blush rushed over your cheeks.

The clone stood there and he could feel his hands trembling, uncharacteristically. He wasn't predisposed to anxiety, none of his brothers were, but now he felt as if his heart were going to leap out his chest and through his armor directly into your hands. Silence continued to linger between the two of you with only the narrowing of Crosshair's eyes as a reaction.

"You..."

"Don't flatter yourself too much." Crosshair interrupts with a roll of his eyes, trying to fight off the embarrassment that started to creep up his own cheeks.

A smile began to form on your face, much to his dismay. "Crosshair...are you saying you're...jealous of that reg?" You were testing your luck and you knew it, he was never this clumsy in conversation with you but you couldn't help yourself when you caught the reddening of his cheeks.

"Stow it or I'll walk away right now." He hissed hatefully and crossed his arms over his chest, making no effort to move. While Crosshair despised the feeling of floundering he felt in the moment, he also found it...exciting. He was caught desperate and nervous in the sight of someone he cared for and your smile was stunning.

You chuckled at his expression, his face turning away from you to look down the hall where he'd come from. "You are jealous!" The triumph on your face was simultaneously aggravating and charming to the sniper, his trained eye taking in every detail even from his side glance. "I can't believe you're jealous because I kissed some reg, what are you a school girl? Little Crosshair feeling jealous because I kissed someone el-"

Your taunting was cut off quickly by the taller man as he covered your mouth with his; your eyes blowing wide. It was inelegant, awkward, and hurried but filled with an unexpected sweetness. You could feel his hands shaking as they held your face gently, his eyes squeezed shut. Scarcely given the chance to kiss him back before he pulled away, you grumbled in disappointment.

Crosshair stepped back out of your personal space with a dark blush across his cheeks, avoiding your eyes as he cleared his throat. He'd never felt so overwhelmed by emotion in all of his life and for him to act upon them in such a physical way left him tense.

"Crosshair..." You whispered his name with a grin, blinking a few times to make sure you were still in reality, not one of your many dreams. He peeked up at you momentarily and you could tell he would rather be shot by a blaster bolt than acknowledge that he'd just kissed you but you disregarded the look and stepped back up to him. "I'm gonna have to teach you how to kiss properly if you're going to want to keep doing that, ya know?" You teased softly.

Crosshair still denied any eye contact with you, missing the sweet expression on your face. "Th-That was my first kiss, so I don't know what you expected." His voice came out hastily by the end and had a bite to it, but you only chuckled at his shy behavior and kissed his cheek.

"I could tell." You joked lightly, a wise grin on your face.

Crosshair whipped his head to look at you, his glare fierce at your comment; which is what you had anticipated. You smiled up at him warmly and his heart leapt at the sight. Turning away from your captivating expression quickly, you hug him, resting your head against his chest plate.

"Wait! I'm sorry! I was just kidding!" You laughed at his pouting, knowing that you'd never let him live down the shade of red his face had gotten; even if just between the two of you.

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trans-androgyne · 20 hours

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but what is WRONG about the statement “men and masculinity are privileged above women and femininity, so transmascs must be privileged above transfems”? that is sound logic, and it’s not disconnected from reality, because reality supports the idea that men and masculinity are privileged above women and femininity. even among trans people. that statement means “there is a particular scrutiny and struggle that women face that men do not”, not “men and masculine people aren’t ever oppressed and trans men don’t experience transphobia”. you seem to think that the issue is that not enough transfems/people are listening to what transmascs are saying about their own experiences, but when it comes to transfems talking about how their experiences with oppression are more severe, it’s perfectly ok for you to not listen to them?

Incorrect. The reality is that isn’t true for everyone, which is what we’ve been trying to demonstrate over and over. “Men and masculinity are privileged” when it’s cis men. Masculinity and identification with manhood is not encouraged above femininity for women or people believed to be women. Femininity for me would be gender conformity. Masculinity makes me transgender. And we are kicked in the teeth for it constantly, by both cis people and our own queer/trans community. All the worst stereotypes of both men and women are applied to us, as is true for trans women. If that supposedly common sense logic copy + pasted from narrow cisfeminist understandings were to be taken literally, transmascs would be privileged over cis women too gender-wise because masculinity is privileged over femininity, and we just Happen to experience transphobia with zero gendered oppression.

I am listening. I have been listening and agreeing and supporting for years and years and years. But other people speaking up made me realize my problems mattered too even if they didn’t fit into the narrative. And now this is my response. Now I want to be heard. I am telling you that my masculinity—my queer, my trans masculinity—is not fucking privileged above shit. I was nearly kicked out over it; I have been made to feel like I am ugly, worthless, and an inherently worse person for it; I am excluded from spaces I need resources from for it; I feel invisible in my community for it. Queer/trans masculinity gets you fucking harassed and assaulted — ask butches! Ask transmascs who don’t pass! Or the stealth ones who suddenly fail to, a nightmare situation for many of us. Look at the numbers for me — trans men and transmasc non-binary people have the highest rates of sexual assault of any gender category. It can and does happen to many due to being transmasc (including someone I know personally) even sometimes taking the route of corrective rape with the intention of “detransitioning” them. I feel less safe since I’ve started transitioning, not more. Before, I wondered if I was being stared at since I was pretty and had long hair. I would get catcalled. It felt gross. Now I wonder if I’m being stared at because I’m visibly queer. I still get catcalled. I feel less gross and more afraid.

We also experience things transfems and cis women don’t! “There is a particular scrutiny and struggle that trans men and mascs face that other people (typically) do not” that’s precisely what I have been trying to convey. And that’s exactly what our tag is full of. The belief that our oppression is “less severe” is mistaken, you just haven’t heard our voices enough. It is the result of our historical and compounding invisibility. We are speaking up and begging you to listen.

#transandrophobia #ask #mine #long post #intracommunity issues tag #resource #SA tw #rape tw

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varpusvaras · 2 days

Text

Fox knew what it was like to be tired.

He knew it like it was a physical thing he had carried around with him for years. He knew the weight of it, the way it would drag him down, threatening to pull him through the floor and the ground and through the core of the planet, until he would fall into the endless void of space. During the worst of it, Fox would wonder it that was the only way he was ever going to feel weightless again.

The few hours of sleep he would get during the nights would only make him be able to carry the weight a little easier for the time being, but not make it any lighter. It was something more at that point, Fox had realised, something that would not be cured with just simply closing his eyes for a moment.

So, when Thorn asked him, the moment before Fox stepped onto the ship that would take him away from Coruscant permanently, what was the first thing Fox would do when he got to Alderaan, Fox had an answer ready.

"Sleep", he said. "I'm going to get into a real bed and sleep."

He truly meant it. He also meant it when he told Bail the same, and he meant it when he told it to Breha too.

They all agreed that it was a good idea.

"We're going to take care of everything", Breha promised him.

"You can just rest now", Bail said, and tucked Fox a little closer to him. "Just sleep."

The bed was comfortable, Bail and Breha were warm and safe next to him, and Fox was so, so tired.

He didn't need to be told twice. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

---

Fox opened his eyes.

It was still dark in the bedroom. He was still tucked securely against Bail, with Breha pressed close against his other side. They were both still sleeping.

Fox was fully awake.

He craned his neck a little to see the chrono on Breha's nightstand. 4.15. Precisely the time Fox had woken up every single morning during the war.

Fox turned to look at the ceiling. He counted to ten. The time was still 4.15.

He closed his eyes and tried to match his breathing first to Bail's, then to Breha's, but in vain. He was awake.

Fox opened his eyes and looked at the time. 4.23.

He laid there, looking at the chrono as the minutes slowly ticked by. By 4.30, there was a feeling creeping in. Fox knew it very well. It was the same feeling he had felt every single time he had been stuck in the medbay for any longer period of the time, while he acutely knew that he had work waiting for him.

Restlessness.

By 4.45, he was starting to feel almost anxious. The bed was comfortable and warm, and Bail and Breha were still sleeping, and Fox didn't want to get up, but he wasn't so sure if he could stay in the bed for much longer either.

4.50. 4.55. 4.58. 4.59.

5.00.

Very slowly and very carefully, Fox slid out of Bail's hold and away from Breha, and after making sure that they were still sleeping, he quietly made it out of the bed, grabbed Bail's robe and put it on himself, and then sneaked out of the bedroom.

He didn't do much. He just walked around for a bit in their living room, getting the anxiousness out of his body and his legs to stop tingling, and then he sit down on their couch and looked out of the window. The sun was rising at that point, making the sky pale where it touched down on the mountaintops.

Bail's robe was soft and warm and smelled faintly of Bail's cologne. Fox got a datapad, selected a random video of how to make a some sort of buttercheese pastry, and he buried himself deeper into the robe and watched it. Then he watched through whatever videos the site was suggesting for him, until the sky was painted warm, and he could hear an alarm go off in the bedroom.

It took another few minutes until Breha appeared next to him.

"Oh", she said, and turned to look over her shoulder. "I found your robe, dear!"

Then she sat next to Fox and put her arm around him.

"Have you been awake for long?" She asked. There was no accusation in her voice, and Fox felt a sting of guilt for expecting it to be there.

"For a while", Fox answered. He looked at the time on the datapad. 6.56. "I...couldn't sleep."

He felt somehow like he had failed at something when he said it. Breha only nodded slowly, before she sighed softly, and put her head on Fox's shoulder.

"Did you sleep well?" She asked.

To that, Fox thankfully had a better answer.

"I did", he said. He really had. It had probably been the best sleep of his entire life.

"That's good", Breha said, and lifted her head enough to kiss him on the cheek. "Now, there's going to be caf in just a moment. The usual for you? Black, with a lot of sugar?"

Fox really should be cutting back the sweeteners in his caf, he knew that. But maybe, just this once.

"Exactly that", he answered, just as Bail also made his way into the living room.

"We need to get you your own", he said, looking at Fox. Then he paused for a moment, before adding, "not that you don't look cute in that."

Fox stuck out his tongue at him. Bail only laughed.

---

Fox went to sleep that night, tired and ready to sleep for the next week.

He woke up at 4.15.

He waited until 4.45, and then slid out of the bed.

---

Fox went to sleep, tired and ready to sleep for the next week.

He woke up at 4.15.

He laid there for ten more minutes, before he slid out of the bed.

---

Fox went to sleep, tired and ready to sleep for the next week.

He woke up at 4.15.

He was fully awake, but he felt so heavy. He wanted to just keep laying there, in the warm bed, in the warm and safe embrace he was yet again lovingly wrapped in.

But no. His body soon begun to tell him that he needed to get up, right now, or he was going to have to tear his own skin off.

Fox slid out of the bed, made it to the living room, and collapsed onto the couch.

He was so tired. He wanted to sleep.

Breha and Bail definitely looked concerned when they saw him there that morning.

"Do you want to go see the doctors?" Breha asked him carefully.

"I don't know", Fox told her. He shouldn't have to. He was tired. He wanted to sleep.

---

Fox went to sleep, tired and ready to sleep for the next week.

He woke up at 4.15.

He was fully awake. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep.

Fox forced his eyes shut. He laid there as long as he could, before he had to get up.

He wasn't so careful with it that time, and Bail opened his eyes as he was halfway out.

"Fox?" He asked, groggily, lifting his head. "Where are you going?"

Fox crumpled the sheets in his fists.

"I can't sleep", he choked out, and then fled the bedroom.

Bail followed him a couple of minutes later, and quietly and gently gathered Fox in his arms, and sat with him on the couch, watching a random video after random video, until Breha's alarm went off.

Breha asked Fox about the doctors again. Fox still didn't have an answer for her.

He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep.

What else should he have needed?

---

Fox went to sleep, tired and ready to sleep for the next week.

He woke up at 4.15.

Fox couldn't stop the frustrated and desperate sob from escaping from his mouth before it was too late. Both Bail and Breha were awakened by it, and by the time they had realised what was going on, Fox was already full-on crying.

"I just want to sleep!" Fox wailed, biting his teeth together so hard that it hurt his jaw. "I just want to sleep!"

He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to keep them shut, but of course, it didn't work.

He was fully awake.

He was so tired. He wanted to sleep.

Breha made the decision for Fox then and there.

"I'm taking you to the doctors", she said, leaving no room for any arguments, not that Fox had any left anyway.

---

The doctor said that Fox's body was still in the so-called "stress mode". It had not yet realised that it was out of the danger, out of the stressful environment it had been forced to operate in for so long.

It was going to take time, apparently, for it to snap out of it. In the meanwhile, Fox got a prescription for something that was supposed to help him sleep.

The doctor gave the medicine to Breha and told her the dosage. Fox thought that it was for the best as well.

---

Fox took his medicine, went to sleep, tired and ready to sleep for the next week.

He was awakened by the alarm. He watched as Breha and Bail got up.

"Do you want to stay in bed for a bit longer?" Bail asked him softly.

Fox nodded. He had slept, but he didn't feel like it at all.

Bail brushed his hair gently back from his face. Breha kissed him just as gently on the forehead before they headed out.

He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep.

Fox cried himself silently back to the sleep that didn't feel like sleep at all.

---

Fox kept his head up, even though it weighed a ton, and he wanted nothing more than to just let it drop down, down, down.

He knew what being tired felt like. It was all that he had ever known, after all.

He blinked. People around him had moved. Oh, right. They were going to have dinner with Bail's family. Fox liked them a lot. He hoped that they liked him as well.

He blinked again. Tia was saying something to him. Fox liked Tia. She was like a smaller Bail, without a beard and a lot more hair.

Fox turned to look at her. She was shorter than him, just a bit. Not a lot, but he still needed to look down if he wanted to look her in the eyes.

He looked down, down, down, past her eyes, past her, down, down, down.

He was so tired.

He just wanted to sleep.

---

Breha bit on her thumbnail.

"Stop that", Bail said, and grabbed her wrist. "You're making it bleed."

Breha would've almost preferred that, if she was being completely honest.

"I know, I just-" She had to pause to gather her thoughts. "I just feel so awful. How did I not notice that it was not working?"

"He was sleeping more", Bail said. He ran his thumb soothingly up and down her wrist. "We knew that he was tired. It doesn't get better in a few days. I didn't notice either."

Breha appreciated him trying to make it sound better, even if it was not working.

Veda opened the door then, and motioned them in.

"Bad news? He's exhausted, and has a little bump and a bruise on his head", she started, scrolling through the diagnosis on her datapad. "Good news? He's sleeping now, and the bump and the bruise will fade in a few days."

Bail squeezed Breha's shoulder.

"What should we do?" He asked.

"Let him sleep", Veda answered. "His body has finally said enough. Make sure that he eats and keeps himself hydrated. I will come and check on him as often as you want."

Breha let herself breathe a little deeper.

"Thank you", she said. Veda smiled a bit.

"It's not the first time I've seen this", she said. "It took a while for Index and the boys to start getting actual rest. They kept waking up in the middle of the night, fully awake and feeling like they needed to get to work. They're better now. Fox will also get better, I promise."

Breha was going to hold onto that promise.

Fox looked very small by himself on the bed, with the blanked wrapped all around him. He didn't wake up when Breha slid onto the bed next to him and wrapped her arms around him as well.

---

Fox slept through the rest of the day like a stone, barely moving at all. Breha kept telling herself that it was alright, that he was finally resting.

Fox did finally move, when they both went to sleep as well. He shifted a little when Breha rested her head over his chest and Bail wrapped his arm around his middle. He made a small sound, and then sagged back against the pillows with a deep sigh.

His heartbeat was strong against Breha's ear. She fell asleep listening to its steady drumming.

---

Fox woke up the next day just before noon. He went to the bathroom, ate a bowl of light soup their chef had made for him, drank a glass of water Bail gave him, mumbled I love you to them, and went back to bed.

He was out again the moment his head hit the pillow.

Bail draped the blanket over him.

"At least he is sleeping", he said. "I'll do my work from here today."

Breha nodded.

"Update me if anything happens", she made him promise.

---

Bail sent her the first picture ten minutes into the first hearing of the day.

Breha quickly glanced at it in between the speakers.

Fox had grabbed onto the rest of the pillows as well, and stuffed them halfway inside his blanket.

He has made his claim read the message accompanying the picture.

The picture made something unwind further in her chest.

It would be okay, she told herself.

---

"Did you sleep well?" Breha asked, twirling Fox's hair around her finger.

"Mm-mmh", Fox hummed, already mostly asleep again. Breha peppered light kisses on his cheeks and nose before he was fully under again.

---

The Cocoon has moved, Bail messaged her at the end of the weeks Council meeting. In the attached picture, Fox had apparently rolled over to the other side of the bed from where Breha had left him that morning. His hair was sticking up a bit, and he had a small pout on his face as he slept.

He was so very adorable. Breha saved the image for herself.

---

Fox slept through the last two days of the week as well, with barely stirring for longer than a few minutes at a time.

Zhellday morning he blinked awake around ten, properly hungry for the first time in a while, and ate a good breakfast and a light lunch soon on top of it. He went back to bed after, but didn't fall back asleep right away.

"How are you feeling?" Bail asked him.

Fox blinked at couple of times, his nose scrunching up in thought.

"Tired", he said. "Better. But sweaty."

Bail laughed.

"You've been toasting inside the blankets for a while", he said. "I'll draw you a bath."

Fox smiled back at him, a little wobbly.

"Thank you", he said, and then promptly fell back asleep.

Bail shook his head, and went to the bathroom to warm up the bathtub.

---

"Have I ever told you about the time I decided to run away from home?" Bail asked.

"No?" Fox turned to look at him, after blinking slowly first. He was shoulders in to the water, with the foaming soap already stuck to one side of his face.

"I was around ten", Bail started, rolling his sleeves up more and putting his hands into the water to scoop it up. He poured the water over Fox's head a few times over, before getting the shampoo. "Back then I really didn't want to grow up to be a Nobleman."

He poured the shampoo to his hands and rubbed them together slightly, before starting to work it into Fox's hair.

"I do remember that", Fox mumbled. He tilted his head forward a bit to give Bail better access. "You wanted to go adventuring around the Galaxy."

"I did", Bail nodded. "It was really getting to me, at that point. I would spend all the time I could outside, living inside my games, predenting I was far, far away from Kathou, from Alderaan altogether. I thought this place was boring back then."

He still remembered it clearly, although not too vividly. Too much had changed during the years between that and the current moment. Now, Bail didn't know anything better than Alderaan.

He got the shampoo in, and got more water to rinse it out. They had gotten a good conditioner as well, one that promised that it was made to keep curly hair like Fox's soft and moisturised. The soaps the GAR had used had definitely not been made with the clone's hair in mind.

"I was awake one night, later than I should've been", Bail continued, as he started to gently massage the conditioner to Fox's hair. "I was thinking of sneaking into the library and getting one of the books to read, when I heard my parents talk. They were debating over sending me to a school to learn some discipline and responsibility. I feel a bit funny over how much that thought upset me then. I was definitely a bit spoiled."

He felt especially silly about it now, sitting next to the bathtub in the Royal Palace, while washing his husband's hair for him. His husband, who had known nothing else than training and pain and duty his entire life before now, and was tired to the bone because of it.

Bail's parents had not even been the ones who had come up with the idea of sending him to a boarding school for a year or two. It had been his grandfather, and his parents had been very much against the idea, believing that Bail would grow out of it when he was older, if he just felt supported enough. They had been very right, of course. Not that Bail had stayed to listen to them for long enough to figure that out-

Fox slid deeper into the water. His eyes had closed while Bail had concentrated on getting the conditioner in.

His mouth was partially under the water now. Bail put his hand under his chin and lifted it up.

"Fox", he called. Fox startled a bit, and sent the water splashing as he scrambled to sit back up, his eyes open and wide.

"I'm awake", he said, shivering as his wet skin hit the air. "I'm awake. Sorry, what did you just say?"

There was a single curl plastered over Fox's forehead and the bridge of his nose. Bail stiffled a laugh.

"I was saying, that I think you have been in there for long enough", he said. "Let me just rinse this off."

Fox's eyes were drooping again by the time Bail had gotten a towel for him. Bail dried his hair and wrapped the towel around him, and then led him back to the bedroom.

Sometimes Bail didn't like his height and size, but sometimes being the tallest person in most rooms came in handy. His shirts were all too big for Fox, and thus easy to slip on him without too much of a fuss.

Fox's eyes were barely open as Bail got him back to bed.

"Have good dreams, my love", he said, pressing a kiss on Fox's forehead. Fox hummed, content, and just a few seconds later, he was already asleep.

Bail got his datapad and laid down next to him, opening his inbox. Fox shifted, and nuzzled in closer to Bail's side.

Bail threw his arm behind him and slipped his fingers into Fox's still slightly damp hair, and Fox settled back down with another soft, content noise.

---

Breha got back from her audiences a couple of hours later.

She opened her hair from the braid and tied it back up to a simple updo, changed out her dress to simple shirt and soft pants and laid down on the other side of Fox.

"I see that you managed to keep him from drowning in the bath", she said, leaning her head lightly on Fox's chest. Fox turned his head slightly to her direction, breathing in a little deeper.

"Had a couple of close calls", Bail laughed, and put his datapad away. "Do you want to watch something?"

"They have the new episode of House Brighterdon up", Breha said, grinning as Bail groaned. "Don't try that, I know you're just as invested as we are."

"Are you sure it's alright to watch it without Fox?" Bail asked. He was already reaching for the screen controls.

"What makes you think that Fox and I haven't already watched it?" Breha asked. "The episode was released a couple of weeks ago already, the next one is coming next week. I'm not watching that one without Fox, don't you worry."

"If you have already watched this, why are you making me watch it?" Bail asked. He was typing the name of the show in as he spoke.

"Because, like I just said, I know you're just as invested as we are. I'm just making sure that you are caught up as well, you stubborn little bantha."

Bail rolled his eyes and pressed start.

---

Fox opened his eyes.

It was still dark in the bedroom. He was still tucked securely against Bail, with Breha pressed close against his other side. They were both still sleeping.

He blinked slowly, and then lifted his head to look at the chrono on Breha's nightstand. 4.14

Fox watched as the time ticked over to 4.15.

Then he put his head back down, burrowed a little deeper under his blanket, and closed his eyes, drifting back to easy sleep.

---

Fox knew what it was like to be tired.

He knew it like it was a physical thing he had carried around with him for years. Whatever sleep he had gotten before had only made him be able to carry the weight a bit easier for a little while, but not make it weigh any less.

Fox woke up to the ringing of the alarm and the first rays of proper sunlight softly shining through the blinds.

He moved his arms and legs, hoisting himself up, and rubbed his eyes.

As he sat there, in the middle of his bed, in his bedroom, with his wife and husband waking up next to him, for the first time in his life, Fox felt lighter.

Bail leaned to press a quick kiss to the corner of Fox's mouth.

"Good morning", he said, his voice still a bit rough from the sleep. "Did you sleep well?"

Fox breathed in.

"Yes", he said.

#me: I'm going to write a little snippet of fox being eepy :)#me over two hours later: help-#anyway I was having a bout of insomnia and just thought of fox being so so tired after serving on coruscant #but not being able to relax in order to sleep properly once he's out and how awful that would feel #but both fox and me got the sleep eventually! good for us!#sw #tcw #Star Writing #my writing #ficlets #Commander Fox #Bail Organa #Breha Organa #No Order 66 AU #bail/breha/fox

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notmyneighbor · 17 hours

Text

r&d | yog sothoth x female reader

words | 2.8k

tnmn nightmare mode, human experimentation, science fiction, human/vampire relationship, evil dr. w. afton, eventual explicit content, none in this chapter

ao3 link

When you first hear about the new program being offered by your employer, you’re more than a little hesitant.

It’s marketed as a way to help door guardians like yourself decompress after the rigors of screening so many doppelgangers, but you’re wary of the attached disclaimer that your sessions will be monitored and recorded ‘to further aid future candidates.’ It all feels a little too intrusive and boundary crossing for your liking, so it’s a fast decline from you—until you’re offered the extra incentive of a bonus check to sweeten the deal. Money talks, and the promised amount is practically screaming your name. In the end, you volunteer to be one of the pioneers in the study.

That’s how you find yourself in a room that looks more like a doctor’s office than the therapist’s cozy space you’d been expecting, the comfortable couch you’d imagined replaced with a chair that bears a resemblance to a dentist’s contraption more than anything else. Those misgivings and doubts are kicking in again, but then your mind argues back that there’s a good chunk of funds waiting for you at the end of this, so surely it’s not too much of a hardship to bear.

You’re more than a little surprised to see a familiar face after the receptionist guides you to the chair and leaves you to your fate. It’s one of the residents of the building you guard. That engaged physicist that lives on the third floor, W. Afton. You’ve always thought it odd that his first name isn’t revealed on any of his identification paperwork—everything on file only had his first initial listed.

He enters the room briskly, carrying a clipboard and a black case. He closes the door and sets the latter item down on the counter, then settles onto the wheeled stool nearby. You suddenly have the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that this is more of a medical program than a psychiatric one.

You lean forward, your bare arms sticking unpleasantly to the vinyl cushioning beneath you. “Dr. Afton? I think there’s been some misunderstanding. I’m going to just—”

He waves a hand in the air to interrupt you, scrawling something on the clipboard resting on his thighs before his head lifts. The way the fluorescent lighting touches his glasses temporarily obscures his eyes from sight. “Nonsense. You’ve agreed to participate. This is where you’re meant to be.”

“Um, with all due respect, I was led to believe this was a psychiatric program? Aren’t you a physicist?”

“My expertise lies in research, and that’s precisely what you’ve agreed to help the DDD with. You might as well sit back and get comfortable. I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and I want you to answer them to the best of your ability. The truth, mind you; not what you think you should say or what you think I want to hear.”

You shift in your seat, glancing at the closed door and licking your lips nervously. “Are we being monitored? The literature said we would be.”

He lifts a finger and points to the corner of two intersecting walls and you realize there is a camera there. “Visual only, no audio. As promised, this is being kept confidential to assure accuracy and no bias. You can confide in me with confidence.” His lips twitch in an almost smile. His eyeglasses slide down the bridge of his nose slightly and you see slate gray eyes regarding you, until he shoves them back into place and rakes back a tendril of dark hair that’s fallen across his forehead.

“Um…” Something about this is definitely off. A lot of somethings. “Would you mind showing me your documents first, so I can verify it’s really you?”

“Of course it’s really me. How else do you think I got inside this facility? This isn’t one of those wretched downtown apartments,” he says. You’re living in one of those so called wretched downtown apartments, you want to retort, but you bite your tongue. “Still, I suppose that’s what you’re accustomed to. A lingering sort of paranoia about verifying human identity,” he mumbles to himself, writing on the paper in his lap again. “Fine. I’ll humor you, just this once. Just to make you feel a little more comfortable.” He sets the pen and clipboard down and walks to your seat, digging in his pants pocket for a leather billfold. The doctor extracts his identification card and hands it to you. “I trust I don’t need to submit an entry request as well?”

You’d never spoken much to the man, in your tenure as doorman, and you’re beginning to see why. He’s unfriendly and borderline rude. You can feel the impatience and irritation wafting from him. What did Mia, the schoolteacher he is engaged to, see in him? She’s so cheerful and kind. Opposites attract, maybe.

“It looks okay,” you mumble, handing the card back to Afton. He tucks it inside his wallet and the accessory vanishes back into his pocket. “I trust you’re satisfied? Or is there some other protocol you feel you need to follow?”

“No, you’re fine.” You feel your cheeks flushing at his condescending demeanor.

“As I’ve said already.” The soles of his polished dress shoes click loudly on the linoleum as he returns to his seat, retrieving the clipboard and writing utensil again. “Now then, shall we begin? We’re wasting valuable company time.”

“Yes.”

“Good. First question. Have you ever mistakenly misidentified a doppelganger? Or a human?”

“No to both.” It was true. Your track record, thus far, has been impeccable.

A grunt and another mark on the paper. “Have any of the doppelgangers ever threatened violence?”

“A few. Mainly once they’ve been called out.”

“Did any of them ever try to bribe you to gain entry?”

“No. I did have one promise to fully reveal himself if I let him in, and he also stated I must not like my neighbors that much, so it wouldn’t matter if I let him in anyway.”

Afton pauses, his pen freezing mid stroke. “How do you think he arrived at that conclusion? That you did not care for your neighbors? Did you have much discourse with him prior to this?”

“No. No more than the usual standard greeting. He remembered to show his card and his entry request, and they were a perfect forgery, but he wasn’t on the day’s list of expected entrants.”

“Is that when the doppel revealed himself?”

“Yes.”

“Were you frightened?”

“Of course. But the barrier is there as soon as I sound the alarm. And the DDD cleaners always come right away.”

Some more writing follows this. Afton presses on the metal at the top of the board to release the pages and turns the top one over, releasing the spring and snapping the holder back into place. “Do you ever have trouble sleeping at night?”

You shrug. “Sometimes.”

“Do you find yourself thinking about your job, even when you are off duty?”

“I guess so.”

The physicist’s lips press in a thin line. “Keep your responses to definitive yes or no answers, please.” He jerks on the tail end of his necktie to straighten it. It is a deep shade of eggplant today.

“Yes,” you say, knowing your tone is definitely a little sharp, but you’re unable to help it. You’ve been on edge ever since the man walked into the room.

“What sorts of things do you think about?”

“Wondering if I made all the right decisions. What the next day will bring. What would happen if the doppels got better at disguising themselves and blending in. Where they come from in the first place.”

Afton taps the end of the pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Do you think that will happen? That they’ll eventually be successful? That you’ll make the wrong decision?”

“I hope not. But yes, it’s a concern of mine.”

“A fear, too, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose so.” He glares at you. “Yes,” you clarify, gritting your teeth.

“I see.” He writes briefly and then sets the items back on the counter, this time reaching for the black case as he rises. His back blocks the contents from view.

“So now what happens?”

“You’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain, so now it’s time we fulfilled ours. Providing an outlet for these pent up fears of yours.”

“Which means?”

Lightning fast, Afton slips something into his lab coat pocket. He turns to face you, and the smile he has is nothing short of sinister, a kind of rictus, as if he is one of the doppels, trying the motion out without understanding its purpose.

“You’re finally going to get caught up on some of that sleep you’ve been missing. You know, because you’ve been so worried about the doppelgangers.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Now, now. None of that. It’s too late to change your answers. It’s all been documented.” Almost casually he reaches out to rest a hand on the arm of your chair and you hear a clicking sound. In the blink of an eye twin metal bands snap over your wrists.

“What the fuck?!” You struggle against the restraints, your heels flailing and digging in uselessly as your squirm, trying to escape. “Let me go!”

“You agreed to this, remember?”

“To be restrained? No way. Get me out of this thing right now.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that just yet. One more step to go.” His voice is so calm, so placid. He’s making it sound as if this is the most normal thing in the world. His hand disappears into his coat pocket and you finally see what he’d hidden there earlier: a syringe with some eerie glowing fluid. “You’re going to want to hold still for this. It would be so unfortunate if I missed and had to puncture your skin more than once.” He does not look the least bit remorseful. Instead, there is a look of almost glee on his normally solemn features. Excitement. He’s enjoying this.

“You can’t inject me with that! I don’t consent! Help!”

“You’re wasting your breath. Sound proof room. Confidential, remember? As I told you earlier. And you did consent. We have your signature on file. A legally binding contract.” His fingers curl around your elbow, turning the joint slightly so he has access to the larger vein in the hollow of your upper extremity,

“This can’t possibly be legal. You’re not a medical doctor! You don’t even know how to give an injection!

”Do you think the doppels are the only ones who know how to forge an ID?” His voice is a low, sultry rasp. Gloating, now.

You gape at him. “What the…who are you?”

“The name is real enough. I suppose we’re better acquainted now, so you can learn my first name. Not that you’ll remember any of this later. It’s William.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s what I do. My job. Seeing this through. Experimenting. Research. Enough chatter.” You feel the tip of the needle laid against your skin and you instantly freeze, holding your breath.

“Please, stop, William,” you implore gently, hoping this approach might prove more effective than yelling and struggling, knowing all the same it’s a futile attempt.

Afton’s gray eyes meet yours. “Sweet dreams. See you when you get back.” Pain. Heat inside your arm, then liquid ice.

Darkness.

***

The first thing you smell is brimstone.

You’re not even sure how you recognize that scent. Your eyes open and you find yourself in the security booth you work in every day.

But it’s different.

Four eyes, one at each corner of the window, stare back at you, following your hand movements. The walls are spattered with blood. The papers and files are crumpled and stained. There’s an ominous looking fluid dripping from the air vent. The handle of the phone looks like it’s coated in some unpleasant substance. There are holes in the plaster and some of the wiring for the door panel control is exposed, the ends fraying. You shudder and the eyes follow this motion too, ever attentive.

A tapping sound draws your attention back to the window.

You have a prospective entrant outside the glass, their hand resting on that clear panel, which has several spidery cracks, you notice with a growing sense of alarm. There are claws clicking on that smudged surface that needed to be wiped down with ammonia desperately, the owner bearing a strong resemblance to the man you know as Francis Mosses.

Alike in some ways, such as the general build and facial structure, but different, too. These eyes are golden and red rimmed. He has pierced ears, silver spikes driven into each. A gold nose ring. A choker with spikes to match the earrings, with a padlock dangling from his throat. Whereas the milkman always wears a white uniform, this figure is clad in a black dress shirt with some suspicious stains on his left chest. There are also a pair of fangs poking from the barrier of his lips, and your first immediate thought is that this pale figure is a vampire.

Ludicrous, right? But then again, is it any more wild than the eyes that are watching you from the window frame, the obviously trippy effects of whatever junk Afton has injected you with taking hold, making you have this strange nightmare?

The figure slides an ID card and entry request into the slot and you want to laugh at that mundane formality. As if you’re going to let a bloodsucker in. Yes, see, it says it right there on his paperwork. He went out to suck blood. Vampire.

“You’re new, human.”

Your eyes flick up to the creature’s face. “Have there been many others here?”

“A few.” He nods towards the room you’re standing inside. “You gonna hit the buzzer and let me in?”

“I…” You glance down at his name. Yog Sothoth. He lives in a different apartment than Francis. A different floor entirely, if these documents are accurate. “This is just a bad dream. It has to be. None of this is real.”

“It’s real. That DDD from your world found a way to create a portal here. Drugged you and sent you through it, just like the others.”

You frown. “It says here astral plane? What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it says on the label. You’re in an alternate realm that can only be reached through spiritual transcendence. In short, your mind is here, your body elsewhere. At least, I think that’s how it works.”

“This is crazy.” You pause. “What happened to the others? The humans who got here before me?”

“I couldn’t tell you. They disappear fairly quickly. Not sure who’s responsible. It wasn’t me,” he adds quickly. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I just take a little at a time. And I don’t discriminate. Blood is blood, though I must say your species is a lot cleaner than some of the other riffraff around here.”

“If it’s only your mind that’s here, why do you need to feed at all?”

“Mmm, doesn’t work that way. Me and the other residents, we are actually, physically here. It’s just you humans that are straddling both worlds.”

“I do have a physical form here, though. I can interact with things.” You lift up Yog’s entry request to demonstrate. “This makes no sense.”

The vampire shrugs. “I don’t make the rules, I just exist by them. So, am I good to come in?”

“There are really doppels here, too?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“How do I get back home?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Maybe the DDD will bring you back when the experiment or whatever the hell they’re doing is over? The other humans I spoke with seemed as in the dark about it as you are.”

“The DDD,” you murmur darkly. You’ve been proud to work for them. Glad to be able to help your fellow neighbors. Now, though? You hardly know what to think.

“Not sure which is worse, to be honest.”

You grunt in agreement. Afton had said something about seeing you when you got back, so you have to believe that there will actually be a return trip. There didn’t seem to be much purpose behind just sending you along one way and then not gaining any knowledge from that venture. He’d also mentioned you wouldn't remember what had happened in the office with him, which also makes you wonder: are you doomed to just keep repeating this experiment? Unwittingly participating because you’ll have no recollection of the DDD’s seeming betrayal? What was the point of any of this? You slide Yog’s things back to him, forcing yourself to focus on the creature standing across from you. “You’re chattier than Francis.”

“Francis?”

“The human that looks like you in my world. You seem like you’re a good person like he is. Maybe that’s the same in every universe.” You push the button to release the lock on the door. “I guess I might as well let you in.”

The bloodsucker hesitates. “I hope you make it back home safely. If I don’t see you tomorrow, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

You lock the door behind him.

#yog sothoth #thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #that’s not my neighbor #dr w afton #tnmn fanfic #tnmn nightmare mode #yog sothoth x reader

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eastwindmlk · 3 days

Text

A @jilymicrofics for the prompt Retire, Jan 14th

Word count: 838

It was strange, after more than half a century, to be cleaning up her office for the final time. To carefully wrap her trusty tea set in yesterday’s Prophet, sift through the boxes of paperwork in search of what to archive, what to keep and what to finally bin.

As she sorted through an assortment of old assignments and Christmas cards from a bygone age, Minerva finds herself reminiscing. Once familiar faces and voices curled from the depths of her mind, a fond smile on her face.

The corners of her lips trembled like her aged hands when her fingers brushed along a script that gave her pause. Because even after all these years, all these hundreds of students, she could still tell whose penmanship this was.

The large letters crammed onto the parchment, like he knew he was going to run out of space for his sweeping t’s and large loops. The words slanting upwards as if wanting to escape from the paper.

She did not doubt that, at the time, that was precisely what he’d had on his mind, while stuck doing a detention assignment for her. It was supposed to be an essay, but in true James Potter fashion, he’d ignored the explicit instruction and instead composed a letter.

Dearest Minerva,

As we sit across from each other in your office, a pot of lapsang souchong between us, I am aware you are pretending to be cross with me. For the sake of posterity, I will pretend with you. Though we both know that they deserved every miserable second.

In the future, however, I will strive for a more creative solution. Even if I think turning their belts into snakes was quite a nifty piece of transfiguration. I will let you be the judge of that. Being the expert and all that.

Speaking of the future, I am supposed to write an essay about where I see myself next year. Which I could have answered effortlessly a fortnight ago. But things changed. Every paper is full of it now. And I refuse to sit idle just because I happened to have been born into a family that fits into their narrow view of our world.

One year from now, I will be as restless as ever. Using the privilege that comes with my name to help those who cannot help themselves. However, unlike before, I will not humour myself with the delusion that this can be achieved by mere words.

I will gladly put my wand with my conviction and face whatever is in store beyond the safety of these walls. Together with my friends, we will make a difference.

My friends and I are talking about getting a place together, somewhere nice and lively. We were hoping to travel, see some of the world. Those plans are on hold, at least for now. Though none of us will say it aloud, we hope that the four of us will be around for it.

So, we spend evenings talking about this trip, imagining places to go and things to do in the hopes that the four of us will get to go.

Hopefully, I will be dating Lily Evans. (Please don’t tell her I said that.) I think she is finally coming round to me. She no longer glares in my direction, though I can still feel her eyes on me sometimes.

Maybe I am crazy, but I can tell it is her just from the way it feels. Her watching me is special somehow. Often I itch to turn to her, to catch her looking. To catch a glimpse of her smile or her fluster. Just the fraction of a moment where I can believe she might actually feel the same way.

Or maybe not the same way. I would not wish this complete and utter agony on her. If she does come to fall for me, I hope she falls softer. I hope that I am not too blind to see and catch her before the rough landing.

That is only if I will ever be lucky enough to be enough for her. To have grown into a person, she can depend on rather than the childish prick (I am so sorry, did not mean to curse.) I used to be.

I am afraid I am running out of space. I could fill several more rolls of parchment (Which is not me asking for more) with hopes and wishes for the year ahead. Some more achievable (Pass my N.E.W.T. s) and some more hopeful (Snog Lily Evans. Again, please don’t tell her I wrote any of this.)

Your favourite student,

James Potter

Her fingers crumpled the paper where she gripped it tight, a lump rising in her throat. Her eyes scanned the content of the letter once more before pressing it briefly to her heart before placing it atop her pile of keepsakes.

Minerva pushed herself to her feet, in dire need of a break and craving a cup of lapsang souchong.

#jily fic #jple #jily #james potter #lily evans #minerva mcgonagall #jily microfic #marauders fanfiction

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flowers-of-io · 2 days

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Tithe (to) me baby one more time

This post is my personal attempt to understand Season of the Witch, and potentially defend my hypothesis that at its core it doesn't make sense. I may yet change my opinion on this as I write and research, because here at flowers of io dot tumblr dot com we do real science and do not let ourselves be blinded by prior assumptions, prejudice, and bitterness. Maybe there is yet something there that I don't see.

Disclaimer: This essay is nearly 4k words long and has not been beta read, so any typos, tangents and formatting issues you may find here are my fault only and I preemptively apologise for them. Please tell me if anything is unclear or worded weirdly! I haven’t written a longer lore analysis in a good while and I may have got a little rusty.

With that out of the way, let's take a look at how Hive tithes, tributes, and willpower actually work!

1) Anthem Anatheme

Over three years ago in this post I wrote a bit about anthem anatheme, which is the way both worms and ahamkara feed. I did not explain it well, though (and I was being very comically exasperated over Truth to Power), so let me try again.

From the Merriam-Webster:

First appearing in Old English in the form antefn, anthem derives ultimately from Greek antiphōnos—a word meaning "responsive" that is a combination of anti-, meaning "over" or "against," and phōnē, "sound" or "voice." The Greek root gives a hint as to what the musical form of early anthems was like. Originally, anthems were devotional verses sung as a response during a religious service.

French anathème and English anathema is the formal exclusion from the community of Christians (in the New Testament) or the Catholic Church (in contemporary canon law). The original meaning of the word was a little different, though. I'll quote the Wikipedia article because I don't think I'd be able to word it better than it is explained there:

The word anathema has two main meanings. One is to describe that something or someone is being hated or avoided. The other refers to a formal excommunication by a church. These meanings come from the New Testament, where an Anathema was a person or thing cursed or condemned by God. In the Old Testament, an Anathema was something or someone dedicated to God as a sacrifice, or cursed and separated from God because of sin. These represent two types of settings, one for devotion, the other for destruction.

Anathema derives from Ancient Greek: ἀνάθεμα, anáthema, meaning "an offering" or "anything dedicated", itself derived from the verb ἀνατίθημι, anatíthēmi, meaning "to offer up". In the Old Testament, חֵרֶם (chērem) referred to both objects consecrated to divine use and those dedicated to destruction in the Lord's name, such as enemies and their weapons during religious wars. Since weapons of the enemy were considered unholy, the meaning became "anything dedicated to evil" or "a curse".

Combining these two meanings would give us something like ‘a hymn of offering’, the ‘offering’ part having a derogatory ring to it.

In the most recent Destiny loretab on the topic (Queensfoil Censer) Anthem Anatheme is explained as "a manner of subjecting reality to one's will, similar to a Lightbearer's ability to affect paracausality", and this is in line with the prior, much more vague definitions that we've had. It is both the invocation and the act of changing reality to match your will. It does have a similar vibe to aiat, which I wrote about here: "Ahamkara drive power from the space between ‘what-is’ and ‘what-is-desired’. Stating ‘aiat’ creates this connection between ‘what-is’, ‘why-it-is’ and the space in between: ‘why-it-is-?’."

It is also what worms and ahamkara feed on. The reason ahamkara "tweak" the wishes they grant is precisely to widen that gap between how the universe was before the wish and how it will be after it - the impact it will make on the universe - how much it will change.

2) Tithe to Power

Worms feed in the same way, except they are not the ones invoking Anthem Anatheme, and instead it is their hosts who do that. Contrary to the popular belief, worms do not feed on *killing*, per say--but killing is one of, if not the most efficient way of reshaping universe according to your will. Toland says: "This is the shape of victory: to rule the universe so absolutely that nothing will ever exist except by your consent".

The worms sort of... cede the ability(?) to invoke Anthem Anatheme to their hosts, and so also it is the host who gains power from that — the worm feeds, yes, but there is also something else there, something I don't quite understand but it's tied to the Darkness, Ascendant Plane, and Taking. The power that allows you to will things into existence, to define and dictate the rules. "Nothing will ever exist except by your consent".

Ergo: the more powerful—or rather... impactful, or influential—entity you kill, the bigger is the space of their absence; the more sustenance the worm gets, and the more power you gain — because you've asserted your will over them, you did not permit them to exist. As Toland explains: "Oryx inhabits a world where power is truth. To win is to be noble, and to be real. [...] The echoes of Oryx go forth to ask a question: are you the truth?"

So what I will be referring to in this essay as power is the total sum of your impact on the universe, which (thanks to your worm's paracausal abilities) gives you paracausal abilities. Willpower given shape, sort of. That is the foundation the entire Hive system is built on: magic, runes, philosophy, everything.

Now, I used to think tribute and tithe were two different things, but they are apparently used interchangeably in the lore: "The Worm within demands tribute. Now you shall kill what you can and take what killing you need to grow—or for your own purposes, if you dare—and tithe the rest to that which rules you. Thus, tribute will ascend the chain and the excess shall pool at the height, as unlike a river to an ocean" (Truth to Power: Injection). This entry is supposed to quote Oryx in the Books of Sorrow, but it doesn't repeat the words exactly, and omits something very interesting (and confusing). In Carved in Ruin, where Oryx dictates his law, he actually says: "You Thrall, each of you will claw and scream, and kill what you can. Take enough killing to feed your worm, and a little more to grow. Tithe the rest to the Acolyte who commands you."

"Take enough killing to feed your worm, and a little more to grow" seems to suggest the Hive-host and the worm feed on the same thing, or at least that the same thing that the worms feed on is what allows the Hive to grow. The whole shtick with the worm pact was supposed to give the Krill power over their own flesh and the world around them, so we can presume they grow physically as they attain more (will)power - to will their form to change. The lore about it is very vaguely worded though, and a lot of this is my own interpretation, so don't take it as indubitably true.

What I want to make extremely clear, though, is that neither tribute/tithe nor (will)power is a physical thing. Of course the power you have can manifest as paracausal abilities, but it's like with hitting something really hard with your fist - the stronger you are, the more impact you will have on what you're hitting, and the effects are very tangible, but your physical strength itself is not an, I don't know, physical object. It's the potential energy in your muscles I'm struggling to word it better, but I hope you understand the metaphor. The more you affect the world, the stronger your paracausal muscles get, so to say.

The way I understand the logic behind tithing, then, is that in the Hive pyramid scheme you transfer some of your power to your direct commander because they have power over you. Your will is subservient to the one above you, so they demand a cut of its potential growth. It's a way to organise the Hive society, really, because without this system in place everyone would be mindlessly killing each other to survive, while now the ones in command have an incentive not to slaughter all their soldiers if those soldiers are a source of power. It's delicate calculation - is it more beneficial for me to kill my underling and gain the entirety of their power in a single slurp, or allow them to live and transfer to you a percentage of their own power gain? How risky is it to leave them alive, in case they get too powerful and strike against you? But then again - the more power they gain, the bigger the percentage that you get. Is it worth to kill them now, or wait for them to get more powerful, so you can then gobble up a larger meal? It's like fattening a pig but the fatter it gets the more it is able (and willing) to kill you. At which point does the risk outweigh the potential future gain?

2.1) Nature

This part of Hive gods lore also ties into the way aiat works, and the whole thing with definitions and essences that I wrote about in that essay, so I won't go into this right now. What is essential to remember for the purpose of this post is that the Hive gods emulate their natures, or are their natures, and by invoking those natures they can be fed power, summoned into a given place, and even brought back from beyond the grave. I’ll just put a few lore quotes that sort of explain this concept, or at least illustrate it. It will be important later.

You must obey your nature forever. In your immortality, Aurash, you may never cease to explore and inquire, for the sake of your children. In your immortality, Xi Ro, you may never cease to test your strength. In your immortality, Sathona, you may never abandon cunning. (IX: The Bargain)

Oryx made war on the Ecumene for a hundred years. At the end of those hundred years he killed the Ecumene Council on the Fractal Wreath, and from their blood rose Xivu Arath, saying, “I am war, and you have conjured me back with war.” […] He drove the Dakaua Nest into a trap, and they were made extinct. From their ashes rose cunning Savathûn, saying, “I am trickery, and you have conjured me back with trickery.” (XXIX: Carved in Ruin)

In each act of His power Oryx seeks to incarnate the self-sustaining, immortal suzerainty that He worships. The power that He uses to wash his Taken clean and etch them into useful shapes. (Echo of Oryx)

He is not a simple thing to kill. He wants to be isomorphic to conquest, to triumph, to killing and death.** He is a syllogism, now, but in time He hopes to become an axiom. (Oryx: Rebuked)

[Xivu Arath, hear me.]

[You are war, and I conjure you with war and blood.]

[A gift for my favorite sister.]

(Empress: CHAPTER 5: NEW GODS)

MY HOME IS WAR. MY VOICE IS A BATTLE SONG. FOR AS LONG AS YOU HAVE WORSHIPPED WAR, YOU HAVE WORSHIPPED ME. I AM HERE TO CLAIM MY TRIBUTE. IT IS OVERDUE. (Empress: CHAPTER 6: BATTLE SONG)

3) Season of the Witch

So now let's talk about the premise of Season of the Witch.

We don't know what Savathûn's plan was exactly; we didn't get a scene of Immaru dictating it to Eris or Ikora, only scraps of it mentioned by various characters. But the gist of it, pretty much, was this: Eris plugs herself into the tithing system through the ritual in the first cutscene, and we - using the Acolyte's Staff, which contains worms - transfer the power we generate through killing to her. I say generate because I'm not sure we would've been able to actually use that power (for example, to create a throne world) if we're not connected to the system, but then again Hiraks had done it somehow, so idk.

Another thing, which I hadn't caught while playing the season, but either @winnower-winnower or @the-goldendragon pointed it out to me when we were talking about this, is Eris' nature as the god of vengeance. Every act of violence done in revenge against the Hive and/or the Witness, either by her hand or ours, should technically give her additional power.

So what was the goal of all of this?

Well, apparently the whole point of Eris becoming a Hive god and plugging into the tithing system was that she could become more powerful than Xivu Arath and beat her at her own game. And how would she get all that power? Why, by killing, of course! That's the sword logic, right? Nothing is permitted to exist except by your consent. That's power. And Eris already has so much power, as the hand wielding the blade which ended both Crota and Oryx, and possibly Nokris, and Hashladûn, and Alak-Hul, and countless other Hive. She did not perform these feats alone, granted (something that very cool sword logic cutscene seems to have forgotten), but she was the inciter, guide, and main motivator for them.

And this is all true, except for the one small detail which is exactly the reason why Xivu is (used to be?) such a compelling antagonist: this is not how you beat her at her own game.

3.1) Xivu and War

Remember imbaru? Remember how Savathûn made an entire power-generating scheme based around the idea that she, the god of cunning, cannot be outsmarted or outwitted, and every wrong guess about her would only feed her power? It was conveniently forgotten for the duration of The Witch Queen, an investigation-based campaign, but it HAD BEEN a thing.

And Xivu Arath had done her homework, and copied this idea. If she is war, then every act of war will invoke her and so give her power.

I AM THE WAR YOU CRAVE. PURPOSE ETERNAL. A LEGACY IN BLOOD. WHEN YOU DRAW BLADES, YOU DRAW ME. YOU CANNOT RESIST WITHOUT INVOKING MY BANNER. (Immolant Pt. 2)

And earlier seasons remembered this! The whole reason why Rasputin sacrificed himself was because Mara had enlightened everybody on the idea that Xivu would've gained power from any act of war and slaughter, regardless if it'd been against ours or her own soldiers. She'd set herself up to be struck against, and it would've been a power factory for her. Rasputin had no other choice than to fold and disable the weapons entirely. That was his sacrifice, that was what set him apart from the god of war in the end.

Season of the Deep had some insight on that too:

Zavala: Rasputin proved we can't beat Xivu Arath in direct conflict, but..

Sloane: Zavala, I tried every which way to fight her when Titan went dark. I never managed to put a dent in her plans. Just survive.

Zavala: So it is truly it. [sighs] And all that's left is for us to accept it.

(Deep Dives, Week Six)

And my absolute favourite:

Sloane: This report is interesting. Xivu Arath intended to use Rasputin's Warsat network as an unwinning scenario. We fire the Warsats on her army, she gains power through death. She fires the Warsats on the City, everyone dies. We only achieved victory through defeat. Through a... moment of sacrifice. It makes me wonder about our approach to defeating her.

Lord Saladin: Winning without fighting. Philosophers of war have contemplated this very thing, both in our culture and, as I've learned, those beyond Earth.

Sloane: How do you defeat the undefeatable? That's an interesting problem.

(Salvage, Week Three)

...But then we got Season of the Witch, and it turned out the way to defeat the undefeatable is simply to hit it harder.

Okay, but why shouldn't it work? I've said before Eris was extremely powerful by herself, and with the plan to boost her with our tithes, she'd be even more beefed up on sword logic. Why couldn't she hit Xivu Arath harder?

Well, for the simple reason that Xivu gets power from war--all war, or at least all war against herself. Even disregarding the sheer disparity in power at the start, the billions of years of tithes that Xivu was ahead of Eris, this idea was doomed at the start, because for every ounce of killing-power we passed over to Eris, Xivu got the same amount of tribute. We were making war on her, for Eir's sake, what else were we expecting?

Same goes for the idea that we cut off the tribute Xivu was getting from her powerful lieutenants like Ir Uulxal and took it for ourselves/Eris. Yeah, that's probable, but at the same time we were powering Xivu up by making war on her. That had been the whole point of her as an undefeatable antagonist.

I've heard people argue that what we were doing in Witch wasn't direct violence against Xivu, so it didn't count as war. And to those people I say that hybrid warfare is a thing. Seriously, my country neighbours both Russia and Belarus, and I don't want go on an IRL tangent but claiming the only act that count as war is the direct clashing of blades is some extremely medieval thinking. It's like saying the Cold War wasn't a war. Planning, plotting and strategising how to destroy an enemy absolutely is war, gathering power in order to destroy the enemy is war, trying to outmaneouver and outplay the enemy tactically is war. If the point is aggression or counteraggression, if there is An Enemy, it is war.

I'm willing to accept Eris got some amount of power from Xivu invoking her nature of vengeance in her acts of war against us, but still, it would be ridiculous to believe that would've been enough to match and surpass the might of Xivu herself. I'm sorry, it's simply unrealistic. In her acts of vengeance Xivu did not alter the universe in any meaningful way, she just threw a few beefed up Taken at us and that was it. If she'd, idk, kicked Venus into the Sun in her vengeful rage, then maybe we could've talked about Eris gaining a substantial boost of tribute, but as things stand there was barely anything to go by.

3.2) Savathûn and Death

Alright, but what about that extremely sexy assassination of Savathûn that Eris performed after the final mission? The game said that this was the source for the missing chunk of power Eris needed to defeat Xivu! Savathûn had been super powerful, right? Why wouldn't that be enough?

There are two problems here, and let's tackle the smaller one first. We don't really know how powerful Savathûn was after she had been raised as a Lightbearer, exactly. The tactical obliviousness of the entirety of Witch Queen to imbaru suggests post-rez Sav is no longer in the tithe system and cannot gain power through the Hive magic means because she doesn't have a worm anymore. That doesn't mind she isn't powerful, and that by deposing her one wouldn't make an enormous change in the universe, but we don't know if she can get more powerful anymore. SotWitch reintroduced the imbaru engine, but doesn't elaborate on what it even does now that Sav doesn't have a worm, or how it works.

And now the bigger problem: Eris did not claim Savathûn's power when she killed her.

This whole system is based on Anthem Anatheme, remember? Making ripples in the universe. Creating spaces between what-is and what-is-wanted. What Toland says after we kill Ascendant Oryx puts it well:

Dwell a moment on the weight of what you’ve done. Contemplate the story you just ended. Will you ever do anything that screams down the millennia? Will you ever hammer your will on the universe until it rings and rings and rings? Oryx was an awesome power. Show reverence. (Oryx: Defeated)

There is a reason why the Grimoire card unlocked by killing Oryx in Regicide is called "Oryx: Rebuked", and the one we get after killing him in King's Fall is "Oryx: Defeated". We did not defeat him in Regicide. We put a dent in his plans, sure, we weakened him, but we did not kill him. That's the point of Ascendance, of throne world and oversouls and other means of hiding death: they make you harder to kill permanently.

Ghosts are funny, because they serve pretty much the same purpose. They hide their Guardians' death. The Guardian isn't dead as long as their Ghost lives. That's our conditional immortality - we depend on our Ghosts just as Ascendant Hive depend on their throne worlds.

Death doesn't stick unless it's permanent and irreversible. I'll even risk the claim that the power Mara generated (and would've assumed, has she been in the tithing system) by indirectly causing Savathûn's death—immense power—was removed from her tally, so to say, in the moment of either Savathûn's resurrection, or when she got her memories back and decided she was still herself and not a new person with a clean record.

Eris couldn't have claimed Savathûn's power for herself without killing Immaru, just as she couldn't have taken the power generated by Oryx's death if he'd been killed in the physical world only. This wasn't an "interesting sword logic stunt", this was a suspension of logic priory established in-universe and it infuriates me to the point of pulling out hair. There is no way this can work. If it DID work, Ascendant Hive would've created power batteries for themselves by killing each other in the physical world and coming back to life as if nothing had happened eons ago. The Books of Sorrow go out of their way to point out that Savathûn and Xivu's deaths in star by star by star were "true deaths" and that's why Auryx was able to claim his sisters' power.

This is either a lazy retcon serving to nerf a character too powerful for the narrative to handle, or the writers not understanding how their own universe works. It's infuriating, it's stupid, and it does Xivu Arath so dirty I struggle to find words for it. It strips her of the most compelling part of her as an antagonist. And down at its core, it's a lack of creative courage. Did her undefeatability make Xivu Arath an extremely difficult antagonist to handle? Of course!! But when you write characters like that, you should be brave about it. You should commit. And as things stand now, it appears the creators had been challenged by their own story and instead of picking up a fight they backed out and changed the rules. They were been defeated by their own creation. Which is, of course, a note of praise to how good the creation was, but in the end it leads to a sad conclusion. Bungie can no longer handle the story they're telling; and whether that is because of the seasonal model, or the speed at which they've forced themselves to update at, or a lack of communication in the writing team, or any other reason, I sincerely don't care. The result remains the same either way.

#i like my lore with coffee #destiny 2 #hive #the darkness #season of the witch #xivu arath #eris morn #aunt savathûn #eris morning #little war sister #worm #worm gods #ahamkara

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narrans · 2 days

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My Borrowed Son | 26 | Walls Tumble Down

Chapter Twenty-Six | Walls Tumble Down

The night was a completely restless one. Between the nightmare and the girl Parker was sure he saw, no sleep dared to disturb him. He lay there completely awake as his eyes darted to the trim on the ceiling and the bedside table he used to sleep on.

Nothing happened all night.

It was maddening.

Parker wasn’t sure what he wanted to happen, but something to confirm or deny what he witnessed would have been nice. Instead, the rhythmic breathing of his mom and the warmth of her nearby hand was all he registered all night long.

When the sunrise finally came around, Parker felt like he had already put in a full day. As soon as his mom opened her eyes, Parker was on his feet and nudging her.

“Mom? Mom? Are you up?” Parker repeated himself until his mom was fully upright. Parker was determined to search through anything and everything he could, and he hoped his mom would help.

Both awake, the search began. Parker and his mom combed over the different parts of the house trying to find anything that would hint at this mysterious dream girl.

Sadly, to no avail.

No marks on the trim or electric covers. No wires or items out of place. The two of them scoured the house and found nothing.

It wasn’t until Parker suggested going into the walls that his mom raised an objection.

“Parker, I don’t think that’s a good idea. There could be anything in there and I don’t want you getting hurt,” Amanda insisted. They had been at this for a few hours now and it was making Amanda nervous, and for more than one reason.

The creeping thought that she had before that there were people Parker’s size living in the walls felt more like a possibility by the minute. She hoped and prayed it was all a dream, but Parker’s insistence filled her with dread.

She needed a minute to compose herself for the conversation she knew they needed to have today, and her being rattled and sleep deprived like Parker would lead down a negative path. The adoptive mother wanted to say the right things to her son, and her overtiredness wasn’t helping. Everything felt hazy in her mind.

She just needed a minute to collect herself.

Just one minute.

And Parker wasn’t giving it to her.

“Mom, just hear me out! I’ll be back and I’ll be careful. Look! You could even tie a rope like a harness and use it to…”

I said no, Parker!” Amanda had never snapped at her son, nor raised her voice at him, and this was precisely what she did now. The fear and worry were consuming her. She just needed a moment, and her words came out before she could stop herself.

Parker, stunned that his mom adopted such a tone now of all times, felt himself tense before the emotion swelled up to choke out any other suggestion he could make.

Didn’t she know how important this was to him?

Didn’t she know what this could mean?

There might be someone his size out there! She could need help.

Parker always thought he had tough skin, but something about the exhaustion and obsession to find the truth whittled him down to raw emotion.

Dejected and confused, Parker’s shoulders sagged as he walked back to his room. He heard his mom call after him, but it wasn’t until her hand physically stopped him that he turned to face her. Vision blurred from tears threatening to crest over the edges of his eyes, Parker barely noticed his mom had the same look on her face.

“I’m so sorry, Parker. I’m… I think I’m just a bit tired. Let’s… let’s just lie down for a few minutes and reconvene for lunch. Yeah? Get back to the search then? Maybe we missed something,” Amanda suggested.

Parker sniffled and nodded. With that, his mom watched him walk back to him room down the hall. The small teen boy barely registered that he was walking. His mind was numb and he felt foggy. Something just felt off about his mom’s reaction, and he wanted to know why.

He also knew he didn’t want to take a nap.

He wanted to find the girl.

The moment he was in his space and climbing the stairs to his room that his curiosity and drive got the better of him. The more he thought, the more he was convinced what he needed to do.

He needed to search in the one place his mom couldn’t reach.

Despite what she said, he was going to go anyway.

He was going into the walls.

When he was sure his mom had stepped away and wasn’t going to walk in to check on him, he pulled on his pack like he did the first time he went into the walls and climbed down the line to the electrical cover in his room. Nerves made his hands shake as he unscrewed the panel and pulled.

Just like the one at home, it came free easily. Disbelief tugged at Parker as he looked at the screw. It looked like the other one – like it was filed down or purposefully shorter.

Parker’s ribs could barely contain his pounding heart. He forced two nervous breaths into his lungs slowly as he hoisted himself up and into the wall.

Immediately, he could see it was dark, but not as dark as the walls at home. Perhaps it was because it was daylight instead of in the dead of night, but something inside Parker told him it might very well be something completely different.

He placed one foot in front of the other carefully, like he was walking on slick ice. Something made him want to stop, but that same thing compelled him forward. It was the sensation of experiencing the unknown. It was the need to discover the truth.

Was what he saw real? Or not?

Parker wasn’t even sure what he wanted the answer to be.

Did he really want to think a girl his size was living in the walls like some weird rodent or pest? Was that the truth? Or just his imagination? Did she have his rare genetic condition? If so, why had her family abandoned her? Or had she run away?

On the other hand, was it just a part of his nightmare? His dreams felt so real. Those nightmares felt tangible. Would something that was “just a dream” make him wake sweaty and shouting for those figures being dragged away by the currents?

He was like Neo from The Matrix, torn between two choices. He hadn’t even realized he had stopped walking forward as the thought hit him.

Did he turn back and believe whatever he wanted to believe?

Or did he want to see how far down the rabbit hole went?

The teen swallowed dryly, already knowing what he wanted and yet afraid to take it.

One step.

Then another.

Parker chose to move forward toward the curve of the hallway that led further into the walls.

~~~^*^*^~~~

He hadn’t been walking long. Five minutes maybe?

As he delved further into the walls, Parker noticed the same things he did at his old home. The walls were void of debris and random chunks of fallen drywall and dust piles. There was something familiar about the walls. It was like a comforting blanket on a winter night.

Then, he saw it. As he rounded the next corner down some cords and across one beam, he saw light.

It was a soft, warm glow that would come from Christmas lights. He even turned off his own lamp to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

They weren’t.

His quiet, careful steps broke into a bold run. His heart was tearing him apart from the inside. Every thought felt like white noise humming in his skull. Parker pursued the light and whipped around the corner to see the shocking sight he couldn’t have expected.

The moment he rounded the corner, he saw what he could only describe as a mud room or supply closet.

He saw fishing hooks attached to knotted rope on the walls. There were bags in a pile in the corner of the room. Thumb tacks, razor blade with rubber on the ends, and toothpicks were in the wall at the far corner. Shoes lined the other wall, and there were quite a few with what Parker could only describe as different designs.

A roll of double sided tape hung on the walls beside a post-it note with scribbles all over it. Parker’s insides clenched as he spotted one symbol he recognized which looked like a poorly drawn house with a check mark in the middle.

I’m really through the looking glass now. Parker thought as he surveyed his surroundings. No specific emotion rose to the surface, but panic was starting to be one of them.

“Wha-… You!”

Parker nearly jumped out of his skin as he spun on his heel and saw none other than the girl with raven eyes. Time held still as he had a full minute to look at this new stranger.

“You… y-you… you’re real…” Parker couldn’t even stop the words from coming out as he exhaled in awe. The girl, on the other hand, looked tense and offended. She spun around quickly and started to sprint away, forcing Parker into a reactive panic.

“Wait! Please! Don’t go! I’m sorry!” he shouted, daring to chase after her a few steps before his legs gave out. His limbs refusing to respond as some form of shock overtook him. Parker heaved in a few deep breaths and listened desperately for the girl but heard nothing but the thunderous beating of his heart.

Was this happening? He was giving out now?

The teen simply sat there crumpled on his knees as he could do nothing else for a minute or two before something caught his attention.

“Hey! Hey! You going to start shouting for that human again?”

Parker blinked and saw the girl had returned and was peering around the corner at him.

That human? Is she talking about my mom?

“N-no… no, I… I don’t shout. Just… don’t go,” Parker replied. His desperation to talk to this girl and keep her in place overrode the girl’s insult of calling his mom “that woman.”

The girl huffed nice and loud once in a kind of scoff before stepping back into the room. She folded her arms indignantly and stared expectantly at him. The teen wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he was in a world of trouble. Parker had always imagined what it would be like to meet someone else like him, but never did he imagine this kind of scenario.

Parker took in everything about her. From the way she was dressed to the way she held herself. She held herself with a certain amount of confidence that was certainly admirable. She also looked like she could verbally rip Parker a new one if he angered her more than what she already was.

Her clothes were a mismatch of blues and blacks, a severely patched poncho covering her shoulders and most of her torso. Her dark brown hair was in a ponytail held up by a piece of black yarn. There was a hook on her hip as well as what looked like a climbing rope and a lamp. She also had on a backpack, but Parker could only venture a guess as to what was inside of it.

Overall, she looked like some kind of wall bound adventurer.

“Well?” she said after Parker had stared at her for a considerable few minutes. Parker sputtered for a second, not sure what to do. She rolled her eyes and kept her arms folded. “Aren’t you going to apologize for kicking me? You left quite the bruise.”

Right! Parker recalled their tussle earlier this morning.

“Umm… yeah.. right. I’m sorry. I’m Parker. What’s your name?” asked Parker.

“Sorry for what? Be specific when you apologize,” stated the girl curtly. Parker’s mind scrambled for the words, which finally came to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to kick you. Well… I mean I did… but I thought you were trying to hurt me and that it was just a dream,” stammered Parker. The girl heaved a hefty sigh and kept her arms folded.

“I suppose that’ll have to do,” she said sarcastically. “And I’m Kit. Well, Sprokit technically, but I prefer Kit.”

“Kit, right. I like that,” grinned Parker. His heart fluttered as he took in a few calming breaths, grinning as he continued to look at this strange new girl. “I just can’t believe it. You… you’re here. You’re real. I never thought I’d meet someone else like me.”

Kit’s raven eyes narrowed.

“Someone else like you? What? Did you think you were the only one?” she asked disbelievingly. “Rude.”

“I… I’m sorry. No. I mean, of course no. I knew others had to be out there. It’s such a rare condition though. Can you blame me?” Parker had a million questions coming to his mind. The awe of finding someone else with his genetic condition was astounding.

“Condition?” asked Kit. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Confused, Parker pushed himself up and stood shakily, his entire body vibrating with excitement and nervousness as he said, “You know? Condition? Oh… wait… do you not know?”

“Know what? You’re the one talking crazy,” scoffed Kit.

Parker felt a wrenching in his gut.

This girl doesn’t know she has Parvi Homunculi Syndrome. Poor thing. Her parents probably didn’t know when they had her. She probably ran away.

“You don’t know? You must, right? Your pediatrician would have diagnosed you when you were little,” stated Parker, every thought pinging in his mind and bouncing around like a tiny rubber ball. Each thought was one he tried to stitch together to better explain to this girl her condition.

“Pedia-what? What on earth is that?” Kit asked.

“Pediatrician. It’s a doctor for kids. They give you your shots and make sure you’re well and don’t get sick and all that. You have check-ups and everything every year. Have you never been taken to one?” The notion someone had never been to the doctor was absurd to Parker.

At this, Kit bristled, and her face scrunched. Parker figured he had offended her again based on the look she gave him. “I’m not some pet to be take to the doctor, especially a human one.”

Parker was completely baffled. What was she talking about? She kept talking about “human” this and “human” that.

“But… why? I mean, you are human, just a little smaller than normal,” stated Parker.

Kit’s eyes widened. It was like she just realized something which made her stoic features unhinge. Her jaw slackened as she just stared at Parker.

The next words out of her mouth made Parker’s blood run cold.

“Good night… you really don’t know, do you…” muttered Kit in a tone of awe. Her arms went slack by her side as the pretentious air around her changed to curious tension.

“Don’t know?” asked Parker. He felt like they were both from completely different worlds. How could she not know that she was human? “Don’t know what?”

“That you’re a Borrower.”

That word.

It sounded so familiar.

It sounded like something Parker had heard before. It stirred something in the back of his mind. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch in the depths of his brain, but it was there all the same.

Borrower.

Why did that sound like he should know what it meant?

No.

No that’s not right.

This has to be a mistake.

“That’s… impossible,” muttered Parker aloud. His head swirled. To keep from losing his balance, Parker staggered backward and leaned against the nearby wall under some of the shelves. “No. You… you’re wrong. I’m… I’m a human, and so are you.” He looked up and locked eyes with Kit, but there was no play of smile on her face indicating she was just messing with him.

“Parker, I’m being serious. I’m a Borrower. You’re a Borrower. We’re not some weird small human,” asserted Kit. Parker felt completely and utterly sick. His head was throbbing. Every beat of his heart felt like it would bring the house down.

“No… No! I’m not! It’s a genetic condition. I have a genetic condition. Parvi Homunculi Syndrome. It’s a rare condition. It makes me just like a human, but smaller. Yo-.”

“Parker, don’t lie to yourself,” Kit stated firmly as she stepped forward and gripped Parker’s shoulders, forcing him to look into her coal black eyes. “You’re a Borrower and you have been all your life. That human took you and has been keeping you like some kind of sick pet.

“She’s been lying to you. That human down there has been lying to you. You’re not human. You’re a Borrower. You belong with other Borrowers, not down there in the human world! That’s why I went down last night. I was trying to rescue you. I didn’t think that you wer-.”

“No!” Parker couldn’t take it anymore. He reached up and shoved out as hard as he could, which sent Kit flying across the room, which was spinning violently. “I… I don’t believe you. I…”

Suddenly, his vision started to darken into little pinpoints. He started breathing harder and faster, but it did him no good. Every breath felt completely absent. It was like his lungs were paper bags with holes cut in them.

Nothing was sticking.

No thought.

No air.

No way to stabilize this swirling room.

Parker fell to his knees and felt the thrum of his pulse in every part of his body.

It couldn’t be helped. Though breakfast was scarce, everything on the inside was suddenly bubbling up his throat and exploding out of his mouth. The acid burned his throat and mouth, making breathing impossible.

The ringing in his ears blocked all sound. Parker’s shaking was uncontrollable.

It wasn’t until he felt something around his shoulders that he finally started to see again. Though the ringing in his ears didn’t stop, Parker blinked away his daze to see something had been draped over his shoulders. What confused him was that it was brown, and nothing either of them had on was brown in any stretch of the imagination.

Warily, Parker glanced over and saw not one but two new sets of boots standing directly to his right. He swallowed roughly and blinked his eyes tight and reopened them.

No.

It wasn’t his imagination.

They were real.

A string of acid tasting drool slipped from his laxed mouth, but he didn’t care. The teenager, crouched on all fours, dared to look up and, to his mortified astonishment, saw two new faces. One face had the same charcoal black eyes and blond hair. He looked older than Parker, but not by much. His features reminded Parker of some of his classmates, who were all two or three years older than him.

The other was a man who, for all Parker knew, could have been about the age of his mom. He was obviously athletically built, muscles noticeably tone and sharp. His clothes were also in tatters, just like Kit’s clothes made of patches and odd pieces, and there was a thumbtack and stay pin on his hips.

The man had these keen blue eyes built for assessing and survival. Parker couldn’t discern how he knew, but he just did. The man’s hair was a dark and shaggy brown, and it had been tied up into a weird kind of bun. He was crouched by Parker’s side, and he looked worn out and irritated, but the young teen could sense it wasn’t with him.

“You okay, kid?” asked the man as he scanned Parker’s face and his crouched body. Parker felt his eyes burning and realized only now that his face was wet.

“I…” Parker’s head swirled again. His chest spasmed and he coughed up a few more chunks that had been lodged in his throat. The man rested his hand on Parker’s back reassuringly and patted him a few times.

“Yeah, you’re alright. As alright as you can be I guess,” said the man. He sounded tired and resigned. Parker barely registered the man turning his head up toward the other pair of boots that were nearby. “So, you two decided to take it upon yourselves then, hmm?”

“She did,” grumbled the other teen.

“What? You’re pinning this on me?” demanded Kit. “We all talked about it. I’m just the only one who decided to do something about it. I didn’t think you were serious about this kid not knowing he was a Borrower.”

“Kit!” scolded the other guy, this “Borrower” thing they kept throwing around, as he stepped up to her. Parker wondered if they were related because of their shared eyes. The other one, however, didn’t look like he was related to the two teens his age.

Parker was so distracted that it took another gentle nudge from the older stranger to get his attention. He was holding up something that looked like part of a plastic bag with some clear liquid in it.

“Don’t worry. It’s water. Swish and spit, okay?” he offered. Parker tried swallowing again, but his throat felt like sandpaper. Without a word, the man stood, snagged Parker by his armpits, and helped him to sit with his back against the wall as he offered the clear bag again.

The simple command of reaching up and grabbing the bag was almost too much for Parker’s muscles to endure, but he somehow found the strength to reach out and take the bag. The water felt cool and refreshing and getting that nasty bile out of his mouth made Parker feel a sense of clarity.

While Parker swished the water, the two other teens continued to argue.

“I told you that if you didn’t tell mom and dad that I would tell them,” said the one.

“Finnick! You traitor! I was going to tell them. I just wanted to check and see if we had to run for our freaking lives because of this one and the human downstairs. I didn’t think you meant waking mom and dad up first thing and telling them,” Kit spat.

They went round and round with this as the older man stayed crouched by Parker’s side. With a hefty sigh, he didn’t even glance at Parker when he said, “So, they told you?”

It wasn’t hard to guess what the stranger was referring to, so Parker dared to nod his head.

“T-they told me that my… that I’m… not… that I’m…” Words were hard. Any coherent thought Parker had was completely fried. Everything hurt. The man nodded slowly and smiled sympathetically as he rested his hand on Parker’s shoulder.

“I know. I’m sorry, Parker. You should’ve been told sooner, but it never seemed to be the right time,” sighed the stranger. This sparked a million new branching thoughts, each leading to nowhere specifically. Parker, now partially in control of his faculties, turned his head to look the stranger in the eye. One thought managed to manifest itself, and Parker wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“H-how… how do you know m-my name?” he stammered. The man’s shoulder’s slumped. He looked defeated yet resigned to his fate.

“I’ve known you for a while now, you just didn’t know it since I was hidden. I’ve been watching over you for a little while now, Parker. You and your mom both,” he said. Parker felt his head swirl again as his insides threatened to once again turn inside out.

This guy has been watching me? Watching my mom? Is he a stalker? Who does stuff like that? Who just watches people? Has he been living in the walls?

Parker’s memory flashed of that fateful night when he saw a shadow outside of his space and went into the walls after finding that mark on the electrical cover wood panel.

“Y-you. You! It was your shadow I saw that night?” asked Parker. The man sighed and nodded slowly.

“I thought you were in the other room and wanted to check on your space to make sure you were doing alright. I didn’t think you were nearby but ran for it the moment I realized you were close,” said the man.

At this point, the siblings’ argument was so loud that it was hurting Parker’s head. The strange man obviously had had enough and stood abruptly, taking a step toward the two fighting teens.

“You always do stuff like this! You’re always going off on your own because you think you know what’s best. Now, we’ll have to leave because you were careless an-”

“Oh sure! Blame me! I’m little Mr. Perfect over here and never break any of the Borrower rules! You would never think about accidentally revealing yourself or leaving something out of place because you wanted to help the human girl because you thought she was cute!”

“That’s enough!” the man roared over the two squabbling siblings. It was so loud it made all of the teens jump a little, Parker especially because it reminded him of his mom’s tone earlier this morning. The silence that followed was tense. Discomfort filled the small room.

Parker saw the two other teens bristle, but their argument stopped thankfully.

“Fighting like this is doing us no good. Finnick, you went and got me because you wanted us all to be present to discuss what we thought Parker did and didn’t know. Kit, you know you had a hand in all of this. Finnick wouldn’t have gotten me unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Your parents made sure to know how they felt about me yesterday when I warned you about Parker’s situation. Now, we need to stop fighting amongst ourselves and focus on the task at hand, which is helping Parker readjust to everything that was just dumped on him,” said the man. “Now, if you two don’t mind, you should lead the way. Finnick, based on what you said, your parents are waiting for all three of us. I’m sure our fourth will be welcome as well.”

Parker knew they were talking about him, but all he could do was stare at the clear liquid in the bag in his hands. He felt like that liquid, contained in a perfect little container that had now shattered into a million pieces that had no hope of reassembling.

“Parker?” The teen glanced up and stared into the strange man’s face for several seconds, only now noticing the scar on his cheek that had long since healed.

“Y-yes?” said Parker as he fumbled over this one word.

“If you want some answers, you can come with us. I know all of this is strange. It probably feels like nothing is real right now, but I can tell you it is. I can help take you back or you can come with us. We’ll answer your questions and then take you back when you’re ready,” said the man.

Parker’s mind was a blurry haze. Nothing made sense, and yet it did at the same time. There were so many questions lingering in his mind that he couldn’t reach. It was like whisps of smoke. Every time one was nearly visible, it vanished into thin air never to be seen again.

It was the offer of some truth that gave Parker the strength to stand shakily to his feet and nod.

“Oh… o-okay,” he said weakly.

“Need help walking?” offered the man. Parker shook his head and pulled what he could now see was some kind of brown cloak further over his shoulders. Based on the way it dragged the ground, it probably belonged to the man rather than one of the two teens Parker’s age.

Staggered step after staggered step, Parker followed behind the teens and beside the strange man.

Parker’s heightened senses for danger and other such things weren’t going off, which was either good for him or bad for him. Stranger danger was a thing, but the situation he was in was beyond worrying about strangers.

This was something earth shattering, and all at once Parker felt like his world was collapsing in on itself.

The thing he knew for certain was that there was no going back, and he might as well hear these peoples’ answers before going back to talk to his mom.

His mom…

Parker hoped and prayed that this was some kind of elaborate prank and that these people just didn’t realize they had Parvi Homunculi Syndrome.

Sadly, as he followed them through the labyrinth of walls and climbed cables and exposed nails, he slowly began to realize that his hopes were just a pipe dream. Parker climbed, hand over fist, up a makeshift ladder and found himself face to face with what looked like a ragtag house. There were windows and a door and a mix of Christmas and fairy lights all going inside of the structure.

It was official.

This was a home.

A home within a home.

It made Parker ask the gut-wrenching question he had been dreading.

If these people had, Parvi Homunculi Syndrome, would they be living up in this crawl space hiding away from the world?

Which thing is true? Am I a human? Or am I this other thing? A Borrower?

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue | Coming Soon

Beginning

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reneeyxs · 4 hours

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dating hadeon.

❛ !¡ pairing; hadeon x gender neutral!reader.

❛ !¡ summary; you have found yourself in quite the situation, have you not ? divine eyes peering over you, filled with what could be affiliated with… adoration. handle him carefully, no one knows what a traitor god might be capable of doing.

❛ !¡ warnings; idk bro’s a redflag himself.

❛ !¡ a/n; i hate him sm hope he dies.

SMITTEN.

. the infamous traitor god of the world commonly referred to as ipalon IV. the one that witnessed the rising of the city of cheori and tried with all his might to bring it down from the shackles of his prison in the rift of the planet, using his minions in an attempt to shake the heavens above that have denied him of his previous doings. so much to correct a world seen as sinful in his own eyes darkened by his selfish desires, and a cowardice that… fell apart as he caught a glimpse of you.

. that poor little you, survivor of the numerous wars that kept happening at the surface. deciding ultimately to go live at the outskirts of the main city, near a forest and close to the harbor in case of emergencies or for an ease in grocery and maintaining relationships with others. quite the unusual way to live in his eyes, as many would cling to all they knew and stay along with their peers.

. from now on, he would either task the young otherworldly woman in tagging along, letting her do as she wished as long as he got the reports he wished to hear, or he would send your way a small butterfly that would stay concealed in a corner of the room you are in, burning away to a crisp the second you were a tad too close from finding him. leaving behind strange ash that you can either ignore or discard without a single care in the world. though, i recommend the latter, as the former would cause another butterfly to appear from the remains of the last one once your mind cleared away any suspicion. slowly, he will stop asking the blue haired individual to watch over you, and will do the job himself with his small insect.

. he will be satisfied with only watching from afar for a short while, simply peering over you to see the daily life you are engrossed in. wake up, shower, breakfast, work, lunch, work, home, shower, diner, sleep, and rewind. quite the boring routine for him, but it had to be expected knowing that he used to be the executor representative of the gods when his glory was spread far and wide, days filled with bloody battles and endless outings everywhere around the world to catch who the others deemed as criminals. meanwhile, human life has always lacked those exciting flavors he has been craving.

. but, one day, upon getting back home, you may find a small portable talisman waiting for you on your pillow. neatly folded in an expensive fabric. a silvery chain attached to the lonely image of a butterfly etched with rubies. rub it twice, and see as you are taken to an everlasting garden, dying in a winter that will never cease to exist. a figure sitting all alone, waiting for you under a safe cover. a warm cup of your favorite beverage is awaiting for you,

“won’t you come over ?”

WOOING.

. after quite the discussion of your life with the mysterious man called hadeon, discussion that felt more like being questioned as if you were at the last line of your life, and he has a way to look at people, making them agree to his very wishes, or perhaps he can read minds or control people, you have no clue right now, you were quite delighted with the fact that you could return home. only to be lost in a forest, guess that talisman isn’t that precise. it forced you to go back to see him, only to realize it was merely a small scheme on his end to have you come back and hear your voice as you asked for his kind help, under the promise of visiting him quickly afterwards.

. he is, undoubtedly, a tease, and he unfortunately knows what he is doing very well. having been used to having gods and humans and demons alike ready to offer their lives for him in his younger years — not like he lost on his pretty looks. and he has a way of doing it that would certainly make your heart runs laps all around the place: fingers brushing against yours gently, before holding it with an unseen softness as his thumb brushed over your knuckles while he pulls you close, face drawing dangerously close to yours as a mischievous smirk makes its way in his expression, asking the question he had previously uttered with a lower tone. no matter your reaction, he will always end up chuckling under his breath.

. anyone that might be bothering you would be disposed of, their body either found in the deepest parts of the closest river available (the young lady taking care of them under his orders is not known to be clean, unfortunately). try to bicker with him all you want, your words will fall upon deaf ears and you remain lucky that he is not keeping you against his wishes in this little sanctuary.

. he will not stop watching over you, even doing it openly now by letting his butterfly rest atop flowers that have been gifted to you, your body reacting too late as it all burned to ashes together. why would you want gifts from others when the people working under him deliver gifts to your front door ? consider yourself fortunate enough that the gifts aren’t the severed heads of your friends, but instead the leaves of your favorite tea to make one at home or stolen jewelry of deceased elderly people.

. he will not confess, not out of pride or because of an ego a bit too big for who he became and what he is now, but rather because he wants to be sure of your feelings first. sure, he might have the insight of the factor that your simple tolerating of his advances has slowly morphed into accepting them and, on rare occasions, returning them however you wish to. but he won’t deny that seeing you stutter over your words, which ends up with shoving the bouquet of flowers right towards him as he caught it efficiently, walking away grumbling at the falsely innocent tilting of his head and the rise of an eyebrow. you cannot leave though, and when you look back at him, the small talisman is swinging between his fingers. kiss him better, will you ? you hurt his little feelings now. no, not the cheeks, the lips this time.

. you cannot try to strangle him to calm yourself down at his winning smirk, and if you try to ignore him you will have an annoyed lady at your doorstep asking for you to visit him before she goes crazy from listening to him all day long.

ENGAGEMENT.

. now, you are stuck with him, and it will only get worse from there. you will not blame him if your house suddenly burns down, will you ? he did absolutely nothing at all, he cannot do anything while being stuck in that lonely place without you by his side. you can still go into the world, visit the harbor, walk around for a bit. but at the end of the day, he is the only one waiting for you, as your friends either tremble and run away upon spotting you on the streets, or are nowhere to be found ever again.

. but he is so sweet to you too, who would pass down such a beautiful love ? his warm hands cupping your face, his nose rubbing against yours before he kisses you all over, leaving a tingling feeling inside of your chest. before bringing you into his arms, sitting you on his lap as you have the luxury of playing with his hair he cherishes so much. scratching his scalp, braiding the strands and soothing his mind away. don’t be so foolish as to think his hold might falter, it will only tighten, surely, he is a selfish individual, and your affection is his.

. over time, more and more of your things would end up at his place. it would start with bringing a blanket as he told you the stars would be easily seen tonight thanks to the meteor shower, and you will need it to be comfortable. safely wrapped in it as your head stays over his chest. sweet words coated with sugar and honey uttered to your mushy brain as sleep overtakes you. aren’t you feeling so good here, with him and only him ? sure, there is quite a lot of snow here, but the temperature is always nice, except during the nights, but he will be there to hold you when your body becomes frail and shaky. isn’t he the best ? caressing your cheek with a finger and rubbing your sides with the other hand as a comforting gesture. his lips won’t leave your skin, and his marks will always linger.

. slowly, you will bring clothes to stay here if needed when you spend multiple days by his side. a small part of the place slowly became yours and yours only. he never peeks into your belongings, preferring to watch from afar with a small cup as you arrange things to your liking. almost as if you were considering staying with him forever, isn’t that cute ? like a true, married couple, moving in together in the same place to spend the rest of their lives. only the two of them. you won’t need anybody else, and he also won’t need anybody else.

. and soon enough, you won’t want to leave too. you have everything here with him. you are being loved, you are your little trinkets, you are in an endless garden filled with snow that will never melt and you can get all the food you want. ask, and the two working under him will go search whatever you want. don’t cry too much when the talisman suddenly stops working, he will find a way to make a new one, he promises. until then, you can stay with him all you want now. poor you, having missed the crossing of his two fingers behind his back as you dozed off on his shoulder.

TAGGING: @aventxsha; @astrililu; @dxmoness; @lilyuwon; @lxdymoon0357; @sweetlyvibe; @trailedstar

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i-yap · 1 day

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Hi! You mentioned in a prev oneshot that you were Indian, as a fellow south asian it is so nice to have someone into the fandom as well !!! May I have a request if batboys with an south asian so who does Indian classical dance like bharatnatyam or odissi please?

Heyyy I have never professionally learned classical Indian dances but I love watching them so ill try my best. Im sorry if its offensive, Im doing fem reader cuz gn wasn't requested..hope that okay too

Batboys x Dancer!Y/N

Dick grayson

He loved the story the dances depicted. He learned all the meanings and history behind all the hand movements and music.

Dick had probably been to India for a mission so he does know a little about indian history but now he has a much stronger motivation to learn everything and anything about that culture .

Also we all know dick has a thing for strong powerful women. And Bharatnatyam or Odssi or any indian classical dance for that matter REQUIRES SO MUCH STRENGTH . The facial expressions, the precise movement and the beauty of it all..he is whipped.

'He also loves when you get in touch with your culture. Dick is like a culture connoisseur and having a beautiful south asian girlfriend who is proud and expressive of her heritage makes him so proud.

He for sure has videos on videos which he show or boast about to anyone- even at galas , his favorite thing to talk about you and he is just so proud.

Jason Todd

I dont think todd will take the time to look into the difference meanings or stories these dances depict.

I have mentioned how much he stares and now he has a new found excuse to stress. Its like those movie montages of the wife through the husbands eyes where there is like a light glow behind her and he is just laughing (and then she dies or something)- idk if you know what I'm talking about but that exact thing happens with him.

you are like his salvation , so beautiful, golden poised and graceful. Its like a beggar seeing a goddess , a murderer on the steps of church or a ray of sunshine in the cold cold dark city - it becomes his way to spirituality.

He doesn't talk that much about it. the whole experience feels too surreal for him and he loves to see that side of you. when your practicing and don't have the routine perfected, he loves seeing the side of you no one else would get to see.

Tim drake-

This boy probably went to the ballet as a kid and I mean western rich parents-gotham city- I don't think he knows anything about indian classical dance so when he sees it for the first time he is shocked

He Is so intrigued , It just makes you so much cooler. He will love dropping in the middle of his patrols to watch you train and bring you snacks

He also loves doing your makeup for you , and the whole outfit....it looks super complicated and he is good with assembling stuff so he'll be really into it.

He would tbh encourage you to use your skill to start and internet channel and use that to promote movements. Also if you are into the idea of teaching immigrant kids on how to dance, he'll help find the means because being connected to your roots are just so important.

Rather than boring ass ballet in galas , he will promote other styles of dance especially indian classical.

Will cheer like a madman after your performances , even if they are at rich gotham galas. "WOHOO THATS MY GIRL THATS REAL ART YOU SEE THAT YOU RICH PRICKS"

Yea just because you have this super serious super cool skill doesn't mean you both wont be sitting in a dinner eating greasy food in the whole costume+makeup after performances. Youre still teenage dirtbags after all

Damian wayne-

he will draw you . loves sitting and sketching you dance .

He too is really into strong women and appreciates the beauty and precise art of indian dance.

Itll remind him of his home, like up in the mountains. Maybe dance is taught as a way of developing balance and precision. So to him you look like a strong fighter.

It just brings nostalgia and you look so ethereal while you dance. I think out of all batboys he would be most appreciative of the art

these are comparatively shorter but i didnt have too many thoughts. hope its okay tho

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evanpeterswhoresblog · 15 hours

Text

High Infidelity

Regulus Black x f!reader, Sirius Black x f!reader (mentioned)

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, slight mention of fingering, underage drinking, cheating sorry guys i couldn’t stop myself

summary: your boyfriend sirius and his friends have never felt welcoming. but his little brother is…

word count: 5.3k

a/n: once again i’m bad at summaries so basically you fuck regulus spoiler alert hahaha. inspired by taylor swift of course. she’s been inspiring too much smut from me tbh. anywaysss. hope you enjoy (my sneaky link “broke up” w me today and i’m devastated) so here’s this !!!

~~~

April 20, 1978

“That’s precisely what I was thinking Moony!”

“Are you sure Padfoot? I got the understanding that it was you and Prongs who shared thoughts.”

“I second that.”

“Honestly I believe if James didn’t have Lily, you blokes would be together.”

“Definitely.”

“Well, Sirius also has y/n as well.”

You felt the boy beside you brush your shoulder with his, and you gave him a smile. “Oh, yes.”

The conversation continued, but you zoned out once again. You played with the vegetables on your plate and tapped your foot. Anxiety was a common thing you felt during meals with your boyfriend and his friend group. They were wonderful, but you always felt they had something secretly against you.

You were a year younger than your boyfriend, you were in Slytherin, you were pureblood, and you were cordial with the other members of your house. You weren’t stupid enough to believe the Marauders didn’t suspect something bad of you, or the Gryffindor girls. Some of them were muggle born and while you didn’t care much for blood purity, you could tell they thought you did.

When you and Sirius had begun dating a few months earlier, you were far from oblivious to the initial disapproval of his friends. You could see the skeptical looks Lily would share with her friends; you could hear the small whispers in classes. It didn’t bother you at first, in fact, you understood their distrust. You thought it would go away with time. But by the end of your second month dating their friend, you realized it was never going to change.

Your relationship with Sirius in short was far from perfect. You liked him, of course, and he liked you. However, it was clear neither of you saw it lasting forever. Deep in the corners of your mind, you’d thought it that before, a life with the infamous Sirius Black. You imagined the two of you would get your own flat after you graduated, you’d be shunned of course by your family, but it wouldn’t matter because you’d have him. Realistically though, you knew that life would never be possible. If he didn’t care enough to tell you why he sneaks off on full moons, if he didn’t care enough to let you in on jokes, if he didn’t care enough to even assure his friends fully that you weren’t like the rest of your house, you’d never have a life with him.

Without thinking about it, your eyes drifted across the great hall to a certain person in your house. He sat straight with a smile on his face as he conversed with his mates. A piece of his hair was in his eye, you watched as he brushed it away. You always wondered why people said he wasn’t as good-looking as his brother. He was just as handsome in your opinion. He was tall, his eyes were starry, and his black curls were never frizzy. His accomplishments spoke for themself. Top of the year, star seeker for Slytherin, prefect, he was the ideal boy. His only flaw in your eyes was his obsession with Voldemort and blood purity. Though your family and his were close in that aspect, you never cared much for the topic. He did though.

Suddenly, his eyes met yours. You watched his smile falter for a few seconds and a different expression formed. You looked away quickly, your cheeks turned pink. That wasn’t the first time you’d been caught staring at Regulus Black during dinner. It was far from it.

~~~

That night you sat alone by the fire in your common room. You’d been invited up to Sirius’s dorm with a promise that the other Marauders wouldn’t be there, but you declined. Sirius was a great shag; it would be impossible for him not to be with how many girls he’d been with. Truthfully, you didn’t like the number of girls that came before you, but you never said anything. You simply weren’t in the mood that night for any more patronizing looks, so you opted to silently work on homework instead.

After some time of working, the door opened. You instinctively looked up and found your pulse quicken as you were met with the beautiful eyes of Regulus Black. He was with his friends, Barty Crouch Jr, and Evan Rosier, but his eyes were on you. You looked down at the sheets of paper in your lap and pretended to not notice the sound of Regulus telling his friends to go up to their dorm without him. When they left though, you were forced to drop the act.

“I thought you’d be up in the Gryffindor tower with all your blood traitor and mudblood friends,” he said after taking a few steps closer to you.

You swallowed and kept your eyes on your paper. “I wasn’t in the mood, and they aren’t really my friends.”

“Really? Y/n you’re shagging my brother I’m not daft.”

He was slowly getting closer; you could see his shoes in your peripheral vision. You subconsciously held your breath. You kept your composure as well as you could.

“Great observation Reg, not as if the whole school knows that. And besides, since when have you cared about that?”

“I always care when someone with blood as pure as yours taints it with someone like my blood traitor brother,” he replied as if it were obvious. “Plus, if you have forgotten I’ve caught you staring at me at least a dozen times within the past month.”

Your cheeks turned bright red. “About that-”

“Look at me.”

His sudden authority made a warm feeling spread in your stomach. Slowly, you lifted your head to look up at him. He was close, barely a foot away. There was an expression on his face you once again couldn’t fully understand. You watched him examine your blushing face in silence.

“Go on then, explain yourself,” he said after a few seconds.

“I didn’t mean to; it was just an... accident,” you mumbled, your eyes moving around the room as you spoke.

Regulus tisked and without warning bent down slightly and gently touched his fingers to your chin. You were speechless. “I prefer to be looked at when spoken to y/n it’s a sign of respect. Can you do that?” You nodded and he moved to his previous position of standing. “Continue.”

“Like I said it was an accident, I sort of space out a lot and I guess my eyes go back to our table,” you continued. You stared in his eyes the entire time as your heart began to beat in your ears.

“I would’ve believed that if it had happened only once or twice, but this has been quite a few times. What is Sirius not fulfilling you enough?”

“No, it’s nothing like that he’s great I just... I dunno. You’re just...” You found it hard to speak with his eyes on you. “I dunno all right? Let’s just forget it’s ever happened yeah?”

It was the truth. You really didn’t know what it was that made you stare at him. It was just something. He fascinated you with his complexity. Sirius was outgoing and popular, but Regulus was closed off and reserved. He’d only had one known girlfriend in Hogwarts, he only talked to his friends, and he was mysterious. He was the opposite of his brother. And you found it perplexing.

“If you say so,” he spoke after a moment. Then he turned and started to walk toward the staircase to the boy's dorm. But before he was too far, he looked back at you with a sliver of a smirk. “You can talk to me though, if you need to. You don’t have to simply stare because my brother is insecure.”

He disappeared up the stairs before you could reply. And you spent the rest of the evening with his words replaying in your head.

~~~

April 22, 1978

You sat at lunch; Sirius’s arm was draped over your shoulders, and he shook as he laughed hysterically at something James said. You tried to put on a fake smile, but you weren’t sure how convincing it was. There was something about the way Sirius held you that made you feel off. You felt almost trapped. You felt as though you were being tested or put on display.

As if it was a sixth sense, your eyes looked at the one table you’d been purposely avoiding. He was already looking at you, it caused your breath to catch in your throat. For a few seconds, the two of you stared at each other, what felt like a mutual feeling of understanding was communicated through your eyes. So, when he nodded to the doorway you understood completely what he wanted. And you agreed.

“I’ve got to run down to my dorm I just remembered I forgot my essay for McGonagal.” You made up an excuse. From across the hall, you noticed Regulus already walking toward the exit. “I should go get it before class.”

Sirius dropped his arm from your shoulders and smiled. “You’re too forgetful y/n/n, but be quick I was hoping to get a quick snog in before that dreadful class.”

“Right, I’ll be as quick as I can,” you said as you stood up. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, ignoring the eyes that were on you. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“I could never!” He exclaimed as you began to walk away.

Truthfully, you weren’t too sure of where Regulus went. You relied on the gut feeling in your stomach to guide you. With anxiety and anticipation flowing through your body, you made your way down a few halls before you found an abandoned classroom. The door was open a sliver, and somehow you knew it was the one.

He was inside, leaning on one of the desks with his arms crossed over his chest. “Close the door.”

You didn’t hesitate to listen to his request. Once it was closed you turned back to face him. “I don’t... I don’t really know what to say.”

“You looked like you needed to escape, you don’t have to talk,” he replied. His face was almost soft. “Am I the only one who knows how you feel?”

“You don’t know how I feel,” you mumbled.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Just because you haven’t told me doesn’t mean I can’t read your face. It’s almost unbearable how miserable you look while you sit there. Why do you do it?”

You only stared at him, almost starstruck. Has he always been so observant? Or was your pain noticeable? You didn’t know what came over you, but you only acted on it. Before you could stop yourself, you moved across the room until you were barely a foot away from him. Regulus has always been perceived as cold and rude, but in that moment, he looked at you with sincerity no one could deny. Regulus knew you. That was all it took.

Without another thought you grabbed his tie and crashed your lips on his. His lips were soft and warm. Unlike his brothers, Regulus’s lips didn’t feel as though they’d been kissed thousands of times. He felt far less welcoming but nevertheless inviting. But your senses came flooding back fast and you pushed yourself away from him.

You stepped back and covered your burning lips with your hand. “Oh my... I’m- I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have. Fuck I’m terrible.”

“Y/n-”

“No, I can’t do this. I have to go.” You cut him off as you began to move to the door, tears forming in your eyes.

The last thing you heard was Regulus calling your name before you ran down to your dorm.

~~~

April 23, 1978

He was watching you. You could feel his eyes burning into you through every class and meal. Is that how he felt all those times you’d stared at him? It was uncomfortable, to say the least. You tried to pretend he wasn’t, you really did. But it was nearly impossible. You made sure you were accompanied by Sirius or one of your other friends throughout the entire day until you weren’t.

You were just running to the bathroom. You thought it would be quick enough for him to even notice you slipped out of class. It was stupid of you to think that. Just as you were about to enter the girl's bathroom, you felt a hand grab one of your wrists to stop you.

“You can’t avoid this y/n,” he said softly.

You inhaled sharply, refusing to look at him. “Let me go Regulus.”

“I don’t care about what happened and I’m not going to tell on you if that’s what you’re worried about,” he replied quickly.

“Then what do you want? I just- it was a mistake all right?” You felt your heart pounding in your chest. His hand was still on your wrist, your skin practically burned from the contact.

“Look at me.” His voice was hard. You turned slowly to look at him. His expression was soft, he looked almost... worried. “I know we’ve never been that close, but I suppose I’m now involved in your issues. You can talk to me; I want you to talk to me. You can’t keep all of whatever you’re feeling built up inside. It’ll only make you act out impulsively like yesterday.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It was a mistake. It should have never happened I was just... overwhelmed.”

“I know. And I don’t blame you.”

You hated how he said just the right words to make you fold completely.

“They don’t trust me. Even your brother. They seem to think I have some deep plot or that I want to murder the muggle-borns. It’s just... it’s too much Reg. I hate being constantly watched, it’s like they’re waiting for me to make a wrong move that proves their theories.”

“So, why don’t you leave?”

His question caught you off guard. Why didn’t you leave? You hadn’t really thought about it. Sure, you knew that you and Sirius were going to end eventually. But you hadn’t given much thought to how it would occur. Perhaps a mutual agreement? You didn’t know. And you told Regulus exactly that.

“Well, then it’s your fault you feel this way,” he replied.

You scoffed and pulled your wrist from his grip. “Thanks, Reg, you really know how to cheer a girl up.”

“Do you want me to lie and say it’s not your fault? Sorry, I’ll give it another go. It’s not your fault at all y/n, you’re being forced to be around my blood-traitor brother and all his mud-blood friends.” His voice was cold, but for some reason, it didn’t make you feel small. “Was that better?”

“Listen I know I have the choice but it’s just... it’s hard when you care about someone,” you said, ignoring his question.

He sighed and shook his head. “If leaving isn’t what you plan on, then I suppose you’ll have to settle on talking to Sirius about how you feel. I assume you haven’t done that yet?” You shook your head, and he rolled his eyes. “Then talk to him and see if maybe that helps.”

“But what if-”

“If he reacts badly then you break up with him, it’s not that hard to comprehend y/n. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to our class, so no one gets any more suspicious.” He cut you off.

You were left outside the girl's bathroom with your mind racing, and your wrist still tingling where Regulus had held it.

~~~

April 25, 1978

It took you over a day to muster up the courage to follow through with Regulus’s suggestion. No wonder you weren’t in Gryffindor. The opportunity for you to speak with Sirius alone came after lunch when the two of you had a free period. As usual, you spent most of the time up in Sirius’s bed. So, as the two of you laid next to each other, spent from another good time, you decided it was a good time to bring up how you felt.

“Sirius,” you spoke softly. Your head was on his chest, your fingers drawing circles on his skin. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“’ Course love, anything,” he replied sweetly.

You inhaled deeply and kept your head down. “We’ve been seeing each other for a decent amount of time now and I’ve enjoyed it very much, but it’s just...” You swallowed. “Your friends... they don’t accept me.”

“How do you mean?”

“Come on, don’t you see how they treat me? They always give me these looks; they whisper about me. I’m sure they’ve all voiced their concern about me to you,” you answered.

“They don’t mean it to make you feel bad, they just you know... Lily is muggle-born, and so is Mary.”

“I’m aware of that. That has nothing to do with me, you should know I don’t care about blood status.”

“Well yes but your house, the people you are friends with, they care. You can’t blame my friends for being weary.”

You sat up and looked at Sirius, suddenly full of anger. “I am not like the other people in my house, and it’s hypocritical for them to judge me based on that. Have I ever proven myself to be anything like the other Slytherins?”

“No, but-”

“But nothing Sirius. I’m not like them, and it hurts that you don’t even bother to make your friends believe that.” You cut him off. You got off his bed and began to gather your clothes. “It’s clear I’m not welcome here.”

“Y/n-”

You began to button your shirt. “No Sirius it’s fine, I understand. I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be welcoming, I suppose that assumption was wrong too.”

Just as you were about to bend down to retrieve your tie, you felt Sirius’s warm hands on your hips. Instinctively, you turned to look at him. He stared up at you with a frown on his face. You hated how perfect he still looked with such a sour expression.

“You’re right, I should advocate for you more. I’ll do that from now on. You are nothing like the other Slytherins, you’re perfect y/n. I’m sorry for not catching on to this sooner.” His words were sincere, you could tell. It made your anger subside.

“Thank you,” you said, a small smile on your lips.

“Now, can you get back into bed for a little longer?” He asked.

You nodded with a chuckle and slid back beneath the sheets. Though you felt relieved and happy at the outcome of your conversation, you couldn’t help but think about what Regulus’s reaction to the news would be.

For some reason, you knew he wouldn’t be pleased.

~~~

April 26, 1978

His eyes searched your face; you tried your hardest to keep your expression neutral. The two of you were up in the astronomy tower, the glow of the moon and stars your only source of light. You didn’t know why you felt almost ashamed telling him about the conversation you had with Sirius. Something deep within you knew the outcome wasn’t what the younger Black brother wanted.

“I’m a bit confused,” he said after a moment of silence.

“What about?”

“If the conversation truly went as you say it did, why aren’t you happy?”

“What do you mean? I am happy. I think I even saw a bit of improvement today,” you answered honestly.

Regulus only shrugged and turned to look off the balcony. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I really am happy Reg this is what I wanted. Now they won’t be so judgmental and perhaps I’ll start to finally feel welcomed,” you replied.

You stared at him for a minute. The soft glow of the moonlight illuminated his features in a way you’d never seen before. He was handsome. With his sharp jawline, his dark curly hair, and his prominent cheekbones how could he not be handsome?

Eventually, he turned his eyes back to you, and for a split second, your breath caught in your throat. There was something intense in his light eyes that you couldn’t decode. It made heat rush straight to your face.

“All right, if that’s what you want,” he said. “See you around.”

With that, he left. And you almost followed him, almost.

~~~

April 27, 1978

Something was wrong with you. Very wrong.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the one boy in Hogwarts you really shouldn’t have been thinking about. It was wrong, especially in the way you were thinking about him. You tried to distract yourself in every way you could. With your friends, with Sirius, with schoolwork. But nothing worked.

Perhaps it was the intense dream you’d had the previous night that kept your mind wandering. After all, who could simply brush off an intense sexual dream about their boyfriend's brother? It made you blush and feel ashamed each time it crossed your mind throughout the day. And when you saw Regulus around the school, you almost fell apart.

It was as though a switch had been flipped inside you. Gone were the innocent friendly thoughts you had about the younger Black brother. They were replaced by awfully inappropriate ones.

But you were determined to make them vanish. Because to act on such thoughts would be terrible.

Right?

~~~

April 28, 1978

Avoiding Regulus was hard given he was in almost all your classes, and he shared the same common room as you. But you tried your hardest. You spent the day clung to Sirius as much as you could, despite the fact you were upset with him. Being around him meant being away from his brother. That was the important thing.

Things between you and Sirius’s friends had not changed much. You wondered if he had even said anything to them. If he did, it didn’t seem like it. It hurt you, but it didn’t occupy your thoughts as much as it previously had.

Actually, it made you realize something you were too afraid to admit.

Regulus seemed to care more about your feelings than your boyfriend.

That thought scared you. And it only made your improper thoughts about him grow.

~~~

April 29, 1978

You sat up in the Astronomy tower with your legs dangling off the balcony, a bottle of firewhiskey beside you. For the first time in months, you couldn’t deal with your thoughts without a substance. Luckily your boyfriend had a stash of alcohol and was able to spare you a small bottle. So, you took it with a big thank you and practically ran up to the tower. You needed to clear your head. You needed to escape.

There was a slight breeze, it made you clutch your robe tighter around your body. The alcohol helped too. You took another swig, a sigh escaping your lips at the feeling. You liked the way it made your chest warm, and how it made the thoughts of Regulus fade.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps. You gathered the bottle into your robe but remained seated. Whoever it was, they’d catch you anyway. There weren’t many hiding spaces in the tower. So, you prepared for an angry Filch to scold you.

“I figured you’d be up here, your roommates said they hadn’t seen you, neither did my brother.” The gentle voice of the boy you were trying to avoid spoke.

You whipped your head around fast, your mouth hung open slightly. He was only a few feet away from you, and still getting closer. “You talked to him about me?”

“Told him we have a project together and he still wasn’t very welcoming. I see why you feel out of place now,” he answered as he lowered himself to sit beside you. “Care to share any of that with me?”

“Since when do you drink Mr. Prefect?” You questioned skeptically.

He shrugged. “I’ve indulged before, is that surprising? I am almost of age you know.”

“You just don’t seem like the type that’s all,” you replied honestly. You removed the bottle from under your robe and handed it to him. “I’m a bit ahead of you though.”

Regulus didn’t reply. Instead, he popped the cap off the bottle and took a few swigs. You watched carefully, unable to hide your smile when his face scrunched up from the bitterness. Even then, he was still beautiful.

“Wine is much better than this,” he said after a minute as he handed the bottle back to you.

You nodded. “Taste wise, yes, but this gets you drunk much faster.”

“Is that what you want? To get drunk?”

You nodded again and took a swig from the bottle. He had a point, firewhiskey tasted awful. But you needed it, especially since Regulus had caught you alone and even more because he looked far too good in the moonlight.

“I thought things were going to get better with my brother,” he spoke.

“I thought so too but it seems he isn’t good at keeping his word,” you replied with a frown.

Regulus chuckled and took the bottle again. “Well look at him, he’s a filthy blood traitor, what do you see in him?”

“He’s kind, outgoing, very fun to party with, and of course one of the most handsome boys in the school,” you answered. You couldn’t help but smile when Regulus rolled his eyes. “None of that matters though. We’ll be splitting up soon.”

“Yeah?”

The hope in his voice was undeniable. It made your heart rate quicken.

“Yeah. He’ll be leaving school soon and we never really planned to last this long anyway so it only makes sense that we’ll be splitting.”

As he handed you the bottle back, your fingers brushed. You held in your breath, your mouth suddenly felt dry, and a tingle began in the small place where his skin met yours. Your eyes met again and from the way his starry eyes suddenly appeared darker you knew he felt what you did.

You should’ve looked away. You knew you should’ve. You’d like to blame the alcohol for the way you felt, but Regulus Black had proven himself to be more magnetic than any boy you’d ever met so there was no use excusing it. So, despite the fact it was wrong, you didn’t move when he started to lean closer.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice quieter than before.

“I’m sure you are,” you replied. He was close, his lips only inches away from yours.

“Why’s that?” He asked.

His eyes were so beautiful, you could barely focus on the words that came out of his mouth. “Because you...”

Your eyes fluttered shut and you felt his soft lips brush against yours. He was so gentle; you could barely even feel him. And after only a few seconds he pulled back. Your eyes remained closed.

“Because I’m...?”

“Reg, don’t make me ask you.”

“Oh, but I want to hear it so bad.”

“Just shut up and kiss me already.”

He didn’t hesitate to fulfill your request and soon enough he was kissing you with an intensity you weren’t sure you ever felt before. One of his hands fell to your waist, his fingers quickly untucking your shirt from your skirt. You let your fingers run through his curls as you’d imagined doing so many times over the previous days.

When he pushed you back and urged you to lie down, you did it. When he pushed your knees apart and slid between your legs you didn’t protest. It was terrible, you were cheating on your boyfriend with his little brother. But at that moment no thoughts could even register in your head. All you could think about was how good Regulus’s body felt against yours and how good he was at kissing.

Perhaps things moved faster than they should’ve. Perhaps they should’ve never moved in that direction to begin with. Either way, within only a few minutes both of your robes were discarded and one of Regulus’s hands was between your thighs. His lips remained on yours as he toyed with you, his soft kiss engulfed each of your moans. You traced your fingertips up and down his back, your hand under his shirt. He was soft but rough, he was perfect.

“I want you,” he suddenly whispered against your lips.

Your eyes opened, he pulled back a bit, and your eyes met his. He didn’t stop his fingers; you could barely think of what to say. “I want you too Reg.”

“Right now?” He asked.

“Right now,” you assured him breathlessly.

You watched him fumble with his belt for a few seconds before he distracted you with another kiss. He was intoxicating, to say the least. Every one of your senses was flooded with Regulus Black. The scent of his cologne, the feeling of his hands under your skirt, the taste of the firewhiskey he’d previously drank, the sound of his shallow breath, the brief glimpses you stole of his pretty face, it was almost too much for you to handle.

Once his belt was finally undone you felt him shift and you knew what was to come. You didn’t think of stopping him for a second. Instead, you threaded your fingers back in his black curls and held him tighter. He pushed your panties to the side and without warning began to slowly push his cock inside you.

You bit down on his lip, your back arched off the floor, and your thighs squeezed around him. He didn’t stutter with his movements and began to thrust in and out at a pace that made your head spin and your insides warm.

After a few minutes, he began to trail his mouth down your neck, the sensation making it impossible for you to stay quiet. You gripped one of his biceps with your hand and your eyes squeezed shut as he fucked you. He was careful despite the heat of the moment, however. You were silently grateful. No marks would be left on your skin.

“Reg,” you moaned. “Fuck Reg.”

He staggered for a moment. “Are you okay?” The vibration of his voice on your skin made you almost moan again.

“Yes, yes. Please don’t stop,” you whimpered.

It would be impossible for you to know exactly how long it went on. But by the time it was over, you felt no effects from the alcohol you’d drank before. You came hard, arguably harder than you’d ever come in your life. Regulus did something to you that you couldn’t understand. So, when he asked if it was ok for him to finish inside you said yes.

The two of you laid next to each other in the aftermath, a few inches between your bodies. Sweat covered the inside of your shirt, and another substance leaked between your thighs. You only stared at the ceiling and the stars above as you steadied your breathing.

“I won’t tell,” Regulus said after some time.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly. You were still in a daze; your mind couldn’t process what had just occurred. You sat up, your back was already starting to ache. “I should go.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Regulus sit up too. “Yeah, you should.”

You slid your robe over your arms and straightened out your tie and shirt. Before you stood, you made sure to grab the bottle of firewhiskey and conceal it under your clothes. You looked down at Regulus briefly, he was already looking at you. It made your face heat up.

You gave him a weak smile. “I’ll um... I’ll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You escaped before anything else could be said and raced down to your dorm.

The whole night you tossed and turned in bed, your head full of thoughts that would not let you sleep. You cheated on Sirius. With his brother. It was almost unimaginable. You’d never thought of cheating before, it never crossed your mind. But there you were a cheater.

You just hoped Sirius wouldn’t ask where you were on April 29th.

Because he really wouldn’t want to know.

26 notes · View notes

thesymphonytrue · 1 day

Note

For the drabble prompt: “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.” 👀

"You're Bleeding all over my carpet" PART 1

(I got two of these prompts so there will be a part 2 full circle moment 😏)

Written for the Drabble challenge here

Pre-canon

Neal drug the limp FBI agent, Peter Burke, into his temporary flat in London. They’d gotten into a nasty chase and somehow, Peter had been shot in the crossfire by one of Neal’s accomplices.

“No guns!” Neal had insisted, but he was met with slimy grins and cocky chuckles as his fellow thieves rubbed their hands together, just eager for the prize (a lovely diamond necklace from a private residence).

And now, Peter was hurt, Peter may not survive if Neal couldn’t get proper bandages or medical personal here, fast. Neal grunted as he pulled the rest of Peter into the tiny living room and laid him gently onto the carpet. Blood oozed from the bullet wound in Peter’s chest, making Neal’s head swim.

“Damn it,” Neal muttered, kneeling next to the agent, heart hammering.

He pressed his hands against the wound, attempting to slow the bleeding, unsure what else do to. Neal shouldn’t care whether Peter Burke lived or died, it honestly would be a blessing to not have such an intelligent and fascinating agent on his tail constantly….

Or would it?

Neal studied Peter’s face, relaxed in unconsciousness, the way his arm rested on his chest, his breathing becoming less regular as the seconds ticked by. Neal’s heart clenched uncomfortably, against his will, seeing Peter’s life flickering like a candle in the wind.

The door slammed open and Mozzie entered, holding a black bag bearing a a medical red cross.

“Your savior has arriv—-” Mozzie stopped, aghast at the sight of Peter— “Is that a suit?!”

“I couldn’t just leave him there to—” Neal sputtered, pressing Peter’s chest harder, Peter’s blood staining his white hands.

Mozzie gasped dramatically.

“It’s THE suit!” Mozzie turned to leave.

“Moz!” Neal pleaded, embarrassed at how his heart was becoming pliable in Peter’s hands, but grateful that at least Peter wasn’t awake to witness it.

Mozzie eyed Neal, then Peter, and then scowled at Neal. He tossed the bag over.

“You’ll find bandages in there,” Mozzie sighed and looked at the flat one more time, “It's a shame, I liked London. We’ll have to return to New York now that the suit knows of our escapades abroad."

Peter lives in New York. Neal’s mind instantly fixated on this brilliant flame of hope despite the prospect of being on the run again.

He nodded at Mozzie, kept one hand on Peter’s chest, and used the other to fish bandages out of the bag.

“Neal, you have to stop this dance with the suit. The cat and mouse game has gone too far. Since when does the mouse help the cat?”

“Who says I’m the mouse?” Neal said quietly, bandaging Peter’s wounds with precision and ease.

Mozzie waved him off with a “humph” and left the flat. As if on cue, Peter’s eyes fluttered open and his face instantly winced in pain. He registered Neal in one glance and his brown eyes widened.

“Caffrey–”

“Shh, you’re bleeding all over my carpet and it’s an Ardabil from 1540,” Neal said hurriedly, masking his relief at Peter’s consciousness with an attempt at humor and art history.

Peter’s lips twitched, half smiling.

“You’d never put a wounded man on an Ardabil,” Peter narrowed his eyes, “And if you did…then…that’s one more—” Peter grunted in pain as Neal tied the bandage off— “crime I’ll bring you in for. There’s only one left and it’s in—”

Neal sat back on his heels, grinning at Peter, dark hair messily falling into his face.

“I just saved your life and you still want to arrest me?” Neal’s eyes glittered as he pressed a hand to his chest in faux hurt, “ Peter, now I’m the one wounded.”

Peter propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Neal.

“One good deed doesn’t undo the crimes you've committed,” he said, eyebrows raised and lips pursed.

Peter then met Neal’s eyes, a silent sparkling light passing between the two men, catching them both off guard and causing Neal to stand abruptly.

“See you around, Peter,” Neal said, heading for the door.

“Caffrey—” Peter called, then more quietly, “Neal.”

Neal turned slowly, his piercing blue eyes boring into Peter.

“Thank you," Peter said softly, looking down at his bandaged chest.

Neal shrugged, shaking off the true sentiment that welled in his soul to hear Peter appreciate him and plastering on the mask of confidence and charm.

“You’d do the same for me,” Neal said confidently, flashing him a 100-watt smile.

Neal’s smile infected Peter, causing him to grant Neal his own lop-sided grin.

“Till next time, Peter,” Neal said and dashed out the door, knowing that if he let conversation go on any further, Neal would have stayed just to bask in Peter’s light, his goodness a little longer.

And Neal simply couldn’t have that.

Because Neal Caffrey wasn’t one who stayed put.

Neal Caffrey always ran.

But if he decided not to run…

Peter Burke would be the only person on earth who could convince Neal to stay.

#thanks so much for the ask!!#sorry it’s longer than a Drabble but I couldnt resist #white collar #peter burke #neal caffrey #white collar fanfic #I seem to be harming Peter a lot lately #I don’t know why #I do love a good peter whump #sorry Peter ilysm #but the Neal whump is coming in part two and we get some protective peter so 🥰🥰🥰

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eirianerisdar · 2 days

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Hiiiii I’ve only just seen it but if youre still doing the directors commentary thing I was gonna ask about Icarus? :) and the ⭐️ for whatever part you choose

(and just wanted to say your writing is so beautiful, I’m loving reading it so much thank you for sharing <3)

Oh ye I'm going to go on an absolute rant about Brocedes

An excerpt from chapter 30 of Icarus, when Lewis has just strained his newly regrown wings on a highly unadvised first flight after having grown out his primaries again for the first time in sixteen years, and runs into Nico by chance on an old clifftop haunt of theirs above Monaco. It's purely mutual pining in that uniquely Brocedes way

For the uninitiated, Icarus is an F1 wingfic that covers most of the grid, with the theme of wing trimming as a representation of unhealthy practices in motorsport forced upon drivers.

=====

A shape appears out of the rising sun, brown-white sparrowhawk feathers silhouetted against the dawn.

Unlike Lewis’s haphazard landing a minute earlier, Nico’s is elegant and precise; he comes out of his dive twisting in a perfect diagonal to the clifftop, one wingtip brushing the ground and the other pointed towards the sun, and lands on silent feet. He is wearing a tailored flight-suit that fits him as well as his race suit used to; the small backpack slotted between his wings has a molded plastic shell for better aerodynamics.

Nico folds his wings, and stares.

“Lewis?” he says, shocked. “What are you doing here?”

Lewis is suddenly all-too aware of the dirt ground into his skin, smeared over his t-shirt and ratty running sweats. His wings are caked with sand and grime from his less-than perfect landings; his palms are smarting with a dozen shallow cuts from hauling himself back up onto the clifftop.

He finds his voice. “What are you doing here?”

It comes out more accusing than Lewis intended. Nico’s face closes; his sparrowhawk wings flatten against his back.

“I come here often,” he says. “I fly up here every morning.”

Lewis doesn’t miss the implication that he is the intruder here, not Nico.

Lewis doesn’t know why that hurts so much. Maybe because he shouldn’t feel so out of place here, in this little sanctuary tucked against the Monaco cliffs where he and Nico had watched the sun rise and set so many times.

Nico ventures closer. His eyes are on Lewis’s wings. “You really did it,” he says oddly. “You grew out your wings.”

Lewis sets his jaw, raises his chin. “Yeah,” he says challengingly. “What about it?”

Nico flinches and looks away. His chest rises and falls faster than usual.

It would seem that even after all this time, Lewis still knows how to get a rise out of Nico. Lewis should feel vindicated, but he doesn’t. Something about the way Nico is holding his wings makes Lewis feel sick.

Nico crosses over to a flat-topped rock a careful distance away and sits. The two of them face the sunrise like they have done so many times years ago. The wind that ruffles both their feathers brings with it the scent of the sea.

Lewis closes his eyes. The sun sears his skin, turns the backs of his eyelids orange-yellow. There is so much he wants to say, but he doesn’t know where to begin. He could start at Abu Dhabi, at that awful Sky interview. He could go back to 2021, when he had finally admitted to himself and to the press that he could have been a better teammate to Nico.

He could go back to Barcelona 2016; the ache in his shabby wings in the garage, and the brief moment of blessed, cool relief when Nico had brushed a hand through Lewis’s wing.

It was the last time either of them had touched each other’s wings. Their crash and DNF at Barcelona had snapped the last threads that held them together as flock.

Lewis waits for Nico to say something, but Nico stays silent. It stings.

Lewis sneaks a glance at his former flock, finds Nico already looking at him – not at his dirt-smeared face or messy braids, but at his wing plumes, pooled carelessly in the dust at the base of the rock he is seated on.

In the dawn light, Nico’s clean, well-brushed feathers are painted in peach and ochre. Lewis bristles, waits for Nico to make an unsavoury comment.

But Nico just clasps his hands together in his lap, tight enough that the knuckles go pale. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Your wing plumes are longer than I remember,” he says hoarsely.

Oh. Lewis looks down at them, at his draped double-cloak of gold, white, and maroon.

“Yeah,” he says. A gust of wind blows dirt over the end of one of his plumes; he nudges it carelessly with the toe of his trainer, but only succeeds in matting the feather ends with even more dirt.

Nico makes an abortive motion towards Lewis.

Lewis looks at him sharply, watches Nico fold his hands into fists on his knees. Nico’s face is pinched.

Lewis breathes through the bitterness. He knows he is intruding on Nico’s space by being here. It’s just that a part of him thought that he would still have a place here, where they had shared so many happy memories.

He can’t even leave; his wings still hurt too much to chance anything other than a glide.

Nico’s feathers rustle as he stands. “I’m going to head back,” he says quietly. “You coming?”

Lewis shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “I’m going to sit a while longer.”

The flight muscles of his right wing ache dully; he shakes it out carefully, fighting a wince.

Nico is suddenly standing within arm’s reach, blocking out the sun. “Your wing,” he says, frowning. “You’ve got flyer’s cramp.”

“It’ll pass,” Lewis snaps, folding his wing back against his spine even though that makes it hurt worse. “I’ve got it handled.”

“You shouldn’t fly back alone,” Nico says seriously. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll even let you get there first.”

Lewis tenses at the implication. He hates competition not treating him seriously – Nico most of all.

“I’m fine,” he says testily. “It’s just the thermals. I rode them up, I’ll find a way between them to glide back down again. I’ll manage.”

“The thermals?” Nico frowns over his shoulder at the dizzying drop down towards the sea. “Where did you fly here from?”

Lewis works his jaw. “The beach,” he says.

Nico turns on him instantly. “The beach?” he exclaims. “Are you fucking – you can’t have unsheathed your feathers more than a few days ago!”

Lewis doesn’t reply, but Nico reads him anyway.

“Oh my God,” Nico stares. “It hasn’t even been a few days, has it? This is your first fucking flight.”

Lewis jerks his chin. “What about it?”

Nico puts his face in his hands. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are you insane? Who flies up a cliff for their first flight in sixteen years? Do you want to die?”

Lewis hates to admit it, but laying it out like that puts it into perspective. He isn’t usually one to take such risks. He let his hunger for freedom override his common sense.

“That’s it,” Nico says. He jerks his head towards the cliff edge. “I’m making sure you get back without killing yourself. Let’s go.”

Lewis looks at the edge of the cliff. The wind has picked up even more now that the sun has fully risen; bits of rock and dirt swirl in the wind to tumble off the lip.

He doesn’t want to name the feeling that roots him in place.

Lewis Hamilton has never been one to admit fear.

Nico strides over to the cliff edge, draws a sharp line in the dirt with the toe of his flight boot. “Come on,” he snaps. “I’m not leaving unless you’re with me.”

Something about that phrase twists Lewis’s stomach, uncovers a bitter wound.

Because Nico had left. He’d left Lewis to race on alone.

“What is it?” Nico says. “Is your wing still cramping?”

Lewis shifts his wings. “No.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Lewis opens his mouth, closes it again. Looks away.

If there’s anything he hates most in the world, it’s looking weak in front of Nico Rosberg.

“I don’t think I can make it,” he admits.

Nico stills. “What?”

Lewis breathes a bitter laugh. “I know what it sounds like,” he says, looking down at his dirt-splattered wing plumes. “But I’m gonna be honest with you, man. I don’t think I can make it.”

Nico doesn’t respond. He looks like a statue stood on the cliff edge, his golden hair a halo around his head, his wings of carven marble.

Lewis runs his scraped palms together. “I don’t know the thermals,” he says, swallowing the shame. “They’re so different from what I remember. I keep getting pushed higher. My flight muscles aren’t strong enough to fight my way out if I get caught in one.” He gestures at himself, at the dirt ground into his wings, his clothes. “I barely made it out of the clouds and back here.”

Silence, save for the cry of gulls in the harbour below and the whistling wind.

Flight boots stomp against dirt and rock as Nico stalks over, grabs Lewis by the collar, and shakes him, hard.

Lewis’s hands come up automatically, but Nico has already let go. Lewis watches as Nico turns in a flare of sparrowhawk feathers to pace the dirt of the clifftop.

Nico snaps to a halt, glares down at Lewis. “I can’t fucking believe what I’m hearing,” he hisses. “You’re not some damsel in distress. You’re Lewis fucking Hamilton.”

Lewis stares up at Nico’s furious face. This isn’t what he expected at all.

“Lewis Hamilton doesn’t back down from a fight,” Nico snarls. “What the fuck happened to you? You always said you could do anything as long as you pushed hard enough. So get up. Push.”

Lewis bristles. “Easy for you to say,” he spits. “You’ve had six years to learn the air patterns and train up your wings. Don’t pretend we’re on equal footing.”

Nico’s face whitens. For a moment Lewis thinks Nico will punch him; but Nico only exhales and looks over his shoulder at the cliff edge.

“It’s not as complicated than it looks,” he says abruptly. “It’s just that new building down where the road splits, and that paved road cutting through the trees there. It breaks up the current that used to flow down from–”

“Thanks, Nico,” Lewis says sarcastically. “I’m sure that’ll be really helpful when I’m trying to navigate something I can’t see.”

“Just–” Nico closes his eyes briefly. His voice softens. “Just stay on my wing,” he says quietly. “I’ll guide you down.”

Lewis looks at the cliff edge. He swallows.

Nico’s eyes are a clear, intense blue. “I won’t leave you,” he says. “I promise.”

Like that fucking meant anything the last time you said it, Lewis thinks. Some of his thoughts must show on his face, because Nico’s eyes shutter.

Lewis grits his teeth. He feels like an arse.

He feels the wind run through his still-aching wings. “What if I fall?”

Nico’s face hardens. He looks for a moment like he did when he met Lewis’s eyes across the garage as they got into their cars in Abu Dhabi 2016. It is a look that says try me, and I will prove you wrong.

“Then I’ll fucking catch you,” he spits.

The promise settles in Lewis’s bones.

Nico’s anger and determination is something Lewis knows too well. This, he can trust.

Nico’s straightens. The sun suffuses his hair, outlines his wings with gold. He holds out a hand to Lewis.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ve got this. Clear air all the way down.”

Lewis looks at Nico’s hand before him – the familiar grooves of his palm, the finger-webs turned pink in the sun. The hand that Lewis had once thought nothing of holding in his own.

He reaches up, and takes it.

======

Director's Cut:

I had this scene planned very early; I held on to it for a solid four months before the plot progressed to the point that this happened. The thing I most wanted to get across in this scene, the first proper scene where Lewis and Nico are properly speaking face-to-face instead of just pining, is just how much they both care about each other even if it all comes out toxic.

The way I planned this conversation is that every single thing that comes out of Nico and Lewis's mouths is misinterpreted as hostile. Even body language is misinterpreted.

A few examples:

1. When Nico says, “I come here often. I fly up here every morning," he means I often return here, to this place of good memories with you, because I miss you.

Lewis takes this to mean that Nico thinks that Lewis is in his space, and that Lewis doesn't have a right to this shared space they used to have as teenagers.

2. Nico ventures closer. His eyes are on Lewis’s wings. “You really did it,” he says oddly. “You grew out your wings.”

Lewis sets his jaw, raises his chin. “Yeah,” he says challengingly. “What about it?”

Nico flinches and looks away. His chest rises and falls faster than usual.

Nico's trying to find some common ground here. He never thought Lewis would give up speed to regrow his wings. Nico had been harbouring hope that maybe they'd be able to heal if both of them weren't dead-focused on racing anymore; but Lewis is so used to Nico using everything as an insult he takes it badly.

But he still cares about Nico enough that he can tell when he's gone too far. Nico at this point in the story has gone through a full wing crisis because of Lewis, and Lewis isn't aware of it.

3. But Nico just clasps his hands together in his lap, tight enough that the knuckles go pale. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Your wing plumes are longer than I remember,” he says hoarsely.

Oh. Lewis looks down at them, at his draped double-cloak of gold, white, and maroon.

Nico makes an abortive motion towards Lewis.Lewis looks at him sharply, watches Nico fold his hands into fists on his knees. Nico’s face is pinched.

Lewis isn't used to having full-grown bird-of-paradise plumes. He nudges them with his foot because to him they're just his feathers; he'll go and clean them later. for Nico, he's positively screaming to preen Lewis's wings. He's sitting there going insane with yearning while Lewis mats his feathers in dirt.

4. Nico turns on him instantly. “The beach?” he exclaims. “Are you fucking – you can’t have unsheathed your feathers more than a few days ago!”

When Nico finds out Lewis has got flyer's cramp and that Lewis isn't sure if he can make it back home without falling, he defaults to anger. He's actually furious because he's terrified that Lewis could have fallen to his death, but Nico, like Lewis, defaults to anger to mask his fear. Lewis does the same.

5. Flight boots stomp against dirt and rock as Nico stalks over, grabs Lewis by the collar, and shakes him, hard.

Lewis’s hands come up automatically, but Nico has already let go. Lewis watches as Nico turns in a flare of sparrowhawk feathers to pace the dirt of the clifftop.

Nico snaps to a halt, glares down at Lewis. “I can’t fucking believe what I’m hearing,” he hisses. “You’re not some damsel in distress. You’re Lewis fucking Hamilton.”

Lewis stares up at Nico’s furious face. This isn’t what he expected at all.

“Lewis Hamilton doesn’t back down from a fight,” Nico snarls. “What the fuck happened to you? You always said you could do anything as long as you pushed hard enough. So get up. Push.”

This is something integral to Nico Rosberg: he has absolute faith that Lewis Hamilton will back down for nothing. That no matter what the world throws at him, Lewis Hamilton will push. All Nico's anxiety about Lewis still hating him or overstepping and snapping this fragile connection that's forming evaporates because this is Lewis fucking Hamilton who Nico knows through and through and Nico will die before he lets Lewis be anyone other than himself.

6. He feels the wind run through his still-aching wings. “What if I fall?”

“Then I’ll fucking catch you,” he spits.

The promise settles in Lewis’s bones.

Nico’s anger and determination is something Lewis knows too well. This, he can trust.

This is Nico saying I'm with you until the end of the line. It's a declaration of if you fall I will fall with you. Lewis doesn't fully get the emotion behind it yet - there's still too much ingrained hurt there - but he can see Nico's anger and determination. The same anger and determination that allowed Nico to beat him in 2016. This, he can trust.

7. Nico straightens. The sun suffuses his hair, outlines his wings with gold. He holds out a hand to Lewis.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ve got this. Clear air all the way down.”

Lewis looks at Nico’s hand before him – the familiar grooves of his palm, the finger-webs turned pink in the sun. The hand that Lewis had once thought nothing of holding in his own.

He reaches up, and takes it.

I swear I had this section planned out almost word-for-word for four months. The image of Nico with his blond hair and sparrowhawk wings offering a hand to Lewis, offering to parlay, offering to help. It's the first time neither of them have been fully alone. It's the first moment that shows there might be a possibility of healing.

Clear air. Flying in formation, like they used to drive in formation on victory laps. Nico is Lewis's guide back to flight and freedom. They'll push each other higher, like they did when they raced each other.

Lewis lets go of his hurt and bitterness for the first time this whole conversation. He lets himself trust again. He reaches up and takes Nico's hand.

I wanted above all to show how toxic and hurt their dynamic was, but how enmeshed it was - how if both of them decided to take a little step forwards, healing was possible.

It's just the first little step towards the healing we've been seeing in the rest of the fic.

You can read more Icarus here.

Send me an ask with a scene or set of lines from any of my fics and I'll give you a director's commentary! Or, send in a ⭐star⭐ to have me select a section I've been dying to talk about!

#f1 #brocedes #brocedes fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 wingfic #f1 wing au #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #icarus #my post #writing #fanfic #replies

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