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cryinginthebackseat · 4 years

Text

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

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Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

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Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with.

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Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

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xadoheandterra · 3 years

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Title: Kismet; Lacuna Fandom: Dishonored Chapters: I Characters: Billie Lurk, the Outsider, Daud, Corvo Attano Tags: Time Travel, Void-fuckery, Post Death of the Outsider, WIP, Panic Attacks, Trauma, AU, Present Dishonored 1 Summary: He felt twisted sick, the air refused to stay in his lungs and his throat burned fiercely. He couldn't speak when for so long all he had were his words. He couldn't feel aside from cold familiarity that had been his life for so long...and his name--he knew it, it was there in the tip of his tongue, on the edge of his thoughts, and yet it was gone again. Taken from him. Stolen, yet not. The Void churned within him, but it was wrong. He hadn't felt like this in two years. He hadn't--this was all wrong. The Outsider was dead; he wasn't the Outsider anymore. Wasn't he?

Billie Lurk wakes up on her bed in the old Commerce Building ten days before her exile from the Whalers. She has a void eye and a void arm that only she can see, memories of events that haven't happened, powers she can't explain, and a connection to a boy who had once been an Eldritch whale deity whose name she knew but cannot speak, cannot think. Something had gone horribly wrong and the path of destiny irrevocably changed.

Corvo rested his back against the tower rooftop, lips pressed together as he listened to Emily make faint noises in her sleep. A part of him wanted to go into the room, to open the door and grab her and tell her it was okay now. He wanted to hold her close and fight back the nightmares that plagued her--but at the same time his stomach churned and his throat tightened and he started to panic. It's been almost seven months now--seven months since that day at the gazebo, since the blade pierced through Jessamine and the way the assassins clung to Emily--and how he could do nothing, suspended in the air by black magic--useless.

Tiredly Corvo scrubbed a hand down his face and turned his gaze up toward the sky. He raised his left hand and stared at the Mark there--the black lines so stark against the back of his hand. He blinked his eyes, and his vision switched to the strange void-gaze and he stared at his hand with these new eyes, stared at the way the Mark lit up, bright golden lines of voided light. Another blink and his vision returned to normal. Corvo clenched his fist and looked to the side, lips pressed thin.

Below, Emily's breath hitched and Corvo tilted his gaze downward, vision blinking back into that voided-sight so that he could check in on her--but she settled, shortly, and Corvo let the gaze settle back as he reached for the pen and sheaf of papers from within his pockets. With barely a thought Corvo tilted a knee up to be his temporary writing desk and began to scratch out his own thoughts. It was something he'd taken to in between the 'missions' these so-called Loyalists sent him on. With a grimace Corvo wrote his thoughts, his fears--everything.

For a while there was only the sound of his pen scratching against the papers, of the shuffle of the papers across his knees, and the faint sound of Emily's soft sounds in her sleep. Corvo wondered what Havelock would have him do next--who would Havelock command him to kill? He clenched the pen tightly as he thought about the Golden Cat, thought about the feel of blood between his fingers as he slit the Pendleton Twins' throats. For a moment Corvo shuddered, stared at his fingers that looked to be covered in blood--remembered the cold fury in his chest, the sickness that burned within him at the thought of Emily--his daughter--being kept in such a place.

Had they touched her? Had they dared? His thoughts spiraled and Corvo forced himself to take breaths, forced himself to calm. They were dead and Emily was safe. Maybe not well, and maybe not for a while yet, but Corvo would see her there. He would see Burrows pay for it all--pay for what he did to Emily, pay for what he did to Jessamine, for the lies, for daring to even lay a hand on his daughter. The darkness, the cold violence in his heart surged up in his chest and the pen snapped in two between his fingers. Corvo stared blankly as the ink stained his hand, dribbled over his words and blurred them beyond recognition, and then sighed.

I'm sorry, Jess, Corvo thought, bitterly. He learned to control the violence for Jessamine, to direct it, hone it, better it until the violence that was his second nature at least didn't result in everyone who wronged those who cared for dead. He places a hand against his breast, against the Heart the Outsider gave him there, and for a moment he could hear her, hear Jessamine--

You were made for violence, but honed a softer touch....she...loved that about you.

Corvo's eyes burned as he took his hand away from his breast and began to gather up his ink stained papers with ink stained hands. Carefully he bundled them back into the pouches that they were stored in, and then breathed out slowly and focused his attention back toward Emily. Safe, he thought, hand once more to his breast.

She mourns still. That you have not spoken. That you leave her with strangers. She worries that soon she may lose you to the same darkness that she lost her mother. She cannot suffer it. She cannot lose a father too.

A sucked in breath and a shudder wracked Corvo's frame. He wheezed, and his throat burned from even that faint sound, and Corvo closed his eyes with a bitter turn of his lips and his heart crying Oh, Em with words he can't quite say just yet. Tiredly Corvo climbed to his feet, turned to head back to the attic to get at least some rest--who knew when the rest of these so-called Loyalists would demand his attention again, he should at least take an hour of sleep on the cot they'd given him, instead of sitting watch above Emily--and in the distance there was a visceral ripping, tearing, sour-note whale-song that made his Mark burn.

Corvo turned and looked out to the ocean just as a dark shape fell through the a void-shaped tear in the sky and landed into the water with a loud splash. The buzzing made his teeth ache even as it eased, and then faded away all together. With lips pressed close Corvo blinked and let the void-gaze take his eyes even as he began to climb down from the tower and head toward the rocky shoreline. He could see a figure, distantly, struggle in the water. Drowning.

The Mark burned and without thought Corvo took in a breath and moved, between one blink of his eyes to the next he landed in the water, near the struggling figure. He dived down and reached out to grasp in the darkened water, to grab a shoulder that struggled and twisted. He pulled and pulled the stranger up and out of the water, and then blinked back to the shoreline. He let the void settle back out of his gaze, tried to ignore the searing pain that bloomed behind his eyes, and looked to whomever he'd grabbed. He looked and saw--

Impossible.

Corvo's eyes grew wide as he stared down at a young face, dark hair plastered down with water, hands scrambling against a bleeding throat. It was a face he knew, younger, softer, with clear blue Tyvian eyes--but a face he knew. A face he'd seen from only within the Void, normally with the black eyes of a God, but here blue eyes of a Tyvian and--red from his neck, bleeding--blood. The boy looked panicked, stricken, gasping for breath as blood covered his lips and his throat and his hands that struggled--stone creeped up along the side of his face and one eye went dark and then the boy went still, eyes rolled up into the back of his head and Corvo frantically moved to check for a pulse.

A fluttering beat, faint, but there. A human with the face of the Outsider, bleeding out in his arms. Corvo shook himself, grabbed the boy, and ignored the throbbing of his head as he pulled on more of the Void, more of the Mark, and blinked. Piero, he needed Piero. He needed Piero now.

Billie groaned as she woke; her arm throbbed, her eye hurt, but that wasn't anything new. They'd been painful for a while now, ever since Emily came back from Stilton and the dreams started up. The pain had eased when the Outsider grasped her, infused her with the void artifacts that gave her back ties to the Void, a chance to use its eldritch magic once more. It hadn't gone away, still lingering at the edges, but better. Exhausted Billie rubbed at her head as she sat up, exhaustion pulling at her bones. That too was familiar. She'd been tired for a while now; the world going to shit in a giftwrapped basket would do that to anyone, really.

"Your up late."

Billie blinked and raised her head, suddenly stiff and surprised by the familiar voice. She blinked rapidly as she stared at the unmasked, blond faced asshole that was Thomas. Except Thomas looked younger, more fit than he'd been when she last saw him as she hunted down Daud. He lacked the extra scar across his face, hair cropped short as he looked at her with undisguised amusement. He looked--he looked better. Less worn down by the world, by Daud's decisions, by his own guilt.

"Thomas?" Billie murmured, and as sleep further left her she realized that this--this wasn't the bolt-hole she'd taken up residence in, in Tyvia. This wasn't the run down shack with barely standing metal walls that she'd been sleeping in for the past few months. Sure there was water stains, evidence of damage, mold, but it was familiar in that distant, nostalgic memory way. The walls were crumbling, but reinforced despite the damage. Functional. Safe. These were the walls of the Flooded District, of the old Commerce Building in Dunwall. These were the walls the Whaler's had occupied once upon a time, at the height of their power and abilities.

Dunwall, the Flooded District, the Commerce Building--every moment of bitterness and regret in those months after the death of the Empress, how the good times came crashing down with that shit show of a job, and then further tumbled into the gutter heap following Daud's obsession with Delilah and Billie's own obsession that led to her betrayal that led to her fleeing with her life--Billie swallowed heavily and let herself slip into the strange-between world with Foresight. She drifted away from her body, used the Eye, and tried to focus.

This wasn't a Hollow. This wasn't a dream either, because she could see Galia down the hall talking with Rinaldo. Aeolos training with Kent. Daud pacing in his office. There were river krusts outside, bone charms were littered around like candy and even a few of them sang sour-sweet of corruption. Billie let herself snap back to her body and forced down the rise of panic. She wondered were--and then her thoughts caught, stumbled over a name she knows. It was his name and he'd given it to her, a sign of trust and now its gone. Billie forced down the panic at that because--he'd been with her, before she woke here. They'd been together, in Tyvia, looking into the way the world had broken and now she was here and she couldn't even think of a name she knew and Thomas was staring at her.

"Billie?" Thomas asked, stepped into the room, and Billie knew she was beginning to hyperventilate but she couldn't help it because this was the Flooded District, this was Dunwall during the tied-second darkest moment of her life and she couldn't even think of his name and after everything she'd done, all the choices she made, knowing what she knows that terrifies her. "Billie, breath with me," Thomas said, and his voice was steady.

Billie missed Thomas. It'd never been like it was after she'd been exiled from the Whalers. Even when they ran into each other in Karnaca, years later, it hadn't been the same. There'd be a stiff politeness between them, a distance and forced understanding. They knew each other once, were family once, but now were strangers and yet--Thomas said something, asked something about touching and Billie wasn't sure she said anything but Thomas reached out and grasped her, held her close and Billie swallowed heavily and fought back the tears as she tried to breath, tried to quell her beating heart.

As her heart began to calm Billie realized she saw Daud. As her breathing evened out she remembered how he paced his office, just a floor above her. She recalled him in his last moments, white-haired and unable to breath, fading away until his heart gave out, alone on the Dreadful Whale. She hadn't been there, too busy following his directions and hunting down a knife to be there and she regretted it so much. That she hadn't been there with him. She should've been there. She should've--Billie pulled out of Thomas grip and drifted into Foresight, drifted up and dropped a mark, snapped back to herself and then let Displace drag her along the tether to Daud.

Faintly Billie heard Thomas curse, surprised when she left him without a word, but she had to see it. She had to see Daud, she had to know. Was this some cruel dream, some trick of the broken Void? Or was this real, was she here, now, when shit was falling around her and she couldn't comprehend how good she had it. The shards of void-stone shattered around her, coalesced into her shape, and Billie stared at Daud who turned and stared at her in turn, face pulled into a scowl that quickly began to morph into something like concern. He wasn't so old anymore, younger, scarred face and not-quite-going-grey hair cropped short. He'd been pacing, looking over maps and notes and she can see marked off charts--a map of Timsh's estate being the current prominent set of papers splayed out.

"Daud," Billie breathed out, shaken, and she couldn't figure out what Daud's expression was now, except that he took a step forward.

"What happened?" Daud asked, and Billie opened her mouth when Thomas appeared at her side with a transversal, wisps of shadow and smoke coalescing into his form and Billie--Billie almost broke.

"You're here," she said instead, and Daud frowned.

Thomas must've made some sort of gesture because Daud's face gentled a second later and he took a step forward and said, almost gently, "I'm here."

For a moment Billie struggled with her words, with what she wanted to ask--she glanced to the map. Timsh's estate. Had he gone there, yet? How soon before the Overseer's come to the Flooded District? How soon before her mistakes caught up to her?

Hoarsely Billie asked, "What day is it?"

"The fifteenth of High Cold," Thomas said, just behind and to the left of her. Billie stared at the map. The fifteenth of High Cold; she wracked her memory for when events took place. It was the 25th of High Cold when Billie had been exiled from the Whalers, when Delilah sent Overseer Hume into the Flooded District to hunt down Daud. They were still preparing, gathering intel, about Timsh. Daud hadn't gone to the estate yet. The High Overseer had already changed hands which meant either Emily was with Attano or would soon be with Attano.

It meant Delilah hadn't marked her yet. She'd only did so when it became closer to the assault on their base. It meant Billie had time. She closed her eyes and repeated the date--fifteenth of High Cold. She still couldn't tell if this were a dream or something else; it felt less real. Her eye and her arm throbbed and Billie glanced to her right. It struck her odd that Daud or Thomas hadn't said anything, actually. She looked at her arm, she could see the way the artifact fused at the stump where her elbow would've been. She manipulated the fingers, then glanced to Daud and Thomas again.

"What happened, Billie?" it was Thomas who asked, Daud who looked at her concerned. "Did you hear something? See something?" A flicker of his fingers, and Billie narrowed her eyes at the gesture--something about rats?

"No--" Billie started, then shook her head. "--a dream. I think." She moved her hand again and Daud reached out and grasped it.

"Get me fisher," Daud said, and he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand but said nothing about it. Billie pulled her hand back even as she heard Thomas disappear in a transversal. "Debrief, Billie." Billie licked her lips, and when she didn't say anything Daud frowned. "Was it the black eyed bastard?"

Billie flinched, pulled away--she'd forgotten for a second Daud's contentious relationship with--how he thought so little of--Billie shook her head and opened her mouth to say no, to say it wasn't--but her voice stole away from her in the say way her thoughts stuttered over where she would normally have his name. Actually it worried her, how she couldn't think it, couldn't speak it--but she knew it. It was like the name had been stolen again, but not quite at the same time. Billie swallowed and turned her head to the side, frowned as she thought about it. She raised her left hand and rubbed against her lips.

How had she woken here, Billie wondered. When they were together in Tyvia--there was a bunk, they'd shared space in the dilapidated shack that they worked out of. Had--whatever happened done something to--if it did she would be furious. They'd grown close, the two of them. She cared for the little boy; he'd been fifteen; a child. No matter how long he'd been a Void Entity after that there was still the scared little boy who lost his name. Who died. Who bled out on a ritual alter as the Void filled him up and froze him and--Billie swallowed, and then reached into herself. Reached for--for that tie between--for what he did that connected them.

Was he here? Was that why she knew the name but couldn't think or say it? Did she even have the arm and the eye or was she just so used to them that she imagined it so? Billie dove into that connection and felt it there--strong, fluttering, terror and in a second Billie snapped back to herself and sucked in a breath. Something was wrong. Something sour-sweet in the tie between her and--and the Outsider. It hurt to think of him as such but he was and wasn't--she was and wasn't too.

"Fuck," Billie hissed between her teeth and then jerked when a new pair of hands touched her and she stared at Fisher who flashed a penlight in her eyes. "Ow, shit, stop that I'm fine!" Billie pulled away.

"Was he talking to you?" Daud said, voice low, dangerous, and Billie looked at him incredulously.

"What?" Billie said. "No, I--" She'd been focused. How long had she been focused. She glanced to Thomas and saw how he fidgeted, worrying his lip between his teeth. Fisher flashed the penlight in her eyes again and she flinched away; Fisher's lips were pressed thin in that worried way the woman got, eyes narrowed in concentration. "Stop that. I'm fine."

"You keep trancing out on us, Billie," Thomas said, voice soft, worried.

"I was thinking," Billie snapped back. "You should try it sometime." Thomas jerked back, surprised.

"Lurk," Daud said, and he used that tone with that name that had Billie standing up straight suddenly at attention. "You will submit to an exam under Fisher."

"Daud I'm fine," Billie tried to assert, but Daud would not be dissuaded. She could tell that from the stubborn set of his jaw and she sighed, heavily. "It was just a dream." When Daud stood taller, sterner, Billie reasserted, "It was just a dream, Daud."

"You will submit for an exam," Daud said, voice low. "I will not have my second compromised."

Billie sucked in a breath through clenched teeth but nodded acquiescence. If anything it would give her more time to think and figure this out because this--something was wrong with it, and she couldn't name what. Her arm hurt. Her eye throbbed. It was wrong.

#dishonored #billie lurk #daud #corvo attano #the outsider #fanfic #fic: kismet #fic: lacuna #wip

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love-fireflysong · 4 years

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Until Dawn’s Fifth Birthday

Welp, congrats Until Dawn, you’re officially old enough to start kindergarten. You’re off to learn to read, tie your shoes, recite yous ABC’s, and learn to count to 100. Your such a big kid now, and I’m proud of you for making it this far.

I know I have done literal jack shit for the entire month, but I have been immensely enjoying the things that everyone’s been putting out for this month. So I’m gonna make this text post, not just because of it’s the five year anniversary, but because it’s actually a post I’ve been wanting to make for a while.

So here it goes:

I first learned of Until Dawn when it first came out hilariously enough. My roommate at the time had boughten it for her ps4 and I had been seeing it all over my dashboard on tumblr at the time. I didn’t play it myself though until close to a year later, when I finally had my own ps4 and I bought the game used for like $20 or something from my local game rental store. And I was hooked.

I remember jumping the first time the UD logo pulls that jump scare on the title screen. And laughing because I’m normally pretty good with jump scares, but that one managed to get me because I hadn’t been expecting one before I even started the game. (The one thing in the game that manages to make me jump every time is the mine cart you stop as Mike. For whatever reason it doesn’t matter how dark my room is when I play the game or how many times I’ve played it, I can never see the mine cart until its literally on top of Mike and the QTE is almost up and I squeak in surprise every fucking time.)

Of course I didn’t manage to save everyone during my first playthrough, I definitely lost Matt to the hook and Ash to the trapdoor (RIP darlings), and for the life of me I can’t recall how the lodge scene at the end went. I’m one of those players though that try to make choices that the characters I’m playing as would, I throw my feelings by the wayside. For example, being in the shed when the game’s making me choose Ash or Josh, and I was debating on whether or not Chris would save the girl he’s had a major crush on for a while at least, or his best friend for the last ten years. I distinctly remember wincing and sucking in air through my teeth and going “Sorry Ash, bros before hoes” and choosing Josh. And then being confused and convinced that I misunderstood the instructions? I mean I wasn’t complaining, just really, really confused. I definitely choose Ash to live at the gun one though, like there was no hesitation. I watched the whole ‘only thing I’ve ever wanted to do with my time’ scene and talk and the moment control was given back to me, the gun was under Chris’s jaw and I fired.

I’m also one of the players that didn’t know that Josh had been behind everything until the reveal either. I had gotten Sam captured so I never got any of those clues and I managed to miss the other clues that hinted at it being a set up (like the bundle of newspapers). So until the reveal I was still convinced that someone was out there killing all of them. Listen, I like mystery games but I’m not very good at connecting the dots okay.

I think I stuck around for a couple of months, gorging myself of fanfiction (all ff.net stuff by the way, I can’t remember if I knew about ao3 at that point or not) but like all interests do with me, the obsession eventually faded (helped in a large part by the rampant Ashley hate going around at the time) and I moved on.

Until February of this year. I was trying to kill time till the end of March when Persona 5: Royal released and I decided to try and see how many games I could platinum until that point. I had made it through the ps3 tomb raider games, Prince of Persia 2008, and decided on replaying the Uncharted games because the ps4 collection didn’t have multiplayer trophies. I hadn’t even thought of replaying Until Dawn. I mean, I had looked at the case and I remembered the game fondly, but that was it. There was no urge or want.

I was halfway through Among Thieves when I was bored and chilling time on Youtube. And because I had been watching a couple of videos for the treasure locations in Uncharted, one of the recommended videos for me was a game sins for the series. I decided sure why not, and watched it. And watched a few of his other ones as well, Until Dawn included.

That’s right, what got me back into the series wasn’t fond nostalgia for the characters or story. It was a fucking Game Sins video. I’m so sorry.

I was devouring UD content again. I spent like 2 or 3 weeks reading everything Chrashley (with the hyper-fixation for the game back came the ship, what can I say) based on ao3 that I could get my hands on. I was back into the tag on tumblr, going through art I remembered seeing way back when and looking at usernames that didn’t mean a thing then, but mean the world to me now. And then near the end of February, when the obsession was once again starting to flag, I decided to hell with it, and clicked on the The (Almost)s.

I’m not going to expunge all my praises for the story, everyone else has done that better then I ever could. But guys, it was so good. So so good. I was hooked back into the series once again, just as I was starting to flag. And when I saw that @queenofbaws had mentioned that she was tumblr... I didn’t do anything right away. Too scared really, figured she might find it creepy, so I didn’t do anything for like a week. And then I decided fuck it, sent a message about Chris giving Ash his sweater, and following her.

And that was it. I figured I would stick around to see the story completed and just dip. Not even make a splash, just enjoy the content from the sidelines and no one would know that I was here in the first place. Same old, same old. But that was also when I started turning around the kernel in my mind that Baby It’s Cold Outside (so hold me tight in your arms and don’t let go). I didn’t even intend to write it, it was just going to be the fanfic that lived in my mind for me to stew on before bed every night. But I couldn’t sleep one night, my brain was too on and the words just weren’t stopping, so I pulled out my computer and wrote the first part from Chris standing in the snow outside to him reaching the lodge at like 3 in the morning.

I started becoming more involved in the fandom when queenie started her wip wednesdays and asked to be tagged. Hilariously enough, those days are what started me cross-stitching again too, I hadn’t touched the pattern in months at that point. So I started posting snippets of my writing, and that one day a week was the only thing pushing me to continue writing. By that point, I had stopped hanging around the edges, now trying to push myself closer into this little fandom circle.

The day I posted the story, I was fucking terrified. It wasn’t my first story, not by a long shot, but I had always considered my writing to be shit. I thought I had good ideas, but I never felt that I was able to truly bring them to life. English and grammar had never been my best subject, I was always more of a math and physics person growing up. But then that first comment from @elliepollie came in and I almost burst into tears. I couldn’t believe that someone out there liked it so much, that they were willing to leave me a review in the first place. I’m still so blown away that she was willing to recommend it as a Chrashley story for other people to read. I think that was the point I stopped hesitantly pushing my way through, and I just kicked down the doors and just yelled ‘Hey fuckers! I’m here now and you are going to fucking deal with it!’.

That was the event that opened the floodgates for me. Suddenly I was talking to people, I had friends online with the same interests as me. I’ve written more in the last six months then I’ve done in the last ten years! I’m feeling inspired to create again. I actually went out to do the first commission I’ve ever requested (speaking of which, please please please go commisson @fudgeroach. I cannot wait until he can post and show you guys the stuff he drew for me. It was worth every fucking penny let me tell you.)

I’m going to be honest, Until Dawn isn’t my favourite game. Sure it has some of my fav lines (it had been years since I played the game, and the moment Jess started her rant outside the guest cabin I was screaming it along with her) and great characters, as horrible people as they all are, but it’s never been my favourite game and likely never will be. But Until Dawn has the best fandom I’ve ever been in and I’m so, so happy to have met and known every single person here. I seriously love every single person here so, so much. You all make my life better and I’m so happy to have all of you in it. Just to quote Chris because I can: “Every second I spend with you is all I ever wanted to do with my time.” This is how I feel. This is how I feel every goddamn day now.

So yeah, I got back into this fandom from a stupid Game Sins video. But by god if it wasn’t the best choice I’ve ever made.

(PS: for those wondering, I never did finish Uncharted 2. Maybe one day...)

#until dawn #udanniversary #<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

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missorgana · 5 years

Text

leave me a note, till next time

pairing: finn/rey, background han solo/leia organa

fandom: star wars (sequel trilogy)

rating: general

word count: 4833

warning: swearing

summary: “Finn’s very picky about who he gives his music to, so can tell you I was surprised. "Or the plot explained: Rey ends up talking to the cute cashier in her local record store. He's leaving her post-it notes. This crush of hers might be getting bigger than first anticipated. (record store au) happy belated birthday to my babey @sapphicstarlights ♥ really hope you enjoy this perfect!! mwah)

read on ao3

You’re probably wondering what Rey’s doing here. In fact, she’s kind of wondering that herself.

The deal’s that she’s become more or less a regular customer of the cozy, slightly pretentious but in just the right way, record store at the corner of her street.

Or she would be a regular customer, if she actually bought anything.

Rey doesn’t even own a record player.

Yet she finds herself in the small aisles of the Resistance Record Shack nearly every weekend. And don’t ask her about the name, she’s got no idea what it means, the resistance part, that is.

Rey really does like the music playing in here. It varies in genre, actually, first time she was here it was Pink Floyd, other days Amy Winehouse, and today… she doesn’t actually know what artist it is, but it’s still nice.

The store’s actually connected with the coffee shop next door, she’s never bought anything there either, but it only adds to the coziness of it all.

But as she glances towards the front desk every now and then, the real reason why she’s here comes into view.

And there’s nothing wrong with admiring someone from afar, right?

Rey tells herself that, anyway, because visiting this store only for this reason is incredibly embarrassing, in her own head, and a bit weird.

Said person Rey’s been visiting this store for is one of the cashiers, and no, she’s never talked to him, but he’s really pretty, okay?

She doesn’t really know why she’s so drawn by him.

He seems the height as her, and he’s always wearing a band t-shirt of some sort, and it’s not always she knows said band, but maybe she’s checked some of them out from time to time.

Rey’s not obsessing, she swears by that.

This man’s always got his arms exposed, even when she first discovered this store last winter, when it was snowing . And yes, once she walked by and saw him talking to someone outside, no jacket or anything.

Strange. She doesn’t really know if it adds to her interest in him or just makes him weird, who knows.

Almost all the times she’s been in here, he’s controlled the music, and the choices are usually great, but a lot she doesn’t know.

Recently he’s played a lot of non-English music, and it made her realise that she doesn’t really listen to much music outside of her own language.

And maybe, she’s seen him in deep concentration sometimes, reading on the back of a record sleeve, or putting records in order, and found his frown a tiny bit cute.

She knows it’s weird, okay, she knows.

A glance at her watch makes Rey realise she should probably leave, because Leia needed her help with moving the last boxes into her and Han’s new apartment, but before Rey goes a voice startles her.

“You looking for anything in particular?”

And she has to jump a bit, and next to her, he’s standing.

His voice isn’t really what she expected, but then again, she doesn’t know what she expected.

It’s very warm, and he scratches his neck, a look of embarrassment starting to wash over him, “Ah, fuck, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Rey’s wide eyed for a moment before shaking her head, “It’s fine.”

And awkward silence. Hate that. Say something Rey, god damn it.

“I, uh, no, not really. I gotta get going anyway, I was just browsing.” she tells him, which is a horrible explanation, but she didn’t really plan to, you know, talk to him or anything.

In her time, Rey’s seen and admired a lot of people without ever approaching them.

She does that a lot in the car workshop she’s an intern in, and she did when she was looking for colleges, and she did back in school in England.

Her girlfriend at that time, Jess, told her it wasn’t weird, but maybe she was just lying to make Rey feel better.

Jess is really the only person she’s admired that she’s gotten to know.

She’s not very impulsive, and Rey wishes she was, sometimes. So did Jess, not that she forced her, because she would never. But Jess did some things alone, and Rey felt bad that their differences did that.

They split up when they both went on exchange, though, and Rey’s honestly really glad they’re still in contact.

Ever since, Jess has been encouraging her to date again, but Rey’s come up pretty result-less no matter the time.

She also made the perhaps mistake of telling Jess about the cute guy at the record store, who’s now in front of her, and now, her former girlfriend urges her to reach out.

Maybe that’s why she’s here, really.

Still, he’s in front of her now because he approached her, not the other way around. Jess doesn’t have to know about this, though… right?

“It’s a good section you’re browsing, honestly,” the man tells him, head gesturing towards the sign stating Alternative Rock, 70s. “I sort of wish we had a bigger selection, but you know, only got so much space.”

He ended his sentence with a chuckle, and she couldn’t help but give him a smile back.

If Rey wasn’t sure Leia would call her any minute now, she would stay and talk to him just a bit more. He seems like talking to strangers isn’t really his thing, so she can only wonder why he’s got a job that involves customer service.

Rey can’t really end their conversation on that, though, so she rushes, “I, uh, well. It’s sort of stupid, but I don’t own a record player.”

And in a second, his eyes go wide.

“Oh my god, really? I mean, they’re expensive as shi- Sorry. It’s essential, though!” he tells her, laughing, but quickly holds his surprise, “Or I mean, not to make you feel bad, I know technology’s moved on and all. But you just like looking at records, then?”

And, well, fuck. She can’t really say she’s been looking at him from time to time, that might be the creepiest thing she can ever do.

“Yeah? That’s, uh, that’s why it’s stupid. And I like the music playing here, anyway, and the atmosphere, really.”

And the cashier smiles back at her awkward demeanor, and extends his hand.

Rey has to look at it for a second before he speaks up, “Well, I’m glad you think that, we’re aiming for something… I don’t know, homely, I guess? I’m Finn.”

“Rey.” she tells him, shaking his hand in return. His voice is on an octave higher than her own, and his words rush over one another. And he’s got a dimple when he smiles, but just a single one, which she finds adorable and strange, for some reason.

And she has to look at her watch again, because she really is late, and she looks up at him with an apologetic smile, “Finn, it’s really nice meeting you. I swear, honestly. But I do really have to go.”

Rey doesn’t know why she feels so bad, but she does, and she wishes she could stay a bit longer. But this is way more social interaction than she thought she would be having today.

Maybe Leia’s gonna be proud of her, Jess too.

“Oh Christ, yes! I apologise, I keep a hold of you for no good reason,” he leans on the rack behind him, seemingly trying to assume his own business but not really knowing what to do with himself, “Nice meeting you too, Rey.”

And she can’t do anything more than nod, smiling again, and gives him a stupid, awkward wave before turning around and hurrying out the door.

That was weird, but it went okay under the circumstances, didn’t it? She’d ask Jess that, anyway, when she calls tomorrow. And maybe she’d ask Leia, because she’s always got the right advice to everything Rey asks, somehow.

Advice about boys, or girls, isn’t something Rey’s inquired her about before, but there has to be a first time for everything, she guesses.

And she finds herself pondering over the conversation, in the back of her mind, on the train to Leia and Han’s residence.

And Finn. Rey likes that name.

Finn.

…

The weekend following her first conversation with cute cas- Finn, came, and now, she’s walking into the record store with a new determination.

She, maybe, possibly, told Leia of this meeting, which caused nothing more than a knowing smile and a question of this boy’s name.

Leia also yelled to her husband, stocking up in the kitchen, letting him know what they were talking about, causing Rey’s face to heat up. But Leia and Han had taken care of her, ever since her parents died, so she was fond of their shenanigans.

And the knowledge of Finn only sounded a scoff from her father figure, but he’s always grumpy, and really, nothing ever surprises him, which she finds kind of hilarious.

Rey also told Jess over the phone, of course, and she squealed .

Jessika is no way near a squealing type of person.

When the door closes behind her, Rey spots who she’s looking for, putting a new vinyl record on to play over the bustle of the small gathering of customers.

She has to take a quick breath, but figures it’ll be stupid to just, well, stand here, so Rey approaches him. Terrifying, but also kind of thrilling.

“Hey,” she says, maybe a bit too loud, because Finn jumps, and she’s quick to apologise, “I- oh my God, did not mean to scare you.”

When he recognizes her, he smiles, wider than last weekend she notes, not like it means anything.

Obviously it is, they only just met last time, and now he’s probably just being polite. Shut up, brain.

“Guess we’re even now, huh,” he answers with a laugh, “Really, don’t worry about it.”

For some reason, he makes her feel calm.

She’s not usually like this with strangers, crushing on them or not, so this is different.

Rey’s giving him a smile back, because how can she not, and she has to somehow move this conversation further along, so she finds it in herself to ask a question, “I thought of what you said, and I don’t know, maybe I should invest in a record player.”

Finn’s eyes lighten up now, eyebrows shooting up a bit, “Definitely! Or I mean, as I said, it’s a thing that’s back in fashion, not really that practical, but oh well. Can I ask though, what kind of music’s your thing?”

And in that moment Rey finds herself dumbfounded, and she almost wants to laugh at herself.

Well, hm, now that he asks, she hasn’t really thought about it much.

Rey likes a lot of music, but she doesn’t know if she has any favorites. Is that weird?

“I, uh, it’s… kind of embarrassing. But I don’t really know?”

A look of confusion appears on his face, and she wants to dig herself in a hole already, but can’t really leave this hanging, so she continues hastily, “Or I mean, ugh. I just haven’t really thought of any favorites… you know? Sorry, that’s stupid.”

And honestly, the smile that returns on his face now might be creating butterflies in Rey’s stomach, don’t judge her, okay.

“It’s not stupid, Rey, seriously. You just need to figure out what your niche is, right? You know what - how about I give you one of my favorite records on the side of the player.” he tells, already going behind the desk and digging through something excitedly, “Can’t promise you’ll like it, but ugh, it’s so good.”

This situation’s overwhelming her, but she doesn’t mind right now, because he’s so nice, how can one be so nice?

And why does he have to be so damned cute about it? It’s the worst.

Finn’s already putting it in front of her, “This is on sale right now, actually, if you still wanna try it out? And the record’s from my own collection, so don’t worry about that, okay?”

Rey just nods, and has to chuckle, and gives him a reassuring look, “I’d love that. If it’s not any trouble to you, that is.”

The man’s shaking his head profusely at her.

“Hell, no. Wanna help you into your venture of the music world as much as I can. Prepare to get your mind blown.”

And well, Rey didn’t expect to spend any money today on anything else than groceries, but look at her now. Back on the subway, a giant box in her arms that results her in not being able to sit anyway and other passengers giving her weird looks.

She just wants this awkwardness to be over. Fuck that.

The one she had with Finn, though, well.

Rey didn’t mind that too much.

…

So, you can probably guess that Rey’s going back to the record shack this week, too.

Jess gave her the knowing smile that always gets on her nerves, over facetime, when she told her of her weekend plans.

“I hate you.” Rey told her, but the girl just laughed. Dammit.

But to be fair, this time she’s got more, what do you call it, content for the conversation? Whatever that means.

Rey’s listened to the record Finn borrowed her, to be clear.

She almost immediately set the whole thing up the minute she came home, and well, she hadn’t really expected to buy a record player, and so she struggled to find a placement for it.

Hurriedly cleaning out her desk would have to for now.

And the album was insane, she had to agree with her, well, crush. She can say that. Leave her alone.

Rey had heard of Janelle Monáe before, heard a couple of singles on the radio, as you do, but listening to the whole thing that same night was pretty good, to be honest.

In fact, she found herself putting on the record again when she was making breakfast. And when she took a shower.

But she also found the album, and saved it, on spotify, meaning now would be an appropriate time to return it to its owner.

Thing was, when Rey was packing it to go back to the store, she stumbled upon a blue post-it note, sticked on the back of the sleeve.

Funny that she hadn’t noticed it till today, and she could question her distracted self about that all day, but instead decided to just pick the note off, which read, It’s her most recent album, but my favorite of hers. There’s also a short film made based on it, fun fact. Or well, don’t know if it’s a ‘fun’ fact. Hm. Hope you enjoy it! xo

So, maybe, Rey stuck the note on her bulletin board before she left.

Can you blame her?

Perhaps you can, but the note was nice, and didn’t actually help her infatuation with this man.

And so her mind’s still stuck on that blue note when the bell signal rings over her, a couple of young men hurrying out beside her.

It’s a little busier than last weekend, Rey thinks, but given the size of this place it’s still not crowded enough to be unpleasant. A few of them are residents of the coffee shop anyway, making their through the Jazz aisle while impatiently waiting for their café latte to go.

Of course, she spots Finn immediately.

Stopping her inner self critic, she approaches him as he’s filling up a rack, noticing her with a “Oh, hey!”

He’s smiling significantly bright, and it makes Rey wonder if he’s won the lottery or something. He doesn’t continue, though, so instead she speaks up, “I figured you want your record back.”

Finn seems confused, and in a second remembers, gratefully accepting the album she’s handing him, “Yes! My god, did you like it? I won’t judge you. Maybe.”

His laughter’s easily contagious.

Maybe Jessika was right, Rey’s becoming a lovebird, or lovesick, or something.

“I loved it. Saved it online and everything, actually.” she tells him, and looks down because she might be blushing. Stop it.

And Finn looked proud.

Honestly, she wishes she could see what was going on in his mind, but could definitely tell he was having a good day.

But before Rey could say her goodbyes, another record was placed in her arms.

What’s going on in her life, recently?

The title blond is showcased on the white cover, along with a man sporting green hair. She feels like she should know who this artist is, feels like she’s seen this image before, but comes up empty.

Rey realises she’s fallen silent when Finn speaks up again, “If you liked Dirty Computer, you’ll love this too. I hope.”

She shrugs, “I trust you.”

The silence that falls upon them makes her nervous, because he’s smiling at her, and it feels comfortable, but she also immediately wishes she could take that back.

Finn seems unfazed though. Actually, from the look of his similarly nervous gestures, he’s flattered.

Is this a signal, like Jess tells her? Ugh, Rey hates being this unknowing.

“I, well, I gotta go. Or I mean, gotta stock up. Sorry.” he said, his voice slowing down from its previous upbeat tone.

Rey wishes Jess, or Leia, or even Han could be here and just tell her what to do, because she doesn’t really know. He has a lot of the same mannerisms that she does, but then again, she’s never been good at reading signs.

“Of course.” she replies and is about to be on her way, when the same voice calls again, “I’ll see you around, right?”

His dimple’s appearing again.

“Perhaps.” she replies, biting her lip.

Perhaps.

...

The first thing Rey does when she unpacks the new record from Finn is look for a post-it.

And guess what? He did it again.

Another blue note on the back of the sleeve, this time telling her, Hope this isn’t too weird, hope you’ll like this album as much as I do. And it was great meeting you. That’s weird. Enjoy it, though! xo.

Damn this man.

And of course, the note found its way onto her wall, and the record found its way to the player, and Rey may or may not fall asleep to it.

Finn might’ve jumpstarted a Frank Ocean obsession in her.

Her spotify’s really becoming a lot more useful now, and she actually decides to pay for the stupid premium option just so she won’t get ads while she’s on the train.

Rey’s listened to channel orange, the artist’s previous album, and she might prefer that a tad over the record Finn gave her, but he doesn’t need to know that.

And she actually brings the whole shebang over to Leia and Han, and plays the album for them, they’re pretty excited too.

They keep asking about Finn constantly, but you know.

It’s because of them she doesn’t go to the store that weekend, and Rey finds herself wondering if he expected her to be there. He won’t get mad if she doesn’t give him the record back today, will he?

Truly hope not.

She wishes she had the guts to ask him… about, whatever, anything. His phone number. Or maybe not. Maybe just like, ask him about his life.

God, Rey can hear how lame she sounds.

But the worry in her takes control, which is why she hurries in the store, on a Monday. She’s got an hour before she’s supposed to meet at the workshop, she can make that, right?

Thing is, when Rey makes her way to the counter, she can’t see the man she’s looking for, and she has to fight her stomach from dropping.

Holding onto the record just this longer than the previous made her feel like a bother.

But a curly haired man is controlling the player now, dogtag around his neck and wearing a jacket that… looks like it’s been through a lot.

Rey decides to clear her throat, getting his attention, and speaking up when he gives her a polite smile, “Hey, uh, sorry to disturb you. But is Finn working today?”

She tries to hide her nervousness, but probably fails miserably.

Maybe he��ll just think she’s a friend of Finn’s, and not a random person he’s met a couple times and for some reason lent out his favorite music to even though he barely knows her- or did he talk about her?

Jesus, Rey, no he didn’t, stop overthinking.

“Not today, no, ah- sorry to disappoint.” the man tells her with a chuckle, confident and genuinely sorry at the same time, “Finn’s not on Mondays. Can I be of help, though?”

And Rey can’t help her disappoint, but obviously, of course, he can’t just be here whenever she wants him to, she feels ridiculous.

She’s on the line of walking out again, but figures why the fuck not, and responds, “Well, maybe? He borrowed me this record last week, and I figure he might want it back, so…”

And the cashier’s eyes widen up, and exclaims, “Oh, right!” before realising he might be too loud, “Sorry, Finn told me you might be dropping by. I’ll get it to him, don’t worry about it.”

So trusting him, because why should she not, she barely knows either of them, hands the record to him, but is stopped in her words before she can leave, “And he actually wanted me to give you this.”

And because life keeps getting stranger and stranger recently, what the fuck, there comes the third record her crush has borrowed her.

This might be one of the weirdest relations she’s had to anyone.

It’s somehow a different feel she’s getting from this cover, a band called The Regrettes, the art showing some people, presumably the band, sitting on a giant birthday cake.

“I love this album, actually, Finn’s got good taste. But I mean, music taste’s relative, you know? Got half my taste from my boyfriend, anyways.” the shorter man in front of her says.

She has to chuckle, and thanks him, accepting the bag he offers, so hopefully she won’t be looking as dumb in the eyes of the New Yorkers in the underground as she did previously.

“I get what you mean. And thanks again for this, Finn really didn’t have to. But, uh, yeah, it was nice meeting you....”

He realises the lack of introduction with her words, looking surprised again, “Poe. Sorry, it’s Poe.”

She nods, “Rey.”

“Rey! Honestly, Finn talked about you for ages this weekend.” Poe tells her, and when Rey raises her eyebrow, he continues, “Like, wouldn’t shut up.”

And… what the fuck.

He talked about her.

Is this real life?

At this point, it’s almost like things are happening, and she’s just watching like a fly on the wall, letting it all happen.

She wants to ask into it, but a look at the clock on the wall reminds her she has cars to fix, “Fuck, sorry, hate to end on a weird note, but I’m late. Dammit. Thanks again, though.”

“No problem at all.” and he smiles brightly, giving a wave. “Finn’s very picky about who he gives his music to, so can tell you I was surprised. Enjoy it!” Rey stumbles over herself because what sort of way was that to leave her? Oh God.

She simply nods in her nerves, trying to disappear as quickly as possible, while Poe assumed his business, not weirded out by her behavior, so that’s something.

Rey has absolutely no idea what this means.

She feels like she’s going insane.

And she also feels a little bit warmer picking the new note off, this time a yellow one, This is a bit different from the others, but have a feeling it's just up your alley. Missed you this weekend. xo

...

Looking at the small collection of notes Finn’s given her, she finds something in her, somewhere, to write a note of her own.

That recent one might be giving her some courage.

Everything you’ve shown me is amazing. And Poe was nice, though I sort of wish you would’ve been there. Is that stupid? xo.

Jesus.

She doesn’t tell Jess about this, in case it goes wrong, and because her nerves are on the very edge.

He said he missed her. Could that mean something? Anyway, if he doesn’t reply, she’ll know she read it the wrong way.

Maybe he’s already dating someone and he’ll kindly reject her. Yes. It’ll be fine.

And Rey figures she’ll regret it if she doesn’t act, in the end.

Right?

…

She meets Finn again when she gives the record back, except he’s sort of in rush, so they don’t get much talking done.

He smiles at her, though.

Seems like everytime she sees him, the smile gets a bit bigger.

Is Rey becoming delusional?

And she still finds a note on the back of the newest borrow, this time, Hope you like this one. And maybe I talked about you a little bit, sorry, Poe said he told you. Please don’t hate me. xo.

He might just be making her like him even more. If that’s even possible, at this point.

So, maybe, possibly, she writes a new one back to him.

It takes her a while to word it.

Is she coming off desperate? Creepy? Or just pathetic?

Sometimes, Rey wishes people would just say what they mean to her face.

Guessing is hard.

…

Stop, how could I hate you? Poe did no harm. Just didn’t expect you to talk about me. Hope I’ll see you soon? xo.

…

I guess you could say you made an impact on me. xo.

…

There’s two notes this time, and it seems like he crumbled it but put it on anyway, Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, is that too much? Fuck.

…

Rey’s just about had it with her own mind.

This thing… whatever it is, trading post-it notes with Finn, it’s been going on over a month now. And she really hopes what she’s reading is meant in the way she hopes it is.

Jessika’s expertise on social interaction and finding out what people mean, really mean, told her that he was flirting.

Rey doesn’t know how to flirt.

Jess tells her she’s already doing it, and fuck, she still doesn’t understand, but honestly, action might be required.

Finn’s so adorably anxious, even more than herself, and Rey figures she might as well make a move. A clear move.

Whatever that means.

And she makes sure to wait till her off day, because this isn’t something Rey wants to be doing in a rush.

If it’s a rejection, though… maybe she should’ve thought of that before she went to the store. Now, there’s really not much going back.

Rey’s got courage, dammit, she’s got so much in her that she marches in through the door, up to the counter, spots Finn, thank god, and hands him the music from last week.

Good start.

Only thing is he’s silent and no words are coming out of her mouth either.

She might be seeing Poe eyeing them weirdly from the corner. Fuck it.

Rey pulls out a note, the first one Finn gave her, and writes on the back, and hands it to him.

Finn looks nervous, and bewildered, and fucking cute. And he reads it, and he’s smiling, and he doesn’t look like he knows what to do with his hands.

Are you flirting with me?

“I, uh,” he starts, sucking in a breath, nodding, looking at her and exhaling, “Yes. I mean, it doesn’t look like that? I just-”

“It does.” Rey bursts out. “It does, to me, but I’m not good at… this. And it’s hard for me to say these things out loud. You know?”

And Finn’s whole posture changes, like her words lift an invisible weight of his shoulders, and instantly, he looks lighter. Like he might float away.

“I know.”

The smiles comes easily on to her lips now.

It’s silent again, but the silent that’s over them is entirely different, because it’s a comfortable one, and Rey wishes she would stop blushing but she can’t look away.

Finn’s blushing too.

They’re embarrassing.

So, yeah, Jess was right, and maybe these post-its only made this whole thing ridiculous, but she can’t find it in herself to care.

The man in front of her was flirting with her. Meaning he likes her. He doesn’t give out his music to many, but he gave it to her. She likes him.

“If you’re not going anywhere, uhm-” Finn says, “Are you?”

Nope, why would she? Rey shakes her head.

“I’m off in an hour or so. Would it be okay if I bought you coffee?”

And honestly, for once, she decides not to hold this thought to herself.

“Hell yeah.”

29 notes · View notes

bastardnev · 5 years

Text

Broken (But Not Beyond Repair)

yknow i spent a whole lot of time referring to this as “the valentine’s fic” but meanwhile valentine’s day is mentioned like Once during this whole story. Nevertheless !

tagging: @sailor-slam-dunk @residentjoth @riveliciousx @lambchopviking @storyranger @nerdbrose (lemme kno if u wanna be added to my tag list !!)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling, All Elite Wrestling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mustafa Ali/Pac | Adrian Neville Characters: Mustafa Ali, Pac | Adrian Neville Additional Tags: Valentine's Day, sorta but not really, its more mentioned than anything else tbh, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, i guess, Making Up, au where nev still lives in orlando and also has a big fucking dog, mustafa worries a lot, Implied Sexual Content Series: Part 2 of Jess Has Too Many Fics In Her Notes Summary: By all means, Mustafa shouldn't have even been thinking about Neville anymore. It had been over two years since he left WWE, and they were both at completely different points in their careers. It was pointless to dwell on the past or give any real thought to what could have been — all that mattered anymore was what the future held, and it looked like their respective paths were headed in opposite directions.

And yet, despite all of this, there Mustafa was. Seated in his rental car, in the parking lot of some cheap motel he had planned to spend the night at. Neville's number dialed on his phone.

(link to ao3)

By all means, Mustafa shouldn't have even been thinking about Neville anymore. It had been over two years since he left WWE, and they were both at completely different points in their careers. It was pointless to dwell on the past or give any real thought to what could have been — all that mattered anymore was what the future held, and it looked like their respective paths were headed in opposite directions.

And yet, despite all of this, there Mustafa was. Seated in his rental car, in the parking lot of some cheap motel he had planned to spend the night at. Neville's number dialed on his phone.

Mustafa stared down at the screen, squinting against the bright light. The rain rhythmically tapping against the roof of the car left him in almost a trance-like state as he debated whether or not to hit the "call" button. This wasn't the first time he found himself in this position — he was tempted to get in touch with Neville just about every time he and the rest of the WWE crew passed through Orlando during live event tours. He would usually only get as far as his contacts list, however, and he was never actually able to bring himself to make that move. Once he learned that the latest show would see him in the area again, he assumed that things would play out as they normally did, with him backing out at the last second and pretending like he had zero interest in seeing Neville.

But that didn't happen. This time, the urge to get in contact was so strong , far more than it ever had been. To the point where Mustafa was in the car and fully prepared to drive right over to Neville’s house. He had no idea what exactly it was, but he had arrived in town with an almost overwhelming feeling to just bite the bullet and do it. A sense that he needed to stop putting off something that was killing him not to do. He wasn't even sure where it came from, but it was certainly there — a feeling that he needed to reach out, to call, to talk to Neville again after so long of little to no contact.

To possibly rekindle a relationship that had meant so much to him.

To put it bluntly, Mustafa and Neville's relationship was, at its core, supposed to be just sex. Nothing more than that. "No strings attached", they always insisted. Once a week ( maybe twice, if they were feeling up to it), they would meet up in a hotel room to fool around, to blow off steam after a show. After Raw, after 205 — they weren't picky. Whenever they were both in the same place and could meet up, they spent the night together. It was nothing more than that, at least at first.

But then, it... changed. It had been gradual — Mustafa hadn't even noticed it right away — but the times they shared started to become something else. Before all they had done was meet up, do what they had to do, and then go their separate ways before anyone knew what they were doing. They did their best to make sure that no one even had a suspicion that there was anything going on between the two of them, hence why Mustafa would always go back to his hotel room after they finished. Whoever he was rooming with normally didn't ask too many questions so long as he was back from his "late night walk" ( horrible excuse, but it worked) at a reasonable time.

Then Mustafa started to actually stay the night with Neville. The first time he had simply been too tired and lazy to leave. The second time had followed a very similar format, only Neville didn't put up as much of a fight. Every time it happened thereafter, Neville cared less and less, and before either of them knew it it had become an established part of their routine, their desire not to clue anyone in on their secret be damned.

And then came the invites to each other's houses. It had started as a way to save money whenever tapings were in Chicago or Orlando, but before long they had becomed planned affairs, with one spending anywhere from a day to a whole weekend at the other's home. They acted like this was so they could hook up easier (and more frequently), but the fact was that those nights were... fun . More fun than they thought they would be. It wasn't just sex anymore — they were cooking together, and buying way too many snacks together, and eating those same snacks as they binged the dumbest fucking movies together. (Stupid Movie Fridays, they'd taken to calling them, though they weren't opposed to other days of the week being devoted to corny films.)

They were... getting closer. Close enough that Mustafa wasn't sure if they should be labeled as acquaintances, or as friends, or as... something even more than that.

Whatever the hell they were, it all came to a screeching halt in October of 2017, when Neville left the company and didn’t look back.

Mustafa still texted him after everything happened, but it was clear that things weren't how they used to be. Neville was distracted, so caught up in the drama of requesting his release that he didn't seem to have time to talk with him anymore. It wasn't like Mustafa didn't understand — though he'd never been through the process himself, he could only imagine how stressful it must be, especially given the specifics of Neville's situation. Not to mention that his own career picked up notably only a few short months later, and he hadn't done much better on the consistent communication front. This was far from being a one-sided issue.

What had gotten to Mustafa the most, though, was how abrupt it all was. How one moment the two of them were talking, and laughing, and genuinely enjoying one another's company more than they ever thought they would, only for all of it to suddenly stop. How they used to text each other the most ridiculous and pointless shit, only for their messaging to slowly taper off until it ceased altogether.

As of that moment, in February of 2020, contact between them was nonexistent. Like they were total strangers.

Mustafa wanted so badly to change that.

His thumb was hovering precariously over the "call" button. It was such a simple thing to do, but he was still having so much trouble with it. If he did that, then Neville would pick up, and then two of them would be talking again for the first time in years. He would get what he wanted. It was so easy, so doable .

Even so, he was hesitant. There was no guarantee that Neville would pick up to begin with. It was possible that he would see who was calling him and immediately reject the call, or let it ring and ring until Mustafa eventually gave up and left him alone. Worse yet, he might have deleted Mustafa's number, and he would hit him with a dreaded "Who is this?" the moment he answered. Each of those situations sent a chill down his spine, and it made him want to turn off his phone and forget about this plan like he always did.

But Mustafa couldn't let those worst-case scenarios get to him. Not anymore. He needed to do it, and he needed to do it right then and there. Otherwise, it would likely never happen.

With that, he made the call.

Bringing the phone up to his ear, Mustafa chewed on his lower lip. He listened to the rings, first one, then two. His heart was pounding in his chest by the time the fifth ring rolled around. A little voice was yelling at him from the back of his mind, telling him that he'd made a huge mistake and should just hang up the phone already. It was clear that Neville didn't want to talk to him — if he did, he would've picked up. It was only a matter of time before he got sent to voicemail and was forced to either hang up or leave some embarrassing message for Neville to delete—

"Ali?"

"Oh—" Mustafa's whole body tensed at the sound of Neville's voice coming from the receiver. He'd actually picked up — shit, shit, shit . He scrambled for something to say, anything . "...Hiya."

Real smooth, dumbass . "Hello..." Neville responded tentatively. God , it had been way too long since Mustafa last heard him. He probably would have enjoyed the moment more if he didn't just make a complete fool out of himself.

"What, ah...” Just say something! “What're you up to?"

"I'm... at home." Neville still sounded wary. Mustafa couldn’t exactly blame him.

"You had a match this week, right?" Mustafa remembered seeing tweets about it on his timeline. Reading that Neville had won had put him in quite the good mood for the rest of the night.

"I did."

"Good for you." Mustafa nodded. “Makin’ moves.”

Then, the line fell silent, and Mustafa had no choice but to come to terms with the fact that he did not plan this well — or at all, really. All those nights of internal arguments and wondering about how a potential phone call between him and Neville would play out ultimately failed him. He had no idea what to say next, or how to get to the point without making himself look like an even bigger idiot.

Fortunately for him, Neville was the one who eventually broke the silence. "Ali, what's going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I— Are you kidding? You just called me out of absolutely nowhere. Why?"

“...Oh, that.” What else would he be talking about?!

“Yeah, that .” The tone left Neville’s voice and, quieter, he added, “Is everything alright?"

Mustafa swallowed. There, that was his opening. "Everything's fine, it's just..." He paused. "I... WWE's in Orlando this weekend.”

Neville was silent for a beat. "...Is that so?"

"Mhm. I just got to my motel a little while ago. Haven't even gotten out of the car yet, though, because of this rain." Taking a deep breath through his nose, he said, "I... was thinking about you. Wanted to know how things were."

“I see...” The line went quiet again, the only sound being that of Neville’s breathing and the rain, which seemed to have only gotten worse in the time they were talking. Mustafa was dreading eventually having to get out of the car.

“I-I know it’s sudden,” Mustafa explained, an attempt to save himself from this awkward situation. “And that you probably didn’t expect to hear from me.”

“I definitely didn’t.”

“Yeah... But I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure things were good.”

“They’re... They’re fine, thank you.” After a beat, “And you?”

“Same here.” Mustafa looked out the raindrop-speckled window. “I’m tired as hell, but... Still, it’s all good.”

This conversation needed to end. It was going nowhere, and Mustafa knew this. Hearing from Neville again was great, but all he was doing was embarrassing himself. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well... I guess I should be going. Still gotta get my room.”

“You haven’t even got one yet?” Neville asked. “What do you plan on doing if there isn’t one available?”

“I’ve slept in enough cars during my career to be okay with it. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t remember ever saying I was worried.”

Mustafa snorted. “You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?”

“At least I’m consistent.”

“That, you are...” Mustafa licked his lips. “I’ll... talk to you later, maybe, okay?”

“Alright...”

Mustafa sighed softly. Here’s to hoping I’ll actually have the balls to call him again after this. He thought to himself as he brought the phone away from his ear. Considering how long it had taken him to initiate this five minute chat, it would probably take him an eternity to do it all a second time.

He was just about to hang up when he heard Neville say, “Wait!”

The phone was back to Mustafa’s ear in a flash. “Yes?”

Neville seemed to hesitate for a moment, but he asked, "If it’s not too far from your motel, do you... want to come over for a bit? Just until this storm lets up."

Mustafa’s eyes widened. “U-Uh...” He stammered, very much caught off guard. He had wanted to go to Neville’s house earlier, but he didn’t expect him to straight up invite him , completely unprovoked.

“If it’s too much trouble, then don’t worry about it,” Neville backtracked. “I know the weather is messy—“

“No it’s not,” Mustafa cut him off. “I mean, yes, it is, but I can still drive in it."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't. You know I'm a good driver."

"I know you're a slow driver."

"Close enough. I’ll... I’ll be over in a little bit.”

He heard Neville breathe out (in relief?) “Alright. You, uh, still know the way?”

“Yeah, I do.” Mustafa could never forget.

The one benefit to the rain being so heavy was that the roads were mostly clear. The few cars that were out at that hour were driven by people getting home late from work and lovesick idiots like Mustafa. He had to be careful, of course, since an accident was the absolute last thing he wanted at that moment (and always, really), but he maintained a decent speed as he went down familiar streets and made familiar turns, ones that he hadn't made in ages. All so that he could see Neville in-person again.

What would the two of them even do ? That question was bouncing around inside of Mustafa’s head the whole time he was driving. He... highly doubted that they would hook up, given the amount of time they had been apart. It was unlikely that they would so easily fall back into their old pattern. Chances were they would spend more time catching up (or sitting in uncomfortable silence) than anything else. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that — happy? Disappointed? An odd combination of both?

No matter how he might have felt, it was definitely happening. And before Mustafa knew it, he was pulling up to the front of Neville’s home, parking in what had been his usual spot only two years ago.

Mustafa shut the car off. Staring up at the house, he realized that it was no different than it had been the last time he visited. Very... ordinary. There weren’t any decorations up, despite Valentine's Day being just around the corner. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected, really — Neville had never been all that into decorating. Thought it was all a scam and a waste of time, even though it made his home stick out like a sore thumb during the holidays. Just as he’d said on the phone during their chat, he was as consistent as ever. The familiarity was... comforting.

Bracing himself for the weather, Mustafa stepped out into the rain, taking a moment to lock the car before hustling up to the front porch. His heart was thumping as he climbed up the steps. Come on, you can do this, don’t chicken out now. All the worst-case scenarios were starting to creep their way back into his mind, telling him that this visit was pointless. That they were far too different now, and getting together again even for a little while would only make things worse somehow. Mustafa stared intently down the doorbell, as if it were challenging him with its faint glow, and he pressed it before he could talk himself out of it. Screw that pessimism — he was already there. If talking to each other was bad, then running away when he was expected was even worse.

And, truthfully, leaving unnoticed at that point was impossible. The door was opened only a moment after he'd rung the bell, like Neville had been standing there waiting for him on the other side, and just like that Mustafa was once again faced with the man who he’d spent countless nights with only a few years ago. A soft, shy smile spread across Mustafa’s face. “...Hey, Nev.”

“Hi...” Neville’s expression mirrored his — his smile was still stunning. “It’s... certainly been awhile, hasn't it?”

“Sure has.” Mustafa’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets. Too long. Mustafa wasn't sure if he should say this last thought aloud or not.

“Well, don’t just stand there — it’s pouring.” Neville stepped aside. The rumble of thunder off in the distance did an equally good job of reminding Mustafa of the bad weather, and he nodded, making sure to wipe his feet as best as he could on the mat before he walked inside. "Just put your shoes with the rest of mine."

"Got it." Some of Neville's shoes were lined up against the opposite wall, surprisingly neat. This alone made it clear that Neville had managed to do (or, scrambled to do) some last minute cleaning before he showed up. They were usually a mess, one that Mustafa teased him about almost every visit. He couldn't say anything this time, however, and instead he went about slipping his own pair off.

Then, a large black shape came charging at him from the end of the hallway.

“Winston!!” Mustafa grinned, and he crouched down, scratching the bullmastiff on his head once he stopped in front of him. The dog responded by licking his face, and Mustafa laughed. “I missed you!”

“Looks like he missed you, too,” Neville mused from behind him, and Mustafa heard him close the door.

“It’s been way too long, boy-o!” Another rub to the head. Winston's tail was like a propeller, wagging rapidly. A paw came to rest on Mustafa's arm, and he faltered a little. "Hey, don't knock me over now."

"I don't mean to interrupt this tender reunion, but can I get you something to drink? Water, maybe?"

Mustafa looked up to Neville, Winston licking his hands now in an attempt to regain his attention. "That'd be good, thanks."

Neville gave him a nod and made his way towards the kitchen. Winston turned and followed him right away, which caused Mustafa's eyebrows to raise. "Wait, where're you goin'? I thought you wanted me to pet you!"

"He sees me going to the kitchen, he follows," Neville yelled back. "Seems to think me being in here automatically means he'll get a treat."

"Doesn't it?"

A pause. "...Well, yeah, but..." Neville trailed off, and Mustafa couldn't help but chuckle and roll his eyes. Who could've guessed the "Bastard" would be such a pushover?

Now alone in the hallway, Mustafa took a quick look around, noting some of the pictures on the wall. He wanted to say it was an evenly distributed assortment of photos, shots of family and the dog alike, but it was clear that there were just a few more of Winston than anything else. Neville's love for him seemed to have grown tenfold in the time he and Mustafa had been apart. Mustafa couldn't help but wish that he had a pet of his own. Winston had filled that role for awhile, but... well, it was hard for him to actually bond with an animal when he wasn't even speaking to its owner.

Mustafa decided to head into the living room then, and he sat down on the couch, shifting in the plush seat as he waited for Neville (and Winston, hopefully) to come back. The rain was still pattering away against the window, and Mustafa silently hoped that it would let up before the end of the night. Having to go back out into such a downpour and drive all the way to his motel — the same one he still didn't have a room at, now that he thought about it — would not be fun. The more he put it off, the more likely it seemed he would be spending that damp night in the backseat of his rental...

Mustafa shook his head and tried to get rid of the thought. He would worry about that later, after he did... whatever it was that he planned on doing with Neville. He still hadn't figured that out.

Sitting there and looking around the room, it was all so... familiar to Mustafa, just as so many other things were. Everything that had happened since he arrived at the house had been apart of his and Neville's routine — the old one, from before everything changed. It was all the same, from Winston greeting him at the front door to the drink offer. There was even some Netflix movie paused on the TV. Mustafa admittedly didn't recognize the name of it, but if he knew Neville half as well as he thought he did, it had to be tacky. Stupid Movie Night lived on, even though they hadn't actually gotten together to have one in years.

Mustafa missed this. All of this.

"Here you are," Neville at last returned to the room, handing Mustafa his glass.

"Thanks." Mustafa took it from him. Winston strolled in behind Neville, and Mustafa watched as he followed him closely, sniffing his lap after he sat down at the opposite end of the couch.

"I have nothing more for you, why are you looking at me like that?" Neville gave the dog a scratch behind the ear. "You've already gotten loads of treats tonight, take it easy."

"I see he's just as much of a mooch as he was before."

" Oh yeah. Actually, he might have gotten worse, if that's possible." Winston jumped up on the couch and settled himself as best as he could between Mustafa and Neville, the latter going right back to patting him on the head. "He's my boy, though. Wouldn't trade him for the world."

And then, without warning, it was quiet again.

The room that had just a moment ago been filled with their voices was now filled only with the sound of the rain. Mustafa licked his lips, and he stared at Neville, whose gaze was trained on Winston. When he looked to Mustafa, their eyes met, and Mustafa gave him an awkward smile (which was probably more like a grimace) before turning his attention to the paused movie on the screen. His nerves were beginning to make a comeback, just in time for he and Neville to have the first face-to-face conversation they'd had in a long time. He cursed his luck and, once again, his past self for not properly thinking through his plan for getting back in touch with Neville — he'd gotten as far as "call him and hope for the best" and left it at that.

Neville was the one that invited him over. He wouldn't have done that if there wasn't even a tiny part of him that wanted to see him, to talk to him. Even so, Mustafa was still hesitant, worried that he might slip up and say something that would do the opposite of saving their relationship. But he needed to take a chance. He'd told himself when he was standing on the porch that it was far too late to back out, and it was especially too late now that he was sitting on Neville's damn couch. Taking a slow sip of his water, Mustafa cleared his throat, and he made the first move. "Uh... So, things have been good with you?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth did Mustafa realize he'd asked him almost the exact same question on the phone earlier. However, Neville didn't seem to notice (or maybe he just didn't care). "They have." His hand was on Winston's back now, fingers slowly trailing over his fur. "Busy, but good."

"Weren't you wrestling on that cruise awhile ago?" At Neville's nod, "Damn, that must've been cool."

"It was... something, I'll say that much. Never thought I'd see myself wrestling in the middle of the ocean."

"Isn't there, like, no phone service on cruise ships, though? How did you even survive?"

"All the questions you could ask me about that trip, and you ask me about the wi-fi? I don't live entirely on social media like you do."

"Yeah, yeah..." Mustafa was tempted to take out his phone and begin scrolling through Twiter just to mess with Neville, but he decided against it. That would come later, once he was sure about where their relationship was at. "Either way, I'm really glad you've been able to find so much success."

Neville snorted. "Me too. And how about yourself? What've you been up to?"

"Things are..." Mustafa pursed his lips as he tried to come up with the right words. "They're okay. A little slow, but definitely not bad."

"Is that the polite version of 'I've been almost exclusively in dark matches for the last month'?"

He grinned sheepishly. "So, you know about that..."

"I haven't actually sat down and watched WWE programming in full in ages, but I still try to watch your stuff whenever I can. Once you stopped showing up, I kinda figured you were— ah, how do you put it? 'Stealing the show before the show'?"

"Hey, don't use my words against me like that!"

"Don't use them all the time, then! Seriously, you post the same thing after every dark match. Usually with a shirtless pic attached."

"Ooh, so you know about those , too?" Mustafa waggled his eyebrows. "You like 'em?"

Neville gave no response to this, though the hint of pink on his cheeks told Mustafa everything he needed to know. Cute .

Putting his glass down on the coffee table, Mustafa decided to follow Neville's example, and he also started to stroke Winston's back, the dog himself already sleeping. Mustafa had never known an animal that fell asleep so quickly until he met Winston. He nodded towards the TV. "I see you're watching a movie."

Neville looked to the screen. "Oh, yeah, that's right..." Had he forgotten all about it?

"Is it dumb?"

"Absolutely. You know I never watch anything good by choice."

"I knew it. So, what, is it a horror film?"

"It is, and it is atrocious , even by my standards. Sooner or later I'm gonna come across one that's actually decent, and I'm not gonna know how to handle it."

Mustafa chuckled. "There's no shortage of bad horror films, so I'd say your odds of finding a good one are pretty slim."

"Thankfully. It's, um..." Neville stopped suddenly, and Mustafa's brows furrowed.

"What?"

"It's... nothing, don't worry about it."

A statement sure to make a worrier like Mustafa worry every time he heard it. "Are you sure? You can tell me."

"Eh, you'll just laugh..."

"I will not." Mustafa's tone was gentle, yet firm. "I promise."

Neville blinked at him, then back at the screen. Mustafa couldn't even begin to imagine what it was that he was so hesitant to tell him. Of course, if Neville insisted that he didn't want to talk about it, then Mustafa would back off, but... Still, he didn't want Neville to think that he couldn't trust him not to make fun of him. Not if he wanted them to be back together for good.

Fortunately, Mustafa's prying seemed to be enought convince Neville. A moment later, they locked eyes again, and Neville quietly admitted, "Well... These movies just aren't the same when you're watching them alone. Sometimes I miss having someone to make fun of them with."

Oh. Mustafa's lips parted, his hand coming to a halt on Winston's back. This sudden stoppage caused Neville's hand to bump into his — ever so slightly, their fingers were touching. He expected Neville to flinch back, but he didn't, and his gaze was just as steady as it had been before. Mustafa couldn't bring himself to look away. Was this... an admission that he wanted he two of them to get back together...? Was that the sign that Mustafa had been looking for? He swallowed. "Um... Neville—"

BANG!

A sudden crash of thunder startled all three of them. The lights flickered, and a second later they went out, plunging the room into complete darkness. The loud noise prompted the now-wide awake Winston to leap off of the couch and bolt out into the hallway. "Winston, no!" Mustafa called after him.

"Christ, not again..." Neville griped. "Now is not the time for this..."

"No kidding..." Mother Nature sure had interesting timing.

The flashlight from Neville's phone was then turned on. Neville squinted at the screen. "Damn thing's gonna die if I keep the light on all night..." He muttered. He then stood. "I'll be right back, gotta go grab some candles."

"Can you check on Winston?" Mustafa pleaded to Neville's silhouette, which was already moving out of the room. "Make sure he's okay?"

"He's probably just in the kitchen — that's his hub whenever the power goes out." The little bit of light that had been in the living room faded away as Neville went down the hallway. "Yep, he's here. Hidin' out behind the island."

Mustafa breathed a sigh of relief. Winston was still scared, but at least he wasn't hurt. That was what mattered. "Good. You think he'll come back in with us?"

"Probably not." Neville's voice was fainter now — he must have gone into another room, possibly his bedroom. Mustafa was disappointed to hear this, but he had to have faith that Neville was wrong. He was sure Winston would rejoin them at some point before Mustafa needed to leave (he couldn't leave without properly saying goodbye, after all).

It was only when Neville re-entered the room holding two scented candles and a box of matches that Mustafa remembered the significance of those items.

The candles. How could he have forgotten about the damn candles ? He watched as Neville placed them down on the coffee table and went about lighting them, his brows furrowed as he moved the match from one wick to the next. That look of (almost unnecessary) concentration was such a familiar sight to Mustafa, one that he'd grown to like quite a bit during their time together, but also one that he had not seen for far too long. Now that he was looking at it again, he was transported to a different time, back when he'd first been invited to Neville's house. It very likely wasn't the same candles, but some of very similar scents and colors had been lit when he'd arrived. He teased Neville at first — he never thought he was a Mood Lighting kind of guy — but it turned out that he was just into candles. There was at least one in most of the rooms in the house. They had been a trademark of sorts for Neville.

Mustafa had lost sight of that fact after their separation. And now, on this gloomy, rainy night, he was once again being reminded of something that he'd missed terribly.

"There..." Neville's voice interrupted Mustafa's reminiscing, and he sat back down on the couch — notably closer than he had before, Mustafa realized. "That should be good enough."

Mustafa stared at the small, dancing flames. "Y...Yeah, it's fine," he replied.

"Something bothering you?" Shit. Mustafa had made his mood just a little too obvious.

"No, not really," he fibbed.

"Are you sure?" Then, "Am I... Am I sitting to close to you, or...?"

"No!" Mustafa quickly assured. "No, that's not it. It's..." He considered lying again, but after pushing Neville into talking a few moments ago he felt he had no right to keep any secrets from him — not to mention that Neville might get the wrong idea again. It was best to tell the truth. "These candles remind me a lot of the times we used to hang out. You had them lit all the time."

Neville followed his gaze, also becoming entranced by the fire. "Ah... Yes, that's right. The cinnamon one was your favorite, wasn't it?"

"It was."

"I wish I still had one, but it burnt out a long time ago. I didn't think to buy another one, to be honest."

Because Neville associated that scent with him. That had to be the reason. Neville had no reason to get a candle of someone's favorite scent if that "someone" wasn't even around to appreciate it. "I..."

"Hmm?"

"I..." Mustafa swallowed. "I miss you. A lot."

Neville didn't say anything to that. Mustafa continued, "I miss seeing you backstage, and talking to you regularly, and watching you wrestle, and just... being with you. Those nights we spent together were so fun , and I looked forward to them. I loved watching dumbass movies with you, and eating way too many sweets, and... everything else. But all of it— it just stopped . Out of nowhere. And I really, really wish that it didn't.

"I... I know you and I are both busy these days in our own ways. And I know that maintaining a relationship with our packed schedules is gonna be tough. But... I'm willing to give it a try, if you are. You obviously don't have to do anything you don't want to do, and I'm more than okay with you deciding that this isn't something that you're interested in, but I wanted to at the very least let you know how I feel."

Satisfied with his rambling, Mustafa took a deep breath, leaning back into the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and waited anxiously for Neville to reply — if he ever did. He was still staring at the candles, his expression unreadable. Maybe Mustafa's sudden confession was a lot to take in at once. Especially since it came out of seemingly nowhere, and was prompted by candles of all things. Is he... okay?

But then, faintly, Neville at last said something. "...I'm the one that fucked everything up."

"What...?"

"I'm the one that stopped texting you. I should've done more to keep in touch with you."

"But it's not like I ever tried to start a conversation," Mustafa argued. "I stopped, too. I'm just as responsible for what happened. You can't only blame yourself."

"I know, but..." Neville chewed his lower lip. "But I care about you. I never stopped caring about you, not even when I was sorting out my contract. And I should've done a better job at showing it. Instead, I just..." He shrugged. "I just let our relationship die."

Mustafa debated it for a moment, but ultimately he decided to take a chance, and he reached over and took hold of Neville's hand. For the second time that evening, Neville did not shy away from the contact. "It doesn't have to stay dead if you don't want it to. We can... try again."

"I want to," Neville admitted. "But like you said, it's not going to be easy. We're always traveling, and we're on completely different work schedules, and..."

"We can make it work," Mustafa cut him off. "It'll take some getting used to, but I think we can do it."

"But what if everything happens all over again? What if... What if something comes up and we just stop talking again?"

"Do you want that to happen?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Then let's try our hardest not to let it happen. We don't have to text every single day or anything, but if we both try to send each other something every now and again, things could work out just fine."

Neville swallowed. "...You're really serious about this?"

"I am," Mustafa said, clearly. "I wasn't lying before when I said that I missed you, and everything that came along with you. I wanna give us one more chance, see where things go. And if you want to, then... I say we go for it. What do we got to lose?"

Neville, whose eyes had been glued to the flames, turned his head to meet Mustafa's gaze. The soft, orange glow from the candles illuminated his face. The light gave him a haunting, mesmerizing appearance. One that Mustafa couldn't look away from even if he'd wanted to.

He looked... amazing.

Mustafa couldn't help himself from slowly leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips.

It was soft at first. Mustafa wanted to provide Neville with ample time to pull away. It wasn't until he felt Neville gently reciprocating the kiss that he deepened it, a hand moving up to cup Neville's cheek. Mustafa's lips parted, and Neville's tongue slid into his mouth. The intimacy was almost dizzying. This was what he'd been waiting for. After all that debating about whether or not to make that phone call, this was what he'd wanted. What he'd missed so badly.

It had been over two years since their last kiss. Somehow, this one was the best of all.

If only Winston hadn't decided that that was when he'd choose to return to the living room.

All the two of them heard was another rumble of thunder and the sound of nails frantically clicking on the floor before the dog leapt onto the couch, where Neville had been sitting earlier. "Oh my God—" Neville gasped, putting a hand on his chest. "What the hell, Winston?!"

Surprised as he was, Mustafa couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, he came back! That's good, right?"

"Would've been good any other time..." Neville moped, but Mustafa putting an arm around his shoulders prompted him to smile, and a moment later he moved in for a second kiss. Just as good as the first one.

"...Hey," Neville breathed out against his lips. Between kisses, he continued, "Did you... ever end up getting a motel room...?"

Mustafa froze, eyes wide. In the excitement of being back together with Neville, he'd forgotten about the other date he'd be having that evening — the one with the backseat of his rental. "Uh..." He grinned sheepishly. "No, I did not."

Neville smirked. Mustafa's heart rate ticked up just a bit. "Would you like to stay with me tonight? We still have some... catching up to do, you know."

Mustafa's expression mirrored his. Suddenly, his sleeping in the backseat seemed a hell of a lot less likely. "You're right..."

"Is that a 'yes', then?"

"It is. But , I left my bags in the trunk. With my pajamas in them."

This statement caused Neville to chuckle, and he kissed Mustafa again, tugging on his lower lip with his teeth when he pulled back. "Hmm, Mustafa..."

"What?"

"I wasn't anticipating either one of us sleeping with clothes on tonight..."

#mustafa ali #pac #wwe fanfiction #aew fanfiction #long post #just in case the read more decides not to work #jess.txt

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western-writer · 5 years

Text

The Most Loyal Traitor

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Warnings: slight gore, blood, swearing, mentions of sex and suggestive speech

A/N I had no idea how to tag this so I just tagged it to the best of my ability.

Summary: (Y/n) was one of the most loyal fighters for the Resistance. That was until she was blamed for deaths that weren’t her fault. When the Resistance turned their backs on her, she did the only thing she could to survive.

The Junior Deputy rounds you like the wounded animal you are. One of Jess’s arrows sticks out of your leg as you sit against a tree. A hard boot connects to your face which lands you in the dirt. You laugh, pushing yourself off the ground to sit against the tree again.

“Did you think you could really get away?” Rook questions you.

You grin up at her, blood spilling from your nose and staining your teeth red. “Nah,” you mutter. “I like a good chase.”

“You think this is a game, traitor?” Jess barks at you. You chuckle at the nickname you’ve managed to coin over these past few months. “What’s so funny?”

“Ignorance,” you answer flatly. “You and the whole fuckin’ Resistance.”

Rook kicks you again, now staining her boot with your blood. “We’re not the ones that turned their back on the Resistance.”

“There you go again makin’ accusations without knowin’ the whole story. Seems like you Resistance fighters are real good at that,” you spit.

“The fuck are you goin’ on about?” Jess growls, stalking toward you.

“Does it really matter, Jess? Whatever I say won’t change anything and definitely won’t make the Resistance change how they feel about me.”

Rook comes and kneels on one knee next to you. She grabs your face, seemingly examining you and chuckles suddenly. “And here I thought lust was a sin,” she mocks you, turning to Jess. “Looks like Eli was right. She’s a little more than just Jacob’s favorite soldier.” Rook flicks what looks like to a hickey on your neck and gets back to her feet. “Does Joseph know? I can’t imagine what he’d do to you both if he knew.”

You roll your eyes. “If that’s your way of trying to scare me, you’re doin’ a horrible job.”

Rook shakes her head, twirling a knife in her hands dangerously. “Nah. I’d be a bit disappointed if that scared you, to be honest. See, the reason we tracked you all the way out here is because Jacob has really pissed the Resistance off. Why doesn’t really matter, but they left it up to us to try to get it through his thick skull that he won’t win. What better way to strike fear into the heart of a cold-blooded killer like Jacob than to mess with what he values most? Obviously, we can’t get to his brothers, or even Faith, easily. So you’re the next best thing-his little play toy.”

Suddenly, Jess grabs your left wrist and pins it to the tree you sit against. Rook walks over and places her boot close to the wound on your leg, creating agonizing pressure as she goes to work cutting your left pinky off. You scream, struggling against the two women, but are no match for the both of them. The sickening crack as Rook cuts between your top and middle knuckle makes you dizzy and seeing your severed finger in her hand only intensifies this feeling.

She presses the severed finger into the palm of your injured hand.

“You make sure Jacob understands that if he ever does anything like that again, we will find you and we will cut off all your fingers until he finally does understand. Got it?”

You nod slightly, glaring up at the deputy.

A small, satisfied smile graces her lips as she looks down at your bloody hand clutching your own finger.

“If you’re lucky, they may be able to reattach it.” She nudges your jaw with her fist and stands up. You watch as they leave you alone to bleed in the middle of the woods. You cut off some of your shirt and wrap it around your finger.

“Jake?” you say into your radio. “Jacob, I need some help here.”

No response.

“I’ll be honest with you,” the doctor says. “I don’t know if reattaching this will work. And if it does, it may not be for the better...” you wince as he moves the finger.

Jacob stands by, arms folded over his chest with a hard, blank glare on his face. Deputy Pratt stands by, unable to comprehend that Rook, the new deputy he had known, did this to someone. This was different. Very different.

“Leave it off,” you say, surprising the doctor a bit. “Statistically speaking, I’ll probably only get half the use out of it anyway. It’s not even vital to my hand.”

The doctor stares at you for a second. “Okay, if you insist. Let me fix it up so it won’t get infected. Jacob’s eyes focus on the bloody stub and he turns abruptly. He speaks into his radio, rather harshly from the looks of it, and you only realize what he’s saying when a few days later the deputy turns up in one of the cages.

Every time you see her in one of those cages you can’t help but laugh a little bit. It reminds you how easily Jacob could end everything for her.

“Well, well, well,” you say, walking up to her cage. “Seems you forgot how easy it is for Jacob to have you here.” You kneel in front of the cage. You’re vaguely aware of Pratt walking up behind you.

“If it isn’t the traitor in her natural habit, being Jacob’s little bitch.”

“I think that title is reserved for your colleague over there, don’t you?” you question, looking back at Pratt. Truth is, you actually get along with him quite well and you keep Jacob from injuring him too much. You just want to get under her skin, and from the look on her face, it worked.

“Traitorous bitch,” Rook spits at you, literally. A bit of saliva lands on your face and you wipe it away with your left hand. Her eyes lock onto your wrapped finger.

“You keep callin’ me that...” you start, wiping the spit on your jeans and making eye contact with her. “but have you ever had the intelligence to investigate why I’m a traitor for yourself? No? Didn’t think so...” You chuckle to yourself and pull up a chair. Leaning over, you stare at Rook. “See, at one point, I was one of the Resistance’s most loyal fighters. Even before you stumbled into the picture. I was always out there stickin’ it to the cult,” you laugh, gesturing with your arm. “I was so trusted that Mary May and Pastor Jerome would let me lead groups to go gather supplies and such.

Rook’s eyes stay focused on you.

“I warned them to not go after that stash. Told ‘em that it’s too suspicious, that it’s too out in the open for the Peggie’s to not be planning an ambush. Low and behold, they didn’t listen to me. One of ‘em hit a trip wire which caused smoke bombs to go off. Peggie’s shot ‘em up, bullet’s rippin’ holes through ‘em like Swiss Cheese. I didn’t even recognize the people I called my friends.”

“Why didn’t they kill you, too?”

“Ah, yeah, that... See, I never killed the Peggies if I didn’t have to. One of the people I spared was there and decided to spare me. Imagine this. Me, a little younger, stumbling back into Fall’s End covered in the blood of my friends, only for Mary May to scream at me for not being a better leader. I tried and tried to explain that I warned them and that they didn’t listen, but she, much like them, didn’t listen either. And then, she banished me. Kicked me out of the Resistance.”

You lean back in your chair and look up at the sky.

“I stumbled around from one Resistance post to another only to be threatened and sent away. I begged and begged for them to listen, but no one cared. Not even your beloved Dutch. I was thinking about just getting the hell outta town, but then you just had to start the fuckin’ reaping and I was stuck.” You lean forward, glaring into her cage. “I did the only thing I could do to survive.”

“You... joined the cult.”

You huff out a humorless laugh and lean back again. “I still remember the look on Joseph’s face when I limped my way into the church. I was...” you look back to the sky, your voice softening. “I was days away from death. I barely made it onto the church pew, even with John helping me.”

“I can’t believe it. The Resistance’s most loyal fighter comin’ in here,” Jacob said as John set you down on a church pew.

Joseph stepped down from the small stage-like area. “What brings you here?” he questioned.

“Survival,” you answered, only continuing on because of the confused look they gave you. “The Resistance kicked me out,” you continued weakly. “I figured I was dead anyway, so why not?”

Joseph looked at your fragile state. Your eyes were bloodshot, your skin was pale and sickly looking, you were thin-too thin. He knew just by the looks of you that you were telling the truth.

“You wish to join us?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

Joseph gave you a small smile, walking over to you and gently pulling you to your feet. “You are safe, do not worry.”

“After I was nursed back to health and formally accepted into Eden’s Gate, I went to Jacob. And I guess you know what happened after that.” You shoot her a sly smirk as you lean back for the last time. “So yeah, call me a traitor all you want, but it wasn’t me that turned my back on the Resistance, it was the Resistance that turned their back on me.”

“And you just expect me to believe you? Why should I? Your whole story could be bullshit.”

“Believe me or don’t, I don’t really give a shit, especially because I’m on this side of the cage with Jacob in my corner. It’s the truth, though.” You stand and turn, seeing Pratt coming closer.

“It’s true, Rook...” he mutters meekly. He begins to talk more, but you walk away. Unsure of where to really go, you make your way up to Jacob’s office and are slightly surprised to not find him there. You sit down on his desk and clutch your finger, the pain still radiating through the severed digit.

“Still hurts?” Jacob says, entering the room silently. You head snaps up at him.

“My finger was cut off, Jacob. Of course, it still hurts.”

Jacob cocks an eyebrow at you.

“That came out harsher than I meant. Sorry,” you mutter, looking down at your hand. He walks over and forces you to look up at him before pressing a kiss to your lips. He starts off soft before gradually becoming rougher. He cups your face, deepening the kiss even more. “Wait, Jake, is now really a good time for this?” You look behind you to see that the sun is setting.

“Yup,” he answers, sucking on your neck. You groan, grabbing his bicep. Suddenly, he lifts you and walks you both to his bed. He drops you and gets on top of you as you both undress each other.

There you both lay, bodies naked under the sheets of the bed. Jacob’s arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him. Your head rests on his shoulder with your left arm on his bare chest. You stare at your hand, still unable to believe that your finger is gone. Jacob reaches up and grabs your hand, pulling it to his mouth to kiss the injured finger. You smile slightly and press kisses to the side of his neck.

“This is the first time you haven’t kicked me out of your bed right after...” you mumble.

“Maybe I’m goin’ soft,” he mumbles back.

“Don’t let anyone else hear you say that,” you tease him.

He sighs. “Never did I ever imagine us endin’ up like this when you stumbled into that church. I had my doubts about you, but you proved your loyalty.”

You laugh a little bit. “I’m the most loyal traitor.”

Jacob laughs, which takes you by surprise. Then he rolls over and kisses you once more. “Round two?”

#jacob seed #jacob seed x female reader #jacob seed x f!reader #Far Cry 5 #female deputy x female reader #f!deputy x f!reader #staci pratt #deputy rook

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

Text

Name Changing (4)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU, X-MEN, DEADPOOL

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION - Sequel to Name Calling

After merging with your bloodthirsty alternate personality things start getting a little dicey. You’ve got two decades worth of anger to sort through, a feral mutation to figure out how to live with, a biological father who you hate trying to teach you control and if your wedding planner suggests teal for the bridesmaids again you might just eat her liver.

Luckily you have Bucky Barnes by your side, helping you figure things out. What Bucky doesn’t know is that you have found an outlet for the uncontrollable rage, one that absolutely nobody can know about. If your friends and family knew that you were out slaughtering people in the dead of night while they slept, they might be a little annoyed. Wade Wilson is happy to keep your secret though, so long as you keep bribing him with Mexican food.

For as long as you could remember, all you had wanted was to be good. Now you’re seeing the temptation in the darkness.

A Stark Reminder

Read the Exclusive Interview with Deathwave

Interview conducted and written by Kara M Pierce

Since her very public debut as the long lost daughter of Tony Stark, she has been the subject of much curiosity. Her story is a dark one, yet it’s also one filled with hope.

It quickly came to light that Miss Stark was far more than she first appeared and while she is in fact Tony Starks daughter, it is not by blood. Though after just a few minutes in her presence I am wondering if that is true. She exudes the same confidence and charm as her father, not to mention the same sharp wit. Having interviewed Mr Stark in the past I can confirm that both Starks harbour the same respect and fear for Pepper Potts as one look from the CEO can make either Stark fall into line.

Thank you so much for agreeing to sit down with me today Miss Stark.

Bold of you to assume I had any choice.

Thank you so much for convincing her to sit down with me today Mrs Potts.

She’s very happy to be here.

I imagine you are quite busy, does being Deathwave take up a lot of your time?

It does but apparently the bad guys have no concept of acceptable work hours. Someone should really start a labour union for them or something.

What’s it like being an Avenger and is it different from being a secret Avenger?

I used to just have to deal with Hydra and Vernichtung agents attacking me, now I have paparazzi as well but apparently I’m not allowed to blast them into smithereens.

Other than that, it’s not actually very different. Not having to wear the mask makes it a little easier, that thing was kinda warm.

How well do you get along with the other Avengers?

Sam Wilson, The Falcon is my best friend. When I first arrived at the compound he sort of took me under his wing. Sam is an excellent cook and he loves feeding people He’s also a great listener, he really cares about what you have to say and if you need advice he’ll do his best to give it to you but he knows when you just need to vent.

Plus have you seen the muscles on that man? Who doesn’t want to cry on those shoulders?

It sounds like you’re writing a dating profile for him. Are you trying to get him a date Miss Stark?

No... Maybe. Not that he needs my help, the man is handsome, charming, has the thighs of a god and is a superhero. He's also single. Just saying.

What about the other Avengers, are you close with them?

Well I am engaged to one so yes? We’re a family, all of us. I trust them with my life and they trust me with theirs. When we’re out there in the field our lives and the lives of the people we are fighting to protect rests in each others hands. That tends to form some close bonds.

So does that mean you’re close with Loki, the man who once led an attempted invasion?

Yes, I am. Loki was not responsible for that, and despite being controlled he managed to manipulate events so he would lose the battle of New York. He did the best he could with limited control of his own mind.

Loki was instrumental in helping me defeat Docherty, he helped us win the Second Battle of New York. He’s a hero, an Avenger and a friend and anyone who says otherwise can take it up with me personally. I’ll be happy to educate them on the difference between a hero and a villain.

You seem to have a protective streak, not just for those you know personally.

Was there a question in there?

I was wondering where that protectiveness comes from?

My father. He protected me. And I owe it to the world to follow in his example. He made a lot of mistakes along the way to becoming the hero he is today and he owns up to them and not only learned from them, encourages me to learn from them as well.

Speaking of your father, there’s been much speculation about your biological family.

Are you referring to the rumors that were leaked about Docherty being my grandfather?

Yes, those rumors have been circulating. Is there any truth to them?

Yes.

Would you like to elaborate on that?

Not particularly. Biologically, I was his granddaughter. He was evil, I stopped him. End of story.

What about the rest of your biological family? Do you have any desire to know about them?

What makes you think I don’t already know? My mother is dead, Docherty killed her. My father didn't know I existed until recently and he... he and I are working through our issues but that’s a private matter. If his identity comes to light at any point I just wanted people to know he didn't know about me or Docherty. It wasn't his fault.

That’s fair. Onto happier subjects Miss Stark, you won’t be Miss Stark for much longer. Are you excited?

You’d assume I was excited about my upcoming nuptials or I wouldn't be getting married would I?And the Stark name was the greatest gift I ever got, I’m not giving it up. I’ll be Mrs Stark-Barnes.

How did the romance between you and Sargent Barnes happen? Who made the first move?

(Miss Stark is trying to contain a laugh at this point, Mrs. Potts giving her a warning look.)

He made the first move. He followed me about for months, begging me for a chance. It was getting quite sad so I took pity on him.

What about the photo’s that appeared to show you on a date with Captain Rogers?

Well, Cap was my first love but he’s too good, too pure. I had to downgrade.

So you settled for Sargent Barnes?

(The laughter dies and the expression on Miss Starks face is one of love and conviction, it is clear her feelings for Sargent Barnes are very real and very powerful.)

James is the only man I have ever wanted to be with and the only man I ever want to be with. He’s my partner in every way, he supports me even when he doesn’t like what I’m doing, he challenges me when I’m being an idiot, he forgives me when I mess up, he holds my head above water when I’m drowning. He is the love of my life I know how lucky I am that I get to spend the rest of my life returning his love.

What about the blurred photographs that appear to show you in the company of the Vigilante and Mercenary known as Deadpool?

Deadpool is a menace to society. It is my personal mission to hunt him down and give him exactly what he deserves.

Quite a turn around from the woman who once refused to sign The Sokovia Accords.

My refusal to sign wasn’t about the accords themselves but rather the way they were being used. Secretary Ross is a slimy rat and I would never cow to his perceived authority. (There is a short argument between Mrs. Potts and Miss Stark but Miss Stark insists we can print her opinion on Secretary Ross, though it must be noted that the opinion of the interviewee do not necessarily represent the views of this publication.)

Colonel Rhodes is a man who knows the value of bureaucracy and the importance of the accords and balances it with the public's need for protection. The Sokovia Accords are no longer used as a power play but are in place to protect the people who signed as well as holding them accountable for their actions.

It’s at this point in the interview I informed Miss Stark I had some fan questions that had been sent in and she immediately perked up.

I like the fans, they’re just normal people who like me for some reason. It’s always strange when they come up to me and ask for a selfie or an autograph but it’s inspiring. Hopeful. It reminds me that there’s a world out there that I get to help protect.

From Jess on Ao3: How did you decide that you wanted to be good, despite the evils you’ve encountered?

I decided I wanted to be good because of the evils I encountered. My earliest memories are of cruelty and you’d think growing up that way might have given me a twisted sense of morality but I knew the way I felt was horrible and I didn't ever want to be the reason somebody else felt that way. There was a guard when I was really young, he slipped me chocolate through the bars of my cell. He was killed for it when they found out. That's how I knew they were evil, even if I didn’t know the word. And I knew I didn't want to be that way.

TaraStudiesaLot: Are you are interested in any art form? Photography, painting, film or music? Like, does do enjoy any of these or are they still foreign to you?

Steve tried to get me into art but I’m more made to appreciate it than make it.

I like to take pictures though, nothing special, just little moments from life. I like being able to look back at the photo’s, they help ground me and remind me of the good things I have in my life.

Phoenix-whiskey-Tears: What kind of music are you into?

I hadn’t even been out of the cage for a full day before my dad introduced me to AC/DC. So I kind of associate 80’s rock with freedom I guess? I’m also partial to big band music from the 40’s. (It should be noted that at this point, Miss Stark is doing her best to hide her blush.)

Firefly-in-darkness: I wanna know more of your habits and little simple things like your favorite colour, movies, books, etc?

Red. My favorite colour is red. The Iron Suit was red, red is the colour of freedom, of salvation, justice.

Books and movies? I don’t have favorites per se, it’s still exciting and thrilling to see and read them, even bad ones.

HoneyBadger: What advice would you give to abuse survivors? And do you think you’d ever take on a protege or sidekick?

Well first of all, I have a sidekick. Bucky Barnes.

To abuse survivors I would say this, you already did the hard part. You survived. You are already winning that battle by fighting it and I know it’s a long battle, one you’ll be fighting every day for the rest of your life. That thought is depressing and exhausting and overwhelming.

But it’s worth it. The world is still out there waiting for you, use the pain you have experienced to see the world differently. See the beauty in the mundane and normal because after your suffering you deserve every single tiny bit of happiness and calm you can grasp.

What happened to you shaped you yes, but it does not define you. You are so much more than what they did to you. Their evil does not leave a stain on you and your future is not dictated by your past.

You’re warriors, Kings and Queens who deserve so much more than life gave you. Life and people can be cruel and it’s up to you now, to take what you deserve from the world. Be amazing, you’ve already proven you have it in you. Support one another, hold each other up and never ever forget that we are a thousand times better than those who tried to put us down.

Pydia Packmaster: What keeps you going despite everything you have been through?

Life goes on, the world keeps turning. And everything I endured can be used to help me make sure others don’t have to go through the same thing.

All the bad things that happened to me are being used as a force for good now. Like I once said, I was created to end the world but I’m going to save it.

Beansy: if you had the ability to change anything in your past, what would it be and would you?

I wish I had known I had a mother, maybe I could have saved her before it was too late. Maybe I could have known her. But what’s done is done. My whole life I didn’t even dare to imagine that I would have a future but now I do and I won’t waste it by living in the past.

ToastLuvr: If you could choose an actress to play you in a movie who would it be?

Jack Black. Next question.

BuckityBarnes: Who’s your Avengers Crush?

Black Widow... Obviously. If Nat would have me I’d drop Bucky in a heartbeat. Have you seen that thing she does with her thighs? That’s how I wanna die.

Sitting down with Deathwave was just as inspiring as I had expected. Since the details of her past were revealed to the world she has become a symbol of hope to people everywhere. She is a hero, of that there is no doubt but what truly makes her an inspiration is the fact that she reminds us all of what we can be.

Who you are and where you came from doesn’t decide where you are going to go. That choice is up to you and you alone. No matter the challenges you face in life, big or small, they can be overcome.

Setback only set you back, they don’t stop you. People will stand in your way but they can be moved. You are the hero of your own story.

We are all the heroes of our own stories.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

AUTHORS NOTE

This was mostly fun to write but there is a lot of of it that came directly from my heart. I’ve made no secret about how Docherty was based on real people who hurt me so the advice Baby Stark gives to abuse survivors is what I would say to those of you who it applies to and I mean every fucking word.

If you are or were in a situation of abuse, be it mental, physical, sexual or other then please consider my inbox a safe space to talk if you ever need it.

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first@thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat @inquisitor-selvala@the-corruptor @iovher @kendrawr-kitkat @phoenix-whiskey-tears @the–real–wombat@buckitybarnes@fairislesheets@angieptt @meganjonezzzz@dugan365@fluffeh-kitty@memanda17 @krystallynx@theonelittleone@piscesbarnes@free-as-fishes@tarastudiesalot@captainamericasbeard@dropthepizza346@jaynnanadrews@likes-to-smell-books@drdorkus @life-wanderer@metalarmlover @animegirlgeeky@jsmith509@chipilerendi@nerdy-bookworm-1998@ericasabe@gravedollie666@madlykpopfan@l0kisbitch@mywinterwolf@sassysweetstories @life-wanderer @jessieray98@littledeadrottinghood @firefly-in-darkness @demonlover87 @jessieray98 @pinkisokay @chipilerendi

#hattersmarvelverse #Bucky x Reader #Bucky Barnes

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lets-talk-appella · 6 years

Text

2018 Fic Roundup

I was tagged by @aliciameade and @acabellas, so thanks for that you two! Okay actually this was loads of fun to do because I’ve only been writing fic since like April/May so here we go:

Total 2018 Word Count: 206,438 - not gonna lie, pretty proud of that

Total 2018 Hits: 33,768 on AO3. No idea on FFN because the website won’t tell me

Other 2018 AO3 Stats: Kudos: 1921 Comment Threads: 177 Bookmarks: 218 Subscriptions: 121

Links & Titles to 2018 Works: There are 30 - literally everything I’ve done has been this year - so I put a break.

Four Sambucas - 987 words, Not rated Beca is the DJ at a popular club and she's just doing her thing when an incredibly drunk Chloe confuses her with the bartender.

Jealousy’s a Bitch... or Maybe it’s Just the German - 15,171 words, G All Beca/Kommissar interactions in PP2 (plus some additional content) as told from Chloe’s POV. Basically, an extremely jealous Chloe Beale. Largely cannon, but I added some things in the middle and at the end. Part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #1

Just a Joke? - 1,316 words, G When Jesse says something serious to Beca, meaning it as a joke, she freaks out and goes to the one person she can open up to: Chloe. Part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #2

Chloe’s Secret - 7,364, G Chloe needs to know why Jesse broke up with Beca, so she secretly goes to LA to confront him for hurting her best friend. Takes place about five months after PP2 and is part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #3

That’s When She Knew - 4,214, G In which Beca finally wakes up to realize that she’s been in love with Chloe this entire time. Much fluff ahead, enter at your own risk. Takes place just under a year after graduation/Worlds/PP2. Part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #4

Expectations - 7,801, T The immediate follow up to That’s When She Knew (this will make more sense if you read that first), in which Beca and Chloe finally admit their feelings to one another. After leaving Central Park, they go back to their apartment and Beca believes that Chloe seems to have some… expectations of where things should be headed next. Of course, she panics. Part of a series. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #5

Spooning Looks Easier in the Movies - 2,716, G Sure, they’d decided to wait before getting really intimate together in their new relationship. That doesn’t keep Beca from being a little awkward about sharing the bed for the first time since they’ve told each other about their feelings. Part of a series. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #6

Reality - 23,703 (listen I got excited), M Continuing the series and following the established Bechloe line, this follows Beca and Chloe as they figure out life as a new couple. Specifically, how they prepare for their first time. Smut, but more in a making love way. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #7

Accidents Happen - 1,892, G A different take on the Activities Fair from Beca's freshman year. Or, Bechloe Week 2018 day 1 - prompt "accidental kiss."

The Underwear Incident - 3,967, Not Rated Beca Mitchell is one of the most famous music artists in America. She gets a lot of attention from her fans, which occasionally makes Chloe a little jealous... established Bechloe. For Bechloe Week Day 2 - Jealousy.

Don’t Touch Her - 3,504, T Getting drunk texts from Chloe is nothing new for Beca. However, when the messages become alarming, Beca races into action. Part of Bechloe Week Day Three - Drunk Texting.

How to Break Beca Mitchell with Six Words - 473, G Submission for Bechloe Week Day Four - Why. Angst ahead. Read at your own risk.

The Eight Times Aubrey Posen Had to Ask Why - 7,482, T Aubrey prides herself on knowing her best friend, so to suddenly not know what Chloe's thinking is alarming to say the least. Or, the times Aubrey was confused about Bechloe's relationship and had to ask about it. Alternate Bechloe Week Day Four - Why.

Five Minutes - 2,661, G Beca and Jesse have gone on a road trip meant to seal their future together, leaving Chloe devastated. She gives up entirely, hiding away from the world... but then, there's a knock on the door. For Bechloe Week 2018 - Road Trip.

Sealing the Crack - 2,215, G When Chloe's valuable good luck charm breaks in an accident, Beca is there to pick up the pieces. For Bechloe Week Day Six - Good Luck Charm.

Come Home to Me - 10,377, T Chloe dishes herself out some of the pasta, being sure to save a good amount for Beca. She chases it around her plate with her fork, suddenly not feeling particularly hungry. She finds herself glancing out the window at their empty driveway with increasing frequency. Beca really should have been home by now.

Amy’s Limit - 2,461, G This came from Tumblr Prompt - "Stop being so cute," but I decided to add it to the series because I thought it fit well. This follows the events of "Reality," and is established Bechloe. Told from Amy's POV. Pure fluff and horrible pick-up likes ahead, read at your own risk. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #8

Fallen Leaves, Fallen Bellas - 35,086, T “It’s not true, though,” Chloe’s voice jarred them from their thoughts. “I mean, it can’t be. Ghosts aren’t real, and they definitely don’t kill people. You made that up to scare us, right?” she asked Aubrey, smiling uncertainly. Aubrey didn’t smile back. Or, a horror-themed twist on the Lodge at Fallen Leaves. Originally for Pitch Perfect Horror Week 2018.

Restless Nights - 5,706, M Prompt: "If you can't sleep... we could have sex?"

I Want to See You be Brave - 3,065, G Prompt: "I'm your lock screen?!" "You weren't supposed to see that." For this one, I did an alternate version of the "Confession Scene" following the fight for the pitch pipe in PP1. Enjoy!

Naked Mole Rats Aren’t Endangered - 4,052, G Based on Tumblr prompt - "That’s my ex-boyfriend/girlfriend.” - “Well, kiss me so they see.” Honestly a little ridiculous.

Black Sabbath - 4,783, T For Tumblr prompt "Don't do that again! You scared the shit out of me!" This is set during Beca's junior year, meaning that Emily isn't here, sadly. Enjoy!

Dangerous - 5,307, M A spin-off on the last motorcycle prompt. This is pure smut, actually no plot whatsoever but with the added motorcycle imagery from the last chapter. So, yeah. If you don't want to taint the motorcycle fic, look away now! I also want to give a shout-out to Redlance's excellent A Moment's Reprieve fic, which inspired part of this. Um, pretty NSFW stuff ahead.

The 12 Times They Said, “Stay Awake” - 10,347, T Based on Tumblr prompt "Stay awake." I low-key forgot about PP3, so ignore that. Also, if you don't want your heart torn out, stop after segment 11. Also, warning for character death. Sorry about that.

Area 51, Now in Barden - 1,555, G For Pitch Perfect Horror Week Day 5 - Alien Abduction Listen. Don't take this too seriously, because I definitely didn't.

Friday the 12th - 5,649, T For Pitch Perfect Horror Week Day 6 - Fears Come to Life. It's set sometime between PP1 and PP2, and is definitely cannon-divergent.

Shine Bright (Like Cubic Zirconia) - 10,015, E Created for Tumblr prompt "The diamond on your engagement ring is fake." Contains a lap dance and smut, so if you're not a fan, I'd skip this one. Also, the French was an idea stolen from Tumblr user isthemusictoblame (who also goes by iPhone on here).

Make Me (Where Dreams Come True) - 15,629, E Beca doesn't want to dress as a Disney princess for Halloween. But it's all Chloe's idea, and Beca will do just about anything for her girlfriend, especially when Chloe bribes her... Smut. For Bechloe Week Day 7 - Disney. So, yes. Disney-related smut. And a second chapter for the strap.

Winter Dreams (Beca’s Song) - 3,441, G "The touch brings memories of the night before, of needy kisses, of soft whimpers and sharp gasps, of lips pressed to bare skin, and of limbs tangled together; memories that make Chloe’s body heat up and heart beat faster in her chest. She stretches out her limbs slowly and takes another deep breath. The touch on her back pauses, and Chloe cracks open her eyes a millimeter to see Beca – propped up on an elbow, like she’d imagined – watching her, deep blue eyes heavy with sleep and a tenderness that makes Chloe’s chest ache. Beca’s hair sticks up in weird places and a small purple mark dots her porcelain skin just below her collarbone, a proud remnant of the night before. She’s absolutely perfect." “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #9

Real Hot Wings and Fake Hot Dates - 3,566, G “Hey, it’s okay,” Aubrey says with surprising gentility. “I’m a little nervous, too.” That makes Beca turn back to her in shock. “You are?” Aubrey nods and says, “Of course. If they figure us out, we’re not gonna get that discount.” Mitchsen fake dating fluff as a Pitchmas 2018 gift.

Favorite Fic: Yikes, mate, asking the hard questions. Probably Expectations, because that’s the idea that started literally everything else - without it, I wouldn’t be a fic author. Otherwise, Chloe’s Secret, Naked Mole Rats Aren’t Endangered, Friday the 12th, Stay Awake, or Winter Dreams.

Hardest Fic: Honestly, anything with smut. I have such a hard time writing smut. And, currently, planning my Beca Sexuality fic (more on that in 2019!).

Do you plan on taking prompts in 2019? Tentatively yes! I love doing dialogue prompts the most, because they give me room to play. I do still have 12 prompts in my inbox, some of which are from like August, so, yeah... I’m gonna do those first.

What was the best thing about 2018? Honestly, just discovering this fandom and starting to write this much. I’ve always enjoyed writing, but writing fic like this took me to a whole new level. I’ve loved it more than I can say, and I feel like I’ve gradually been becoming a better writer because of it.

What was the worst thing about 2018? As for fics? Maybe... not enough time to write? Or just pressuring myself to churn out fics more quickly than I was really able to with classes/life.

Any last thoughts for 2018? I’m gonna miss the 20gayteen references, tbh, but make room for 20biteen! Also where’s the Bechloe kiss?

Goals for 2019:

Complete and post a fic where Beca struggles with her sexuality. I’ve got a ROUGH outline and all flashbacks written!

Finish my inbox prompts because, like, it’s been months.

Maybe try creating an original work? I have a couple ideas, but we’ll see.

And because I had so much fun with this, I’m going to toss it at @chloes-yellow-cup!

#2018 round up #complete fic masterpost #my writing #thanks 2018!#bechloe #pitch perfect fanfiction #bechloe fanfiction #plus one mitchsen

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p-redux · 6 years

Text

I Thought We Were Done, But I Guess Not...More Draaaamaaa Coming Right Up! I Know It’s Long But There Will Be TEA SPILLED. :-) Hope you read it all the way to the end...

Below is how ContemplatingOutlander responded to my post pointing out that the reason the MAJORITY of NST have her blocked is HER treatment of them, and my suggestion that she take some time for self-reflection.

Let me offer some more TRUTHS and some clarification that should have been done a long time ago. Here we go...

CO, a wise person knows that there are 3 sides to every story: hers, his, or in this case, hers again and the truth. So, whatever my “former friends and acquaintances” have told you is one sided and only from their perspective. Obvi. I would like to clarify some things I have kept my mouth shut about for far too long. Here they are...

You don’t have the complete picture, CO. But that’s what happens when you only listen to people who have a vendetta--their hate clouds their judgment and ability to be completely honest. I am not on my “4th or 5th inner circle.” I still have my ORIGINAL Twitter DM chat inner circle I have had for 3 years, it’s just missing a few backstabbing members, with whom I parted ways going on 2 years now. And that’s who you have talked to, not the people who have had my back this whole time. If the “former friends and acquaintances” you talked to were right about me, and I was this horrible and deceitful person, there would be NO ONE left in my inner circle, YET they are still with me all these years later. And as a result of their continued loyalty and real friendship over the last 3 years, I have recently shared things with them that I have not shared with anyone. They know my real name, and they know the identity of my original industry source, among other things. No one else does.

You know who’s not in the group anymore? Someone with whom, at the other members’ pleading, I had to have regular “talks” in DMs because the group members were so tired of her controlling manner in chat (no surprise that she’s one of your favorite people from that group...birds of a feather, I guess). Someone whose stressful job and tough situation with her son started to affect her thinking and made her very paranoid. Despite me showing her concrete proof that negated who she thought I was in real life, she didn’t believe me. Someone whose physical health problems caused her to have mental health problems and become very angry and lash out at me. Someone who was the source for the private Tony pics at the Outlander premiere in April 2015 and whose identity I have continued to keep private, even to my own detriment, yet she has had no problems betraying me. (note: this person is not my Tony family source. That’s someone else). Two individuals who run a well known and popular Outlander fan Twitter account whose identity I have also kept private because they don’t want the fandom to know that they run the account, and that they were in my inner circle. Someone who said she was married and rich and turned out to be totally lying, yet she had no problem badmouthing me behind my back, accusing me of lying about MY identity. And various other women, who although they were allowed to be completely Anonymous in the group (their Twitter names were Anon and in group they did not divulge personal info about themselves) yet somehow I was chastised by group members for not sharing my real identity. In addition, for a short period, I stupidly let into group a former shipper who I KNEW was playing both sides. But I guess the info she could divulge about her ex shipper friends was just too juicy to pass up, so she joined for a bit. And, as I knew would happen, ended up being a huge back stabber, but that was not a surprise. I knew better.

CO, THOSE are the assorted “former friends and acquaintances” who have talked to YOU, to Extreme Shippers, etc about me. Ya think they might be a wee biased and unreliable in retelling their version of the truth? Um, yeah. But despite me KNOWING that some of them have talked shit about me to YOU, to Extreme Shippers, to anyone who would listen and REVEALED some things we all swore we would take to the grave, I “big, bad Purv” have NOT betrayed THEIR confidence. What I’ve written above is the most I have ever shared. And I do feel badly, and somewhat cringe that I’m doing it, even though I’m not revealing anyone’s name, or any identifying details, but this is how far I’m being pushed. CO you have NO idea what you are stepping into. The amount of secrets I have kept private is staggering. Is that something that a the terrible person I’m portrayed to be would do? NO. A terrible person, the minute her ex friends started spilling tea, would have spilled right back, and blasted all their private info too. BUT I didn’t do that. Because I’m not a terrible person. Do you know how much easier my life would have been if I had told everyone who my Tony pic source was and posted all those pics publicly? But I didn’t. Despite being stabbed in the back by my former friends. Do you know how many secrets I could have shared that would have cleared my name in certain situations, and prevented some of the attacks on me? A LOT. But I didn’t, because doing so would have entailed betraying people’s trust and despite all my faults, I wasn’t willing to do that.

So, CO, when you make veiled threats insinuating that my “former friends and acquaintances” “didn’t appreciate being played” and therefore they may continue to betray me, what you don’t realize is THEY PLAYED ME. And they PLAYED YOU. They didn’t tell you the WHOLE TRUTH. They KNOW that even though they are privy to many of my secrets, I ALSO HOLD ALL OF THEIR SECRETS--secrets they didn’t tell you. Once we parted ways I assumed we would be at a detente. If they tried to take me down, they knew they would come with me. I underestimated how dangerously they liked to live, or how emotionally unstable some of them turned out to be. And so they continued to betray me and I SAID NOTHING. But if you or anyone else continues to push me, that will change. Enough is enough. All their secrets and their names I have kept under lock and key, THAT’S my insurance policy, should they, or YOU choose to take this further.

The same goes for Extreme Shippers who also talked to my “former friends and acquaintances,” and like to talk shit about me. It was always understood that there is also a detente there, since ES know that everyone knows most, if not all, their REAL IDENTITIES. The only ES who is Anon is Jess. Any Extreme Shippers dox me, find me, find out my real identity, and try to mess with my RL and all I gotta do is go down the list of NON-ANON ES: Lauren, Julia, Kim, Nipuna, Sherri, Leslie, Deirdre, Trish, Erin, Angie, Stephanie, Marcy, Suzanne, Lynn, Jo, among MANY others. I’m sure fellow ES wouldn’t want to be the catalyst for that. So THAT’S my insurance policy on that side. As for Puffy, I hear she’s still at it with her “investigation” of me and fleecing her minions of their hard earned money, I stopped looking a long time ago. She can keep going, but I hope she knows the minute she finds my real identity and messes with my RL, her bestie, co-owner of her blog, and partner in crime, Amanda E.S.H will be getting a knock on her door from the authorities. THAT’S my insurance policy on that side.

For now you’ve been splashing around in the kiddie pool, CO, you want to get in the deep end with the big girls? Be prepared to SWIM. Again, I suggest you STAND DOWN, Doc. You blog on your blog and leave me alone, and I will blog on my blog and leave you alone. Like a fellow NST said, “no one is drowning kittens here.” Fandom isn’t supposed to be so serious, this is supposed to be FUN. I’ve been playing nice, and I will continue to do so. I am nice, to people who are nice to me. But do not mistake my continued silence all these years for weakness, you push me too far and the bitch I’ve been made out to be, aka “Big bad Purv” WILL come out. Mark me.

PS: Yes, I have people here on Tumblr who I talk to in DM regularly and consider my friends and inner circle here. That group is separate from my original Twitter DM chat, who I still maintain. None of the people in the Twitter group chat overlap with the people in Tumblr DMs. Two totally separate groups. And I appreciate all of you so much. :-*

We done now? *cracks neck, shakes it off* Okay drama session is over, can we go back to some actual fun now? JFC.

#co #contemplatingoutlander #extremeshippers #drama #teaspilled

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laur-rants · 6 years

Text

Fic Update -- Wolfbann

Chapter 8 - With Wealth of Knowledge

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Chapter Synopsis: Corvo learns things and, predictably, jumps to conclusions.

AO3 Link

Previous :: First :: Next

Corvo wanted to say later that the boat ride back to the Hound Pits Pub had been quiet and uneventful. That he was left unbothered; that he, Sam and Geoff had all kept to themselves and that he had gotten plenty of rest along the way.

He wanted to say that, but Geoff Curnow was a Watch Officer to the bone. And that meant Corvo had to endure an interrogation before enjoying any amount of shut-eye.

“So Callista is still at the pub?”

“Yes.”

“And you met her there?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago, exactly?”

“I don't know. A few days now.”

“She was the one who said to come get me?”

“No Geoff, a little sparrow told me.”

Geoff frowned at Corvo's reply; Corvo simply folded his arms in tighter and tilted his head at Geoff. He was so tired. He wanted to ignore the itchy thrum of his limbs and the annoying questions of a Watch Captain and instead go to sleep. But if the look on Geoff’s face was anything to go by, he wasn't ready to let Corvo go just yet.

And so, the Lord Protector sighed.

“Anything else, officer?”

Geoff shifted, self conscious, but kept his frown in place and his eyes on Corvo.

“Just a few questions. Who did you speak to before we left the Abbey?”

“Oh, you were awake for that?” Corvo's eyebrows shot up in light surprise. He cleared his ruined throat before continuing, ”He’s an Overseer named Teague Martin. He'll be joining us later at the pub.”

“Any reason why?”

“I helped him, so hopefully he'll help me. Besides, I have something he wants.”

Corvo fished out a small black book from his belt satchel, holding it up between his fingers.

“Isn't that Campbell's?” Geoff inquired, eyes narrowing on the worn leather and yellowed pages. Corvo nodded before lazily twirling the book and storing it away on his belt again. “And just what has become of its original owner?”

“Campbell’s alive, if that's what you're asking. He probably isn't too happy about the state of his belongings right about now, though.” The ghost of a smile crept over Corvo's face; he may have left Campbell in one piece but he certainly hadn't been kind about it.

And with the evidence Corvo had, the High Overseer’s days in power were numbered.

“So it’s true, then? He planned on being rid of me?”

Corvo nodded, eyes sharp in spite of his weariness.

“I discovered a glass of poisoned wine in your intended meeting room and an audiograph that incriminated his actions. I have it, if you'd like to take a listen later.” Corvo let his lips pull further into a wicked grin. “For a High Overseer, that man certainly has a lot of skeletons.”

“Well, when you're close to someone like Hiram Burrows…” Geoff muttered, clearly agreeing even without the evidence. His eyes then widened and he jerked back to Corvo.

“Burrows... Corvo!” he gasped, a finger pointed the Royal Protector. Sam looked between them, surprised by the action. “I know -- it wasn't your fault the Empress died. I know that it was Hiram, he set up the hit on Jessamine. I overheard his plans while traveling the Isles with him; you were falsely framed. You're as much a victim as Jess was.”

Geoff made the statement like a revelation; as if the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place, like he finally remembered why Campbell was trying to kill him in the first place.

Corvo, of course, knew he was innocent. Sam and Callista did too, or at least believed it well enough to not inquire. But there was a huge difference in personally knowing his own innocence and hearing it aloud as fact from a third party. Corvo felt himself sag, letting go of the air in his lungs like a deflating balloon.

“Thank you,” Corvo rasped out softly, his damaged throat catching painfully on the words. He didn't know what he was thanking Geoff for; Curnow didn't seem to know either,blinking in astonishment at Corvo's response. But Corvo didn't care.

It was nice to simply be reminded he was innocent.

There was a beat between the three of them. Corvo could feel himself drifting from relief, the whisper of the Void already strong in his sleep-deprived ears.

“Ah,” Geoff started, his voice keeping Corvo above the surface. “You're welcome, I think. But I always knew that Hiram was lying about you, because I caught him mentioning the real assassin to the High Overseer months ago.”

A giant, scarred, shadowed wolf. A pack of smoking dogs that scattered like ghosts. A river of red, running hot down Corvo's arms to pool collectively with the blood of a dying Empress.

Corvo was up so fast Geoff jumped in his seat. His jaw clenched, his whole being tightening like a spring as his body fought for control against the beast under his skin. His expression darkened; Geoff leaned back, worry coloring his features.

“That assassin,” Corvo growled out. “Who is he? Who did Hiram hire?”

“I--” Geoff stuttered and swallowed, eyes glancing to Sam for backup. “You didn't know?”

“A name,” Corvo snarled. “I need a name.”

“He's known simply as Daud,” Geoff obliged. “The Knife of Dunwall and head of the Whalers group.”

Daud.

The name crashed down on Corvo like a wave. He felt his chest heave, felt the wolf lunge and fight for release. He remembered now; Hiram uttered the name just once in Corvo's presence, back when he was fever-wracked and newly turned and his life was a blur of pain. Of course he hadn't realized then the significance of the name, couldn't put two and two together when he could hardly remember who or what he was.

But now…

The assassin's title consumed Corvo’s mind in a way he didn't understand as he committed it to memory, saying the name over and over again like a horrible prayer. As he did something else, someone else answered, reaching out to Corvo's thoughts, coming as if called to him, to his very mindspace --

“Lord Corvo.”

Corvo managed to look up at the gentle pull of his name. Sam was there, offering him a hand, blocking Geoff from any possible backlash. Corvo's eyes flicked from Sam to Geoff; the Watch Officer’s face was pale in the moonlight, his hand defensively resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Corvo,” Sam softly repeated.

Corvo breathed. He swallowed and stilled his racing thoughts. He flexed the claws clutching deep at the fabric of his old Protector coat. He didn't recall letting them grow out.

“I'm here, Sam,” he muttered out. “Apologies, Curnow.”

“No need, Lord Corvo,” Geoff replied, but his broken voice betrayed him. Corvo swallowed again, evening out his breath. Claws and fur burned away and disappeared: Geoff eased off his weapon as well.

“Daud,” Corvo parroted out, the only thing still on his racing and confused mind. Again, the whisper of a consciousness brushed against his thoughts at the name, followed by a bone-deep ache that had nothing to do with weariness. Corvo shivered before meeting Geoff's face once again.

“Yes, Daud,” Geoff carefully added. “he's got quite the reputation with the Abbey and the Watch. Some eyewitnesses once reported him as a Wolf of Men. Didn't ever think that description would turn out to be so… literal.”

Corvo snorted and shook his head.

“At least I have something to look for,” Corvo said, bemused. “Thank you.”

Geoff nodded, his face still holding a hint of unease as he looked Corvo over. “Of course, Lord Protector.”

“And--” Corvo choked out, finally attending the one question he most feared the answer to. “Do you know -- have you heard -- anything on Emily?”

Geoff’s face fell into a look of near pity, the sadness there cinching tight around Corvo's heart.

“I'm sorry, Corvo,” Geoff said, his sincerity causing Corvo's throat to painfully squeeze shut. “I have no idea what happened to the Empress’s daughter. And whatever Burrows planned for her, I never learned.”

Corvo looked down and away, only managing a nod as he settled back into the boat. He expected that sort of response, but knowing he was still no closer to Emily left him more drained than ever.

They fell into silence. Despite needing to rest, Corvo's body was too wired from the discussion to sleep. His limbs itched to be used and he fidgeted the whole ride back, unable to stay still. Before the boat was even tied down he was leaping free of it, his shaking legs carrying him to the building and up a flight of stairs before their pitying looks could even hope to stop him.

He wasn't present for the Curnow family reunion. He didn't want to be; instead he settled for listening to hear their muffled voices, watching them through the Void from the second story landing. Callista had stayed up late waiting for them to return; she broke into hysterics as she saw her uncle, throwing herself into his arms upon seeing him whole and healthy.

Corvo huffed and looked away, letting the Void leak out of his vision. From down the hall, a door jostled and creaked open.

Corvo froze.

A groggy servant poked their head out from behind the door; Callista's cries must have been loud enough to rouse them, even at this witching hour. Corvo eased; the worker was a young woman with disheveled brown hair and heavy eyes. Her angry grumbles morphed into a nervous squeak she caught sight of Corvo on the landing, leaning against the railing. Immediately she flushed and muttered out an apology, trying to pull herself back into her room as quickly as possible. Corvo blinked, his stomach going cold.

“Wait,” he whispered out. She jerked and didn't meet his eye, but she did as she was told. He licked his lips, choosing his words carefully has he strode over.

“Can I ask what your name is?” He tried to sound as gentle as possible, but his ragged voice made that goal next to impossible. The girl's eyes darted up to him before looking away again.

“Cecelia, sir,” she muttered. “Please, I don't be meaning no trouble--”

Before she could continue, Corvo pulled a heavy purse out of his coat and held it out to her. She looked at it warily and didn't move to take it -- not until he shook the bag slightly, the soft jangle of coin making the contents obvious and unmistakable.

“There will be a few more people staying at the pub soon,” he whispered to her, gently setting the purse in her outstretched palm. “This should be enough to cover any inconveniences or amenities during their stay.”

Cecelia gaped at the weight of the coin suddenly resting her right hand, her left furiously wiping the sleep from her eyes. She tested the weight and checked the money inside, looking back at Corvo in a sort of bewildered awe.

“Sir--” she croaked out. “Sir, I can't accept this--”

“Get it to your boss, then,” Corvo shrugged. “And make sure it's distributed to the other workers. Just consider it compensation for -- for dealing with me.”

“Thank you, Lord--” but he was gone before she even finished the sentence.

Stopping time was still a new sensation for him -- incredibly draining and empowering in one fell swoop -- but he used the power to get away regardless. He didn't need to hear her sincerity and frankly he didn't really want it. He just wanted to sleep. His brain still spun with what he'd learned on the way back from the Abbey; he needed time to digest, to be alone.

And he needed to get rid of the insistent pressure at the back of his skull that felt entirely foreign and not his own.

He closed the door to the attic and resumed time; color returned to the world and from somewhere a few flights down he heard a surprised gasp, no doubt Cecelia processing the fact that Corvo had -- to her perception -- suddenly disappeared. He huffed out a small laugh and turned to the room proper; as soon as he found the rickety old mattress he fell on it, fast asleep and unaware of the gracious mutters lingering in the hallway just outside.

------

Karnaca spread out below Corvo, just as he remembered it.

He knew this had to be a dream; he hadn't seen the city in near two decades, even if he knew the feel of it all the same. The sun burning on cobbled stone, the dust billowing on the horizon, the sticky smell of bloodfly amber -- this was the Karnaca he memorized long ago, able to pull it perfectly out of his memories even as the Void curled at the edges of the city and his wolfen body gave him a new perspective.

His memory served him well; all the same paths and winding alleys were exactly as he recalled, all the secrets only he and his sister were ever able to find. He leapt from hard stone to choking vines to winding wood, the trees at Karnca’s edge encroaching like they never had in real life, unruly and wild and overpowering. The warmth of the wood under his claws resonated with him; he was alive as the city slept, the city where he was born and raised and became the man he was today.

Corvo wound through the branches like a furred snake, all confidence and deadly elegance. But he wasn't careful; even his mind had a way of pulling tricks on him. He took a too-sharp corner and stopped dead in his tracks the air suddenly shifted.

He was no longer in Karnaca. The scents throttling his nose were nothing like the hot sand he recalled of his youth. This was heavy industry and smoke; sea and salt and the bitter tang of processed whale oil. In the distant sky -- obscured by cloud and high above the city line -- a whale keened, the sound shifting between high and low, between sadness and anger. The song of it made the fur of his neck bristle, his very soul shaking under the weight of it.

He was in Dunwall. But unlike Karnaca it was twisted, warped by the very capriciousness of his dreams.

Corvo.

His chest lurched as something hooked deep into his very core; pulling and yearning for him, calling him by name. His claws dug painfully into the wood as he tested the air, his mind reeling. His body shuddered and shook before he was off again, leaping from the rooftops to whatever pulled so powerfully on his soul.

It was long before he found his answer.

A huge, hulking form. Black fur and blazing blue eyes. A long scar marred the right side of his face as he turned to face Corvo.

Their gazes locked. Rage boiled up. Lips curled back and fangs flashed and Corvo screamed.

The force of his howl shook the very fabric of his dreamscape, rippling through the air like disturbed water. Still, the assassin wolf didn't move, didn't react, just stared Corvo down as he leapt, racing to where that other wolf was, to where he stood and --

The world shifted. Rocks shot up. The path changed.

And the wolf of Daud was gone.

Corvo panicked. The ache of his chest worsened with his rage and he clawed forward, searching for a way past his new blockade. The world tilted dangerously, warping under his very feet and throwing him off-balance. Dunwall was quickly changing into something dark and terrifying, the wind whipping up and chilling him to the bone. Yet the powerful tether maintained it's connection. Daud still called to him, but from where, he couldn't tell.

Corvo clawed his way over stone and concrete, finally reaching the surface only to find the world dark, the songs of the whales morphing into distant rumbles of thunder. The scent of rain on the wind overwhelmed him and he turned, trying to get his bearings.

“Corvo?”

The voice was soft and small, barely audible.over the whipping wind. But still Corvo's sensitive ears caught the word, and his throat choked on a stifled reply. It was too good to be true -- and yet, he couldn't mistake that voice, her voice, like the whisper of springtime bells, like innocence lost to a bygone age.

He jerked and turned, ears swiveling, focusing on the sound.

“Corvo!”

And then he saw her; she turned to him and she shone like a star, beckoning him to her.

Emily.

She beamed, and it felt too perfect to be real -- yet there she was, whole and well and waiting for Corvo with outstretched arms.

A shadow passed between them.

Like a ghost, the wolf smoked back into his vision, eyes burning like whale oil in the night. Corvo stopped, his gut going cold as Emily smiled and reached up to run a hand over the giant hound’s gnarled muzzle.

Emily! No!

But she wasn't listening anymore. She wasn't even looking at him, too busy petting the snout of the monster that had killed her mother, fangs so close to snapping her up too --

Corvo lurched forward but stumbled, stuck in place. Vines had crept up around him, long and thick and twisted, their thorns piercing his skin and fur. He yelled and cried; the weeds just wound tighter around his legs and dragged him down, away from the one thing that mattered above everything else.

No, nonono EMILY!

His claws left gouges in the wood as he dug at those inky vines trying to wake him. He fought desperately to stay in the dream, as if he could somehow get to Emily, even while asleep. But the vines were insistent, intent on dragging him back to the waking world.

All the while those cold, scarred eyes never left him.

I will find you, Corvo snarled threateningly back, praying for a reaction and getting none. I will find you and I will find her, that is a promise!

Good, was the single reply, so deep and loud it shook Corvo to the core.

His concentration faltered.

The thunder rumbled.

And the vines dragged him away, and Emily and the Knife of Dunwall were gone.

------

Corvo shot up in his bed, panting and shaking, his entire body screeching at him. It soon became apparent why; at some point in his sleep he had started turning, his limbs burning and smoking as hot fur covered his arms and shoulders. He breathed in and his ribs painfully cracked as they expanded; his face was stretched and his teeth too large and his fingers too long and it was all too much and wrong, so wrong.

It hurt like it did back in prison, back when he had no idea what was happening and it took all his energy to not return to that near-panic state. Not in Coldridge he reminded himself over and over -- on the back of his clawed left hand the Outsider's Mark still burned bright, backing up the logic of his thoughts. He took a few breaths, stilling his shaking limbs and willing his body back to normal. It took a few tense seconds but finally the fur billowed away, his joints realigned and the magic returned him back to fully human again.

He twitched and shook, more now from residual adrenaline in his veins than from any panicked exertion. Corvo’s jaw clenched; he thought he was past this. Apparently, that was just wishful thinking; this was only his second day with the mark, after all. But that mark was supposed to afford him some control over his mess of a being -- if he couldn't have that, what was the point?

Corvo growled, clenching his fist and calling to the Void. His mark flared, tingling against his skin as his black claws reemerged-- he immediately willed the claws away and his hand obediently returned to human once again.

He flexed his fingers and sighed, repeating the process until he was satisfied. Whatever had happened in his sleep didn't seem to affect him while awake. As long as he was conscious, Corvo could still pretend to be normal.

He got up and dressed as silently and as quickly as he could. He had no idea how long he had been asleep or what time it was; nobody had come to collect him this morning, and outside the sky was overcast, threatening an afternoon rain. He opened the window and sniffed; the air certainly was heavy with a humidity just waiting to be broken. Corvo frowned, closed the window until just crack remained open, and then left the stuffy attic to join the rest of the residents downstairs.

As soon as he entered the pub, every face turned to him. Corvo stopped in his tracks, alarm rising in his chest -- but then he caught Callista smiling at him over coffee, Cecelia’s flushed cheeks as she caught sight of him from behind the bar, Geoff's warm and encouraging nod. The atmosphere was anything but threatening; instead it was welcoming, as if requesting Corvo's presence instead of rejecting it. It was different. It was nice.

It made Corvo want to run away all the same.

He swallowed the urge, entering the pub proper. He caught Sam sitting in a booth reading the Courier; he made for him, hoping to join him for his quiet familiarity -- but the booth across from him was already occupied. Another man took up the seat, a man with dark hair, a sabre at his side, and robed in black and silver.

“Ah, Corvo, good to see you awake.”

Teague Martin leaned back in the pub booth, eyeing Corvo as he neared. Unease crawled up Corvo's spine at seeing Teague in the daylight but he nodded back just the same, sending a brief smile to Sam who beamed goodnaturedly back.

“Glad to see you made it here in one piece, Martin” Corvo offered. “Was it much trouble for you?”

“Hardly,” Martin said with a wave of his hand. “Overseers are allowed into quarantined areas with little question; in these chaotic times we've been offered more power than most.”

“I see,” Corvo said darkly, trying to not think of the implications of Martin's words. “Sam, is it alright if I sit with you?”

Sam smiled gently and folded the newspaper up in his hands. “Take my seat; I'm heading out to visit Piero anyway.”

Corvo shifted, uncomfortable. “Are you sure? I don't want to intrude or--”

Sam stood up and simply patted Corvo's shoulder before moving past him and outside. Corvo watched him go, unsteady from Sam's show of easy solidarity.

“Are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to sit down?”

Corvo jerked back to Martin, who watched him quizzically. Corvo’s frown returned and he sat across from Teague, studying the man carefully. He smelled clean, but in that sort of way that left no discernible scent behind. The back of Corvo's neck itched.

He pulled the small black book out of his jacket regardless, sliding it across the booth to the Overseer. Martin's eyes lit up at the sight of it, intact even after everything Corvo went through to get it. His eyes flicked briefly to Corvo's face before reaching out and taking the journal, gloved hands running across the corver before opening it and idly flicking through the pages.

“Outsider's eyes, you really retrieved it.”

Corvo hadn't shown Martin the book before they parted at the Abbey, opting to make sure the Overseer would actually show at the pub and stay true to his word. Now, Corvo leaned back in the booth, arms crossed as he kept a suspicious eye on the man across from him.

“After everything you witnessed last night, you really doubted my ability?” Corvo asked, incredulous.

“Honest men are hard to come by in this city, Corvo,” Teague replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow while scanning the journal’s pages. “You know this well, seeing how you tested me to see if I was worth the trouble.”

“You came for the book, Teague -- which means you're predictable, not honest.” Corvo growled back. “But you're here now. So now I get to ask; are you willing to help me?”

Teague scoffed and smiled a small smile. “What does a heretic like you expect from a man of the Abbey like me?”

Corvo tilted his head, eyes narrowing as his leg bounced under the table.

“Campbell works very closely with Burrows. He always has; they've been close for years, but since my priority was the Empress and her daughter, I paid no attention to it. Maybe if I had, well...” Corvo trailed off rolling his tongue over his teeth. Martin’s eyes followed the action, gaze going back to his eyes as Corvo sneered, and continued. “Either way, Burrows is the reason Jessamine is dead. He hired the assassin Daud to do the job, a fact he mentioned to Campbell. You have incrimination on Campbell and I'm looking for all the evidence I can get. What can you offer me?”

Martin's grin flashed wide but he said nothing, idly flipping through the book. Eventually, he came across an interesting page; he dog-eared it, bookmarking the placement for later.

“Campbell has many secrets, all of them damning and most of them of little interest to you,” Martin started cooly. “As shocking as it sounds, the religious elite love cavorting with devils.” He laid the book flat, his hands neatly over it.

“Campbell has been looking into heretical artifacts and individuals for years while systematically killing those who pose no real threat to the population.”

Corvo's jaw worked as he tried not to be surprised by this information.

“So he's been killing people falsely accused of witchcraft to keep heat off of himself?”

“More like keep the heat off his own pets, ” Martin corrected smoothly, “But yes. He's a big fan of the Royal Executioner -- who, despite being a rumored heretic wolf himself, has never been accosted or arrested. That's just one example of many; he picks and chooses his allies carefully and avoids those who could cause him consternation. Clearly he wasn't careful this time, not if Daud is involved.”

Corvo bristled at the name but did his best to keep his expression neutral.

“Daud; what do you know about him?”

Martin laughed.

“More like, what don't I know about him? The Overseers have been doing undercover investigation on the man for years, but he's so elusive most consider him a myth. Campbell destroys topics on him like he’s avoiding the plague; whenever he discovers an Overseer has made a personal project of trying to capture Daud, he burns any evidence. There are not many surviving documents in the Abbey on Daud. I've not met the assassin personally but whoever he is, he's not someone Campbell wants to get on the bad side of.”

“Do you think Campbell is working with him -- burning evidence that points to previous business transactions?”

Martin shook his head, flipping through the book again. “No, no, I'm certain Campbell does it out of fear -- or, to protect Burrows. Campbell is interested in the occult so in a twisted way, Daud is a competitor and not to be trusted.”

“A competitor?” Corvo asked, his head tilting curiously. Martin just gestured nonchalantly to Corvo's left hand.

“Yes, for the Outsider's favor,” Martin told him. “Campbell's been obsessed for years. I'm hoping his journal will confirm what I've already suspected; that Campbell met the Outsider once but walked away from the encounter with no favor. Since then, he's collected quite the collection of charms and runes in a bid to understand the god of the Void better.”

“I did find more than one artifact in his chambers while I was gathering information,” Corvo mused, thinking of the locked vault he had snuck into and ransacked for his own devices. “So this does add up. And it's plenty to incriminate Campbell when the time comes.”

“Oh it's only the waterspout of the whale, Corvo,” Martin drawled easily, his grin still eager and triumphant. “Such as how he enjoys slipping away to the Golden Cat every Tuesday to practice his wandering gaze and wanton flesh.” He laughed as Corvo grimaced at the thought.

“How do you know all of this, anyway?” Corvo growled out, apprehensive of the answer. Martin just shrugged and smiled.

“I wasn't always an Overseer, and I didn't join via the conventional means of being hand picked as a good boy candidate.” He flipped to a page idly, scanning the contents. “I have so many reasons to want to see Campbell kicked off his high horse, most of them my own. Perhaps one day I'll tell you why but for now, just know it gives me great pleasure to be able to bring about the High.Overseer’s downfall.”

Corvo went silent, chewing over all that Martin had provided. He didn't know how much of it he could believe, or what was even worth remembering. He didn't care about Campbell, not like Martin did. With or without the knowledge of his occult obsession, Campbell was now a dead man walking. But what Martin had said about Daud, how even Campbell seemed to fear his wrath… those were facts worth remembering.

“Speaking of the Golden Cat…” Martin added, almost as an afterthought. He trailed off, prompting Corvo’s attention again. “They say half the girls who end up there are dropped off by nobles who need to cover up getting a pretty tramp pregnant on Fugue and soiling the family blood with unwanted heirs. Nobody believes a whore when she's forced to work in prostitution.”

Corvo's brow furrowed. “That is a popular rumor, yes, but I'm not sure what it has to do with anythi--”

“There's also a rumor that Burrows has strong connections with the Golden Cat--” Martin said, a little more forcefully. “--and that he's visited the establishment more frequently than usual since the Empress died. Some say it's for stress relief, with the young Emily missing, and all.”

Corvo stared at him, his mouth snapping shut.

“It's just a rumor, of course,” Martin finished, casually shrugging. “Could be nothing.”

Martin raised his eyebrows at Corvo and the gravity of his words finally hit him like a brick.

Luckily, the Lord Protector didn't need explaining to twice. With a heavy swish of his coat Corvo was gone from both the booth and the pub, searching out his loyal boatman even as the distant thunder rolled the rain threatened overhead.

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gotgifsandmusings · 7 years

Text

GoT 7x03 Musings

My initial reaction to “The Queen’s Justice”

^I dub thee “Casterly Castle”

I guess the title refers to Cheryl finally delivering that poetic justice for Madison’s death via Poison Ivy lipstick (which I’ve been told was only a thing Ivy did in Batman and Robin; she’s usually just more a dramatic biochemist nerd with pheromones. I’m so sorry, Ivy.). I guess it could also be Deadpan not randomly giving Jon her help for nothing in exchange, because that’s actually a decent sense of justice. It was pretty obvious D&D were writing this one again, with the nonversations featuring strongly. Let’s dive in.

Dragonstone

A lot happened here, and yet nothing did at all.

Jon is a fucking idiot for arriving with just Davos, and it’s beyond clear that he should have listened to Sansa and everyone else cautioning him from going, because he was immediately in a position where he had no capacity to defend himself, and nothing to offer Deadpan at all.

Really glad Tyrion reminded us HOW NICE he is about not raping Sansa when they were married. More points for him being THE BEST. Sorry. If you know me, you know this one is a specific bugaboo.

Some say the dragon CGI didn’t look good, but frankly it didn’t bother me that much. I was much more distracted by Tyrion’s alcoholism jokes and Jon’s mouth breathing

The Mel & Davos scene felt like it worked last night, but after reading over Jess’s review today, I have no idea why I thought that. Mel was literally just saying she was peacing out, and then creepily said she and Varys would both die in Weisseroff, so I guess they will. It was…fine? But also “the plot needs me over here now!”

I felt like Deadpan and Jonny were asserting different things every few minutes. I’m also assuming we’re supposed to view Deadpan as the spoiled entitled shittier leader, while Jonny is a man of the people who drops his g’s at the ends of his sentences.

this would have been somewhat possible to be sold if Jonny hadn’t been given a kingship for being the world’s biggest fucking idiot

Also, Tyrion’s point about “you should just kneel if this war to the North is all that matters to you” is really, really salient. Like…what did Jonny expect in this? He *said* Deadpan needs him, but actually how? What she needs his 4 surviving Wildlings? The Manderly forces?

Oh wait, that’s right, the whole theme of this season has been “how can we illogically deplete Deadpan’s massive and unbeatable army?” She learns about Yara’s fleet and decides not to keep Jonny as a prisoner, but a guest, before storming off.

I’m probably remembering this out of order, but we get some kind of war council scene where she suggests riding her dragon to like…BURN Euron’s wormhole-navigating fleet?

But no. Apparently she could get shot with an arrow so it’s never going to happen. Let’s ignore her biggest military advantage.

We also get Jonny & Tyrion 2.0: who broods best? Aka D&D write shitty lines for cheap fandom jokes.

It is kind of amusing to watch Jonny have his own idiocy pointed out to him

Then Tyrion runs to Deadpan and tells her to play nice, because she’s been a very naughty little school girl lately. Also they need allies because things are going tits up with his masterplan of incompetence. I just can’t take the fucking infantilizing tone, though I did legit laugh when Deadpan called him on “a wise ma n once said.”

Uhhh finally Deadpan & Jonny’s 2.0 scene? She decides to let him mine dragon glass because Tyrion asked nicely. I can’t think anything positively about either of their leadership capabilities, nor do I think D&D have much interest in showing them. Can we just get on to boat sex already?

Cheryl’s Landing

The biggest issue I have is how the smallfolk of Cheryl’s Landing are even more mercurial than the Northern Lords. Now they’re CHEERING Euron despite knowing Cheryl burned everything down? Why don’t they give any shits?

I don’t know who Euron is playing this week. Moriarity? Julia says a bad magician. Are we supposed to find him intimidating?

Legit found Cheryl’s approach to governance compelling this week. She secured an ally with a promise of marriage *after* the war is won (why the fuck is Euron so interested in this?), and was a savvy negotiator with the “we love the slave trade” Iron Bank of Braavos.

I can’t begin to deal with the Faullaria death scene. Longest fucking thing in the world, and it was just D&D reveling in murdering characters we hated because they put no depth into them. Everything about it was horrible, absolutely everything.

even the stupid “poetic justice” of the kiss. Just stop.

Larry loves Cheryl! Cheryl’s maid loves Cheryl’s style! What in the fuck is happening??

Winterhell

BRITTANY’S BACK

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings:

"a female character is empowered without resorting to violence, sexual manipulation, or dismissal of typically feminine-coded traits or activities" happened tho, with Sansa's ruling scene. It was one of the scenes I really enjoyed this episode (until littlefinger started to talk)

Yeah man, for sure. It was actually nice to watch, even if the larger pattern of their conception of empowerment is totally fucked. I have a feeling this one won’t be staying around

Also my god, that Batfinger speech was one of his worst yet. It makes chaos is a ladder seem like the smartest thing ever uttered. “See all possible outcomes”? Um…you didn’t, you fucking moron. Remember when the Sansa Marriage Strike blew up in literally everyone’s face?

at least Brittany wasn’t into it

Aaaaand then Bran came with a brand new personality! He wasn’t able to emote or give any shits about his sister, and then forced her to relive her trauma by talking about it in really creepy, deadpan, voyeuristic tones. Yay!

this Bran came out of NOWHERE. He became the Three Eyed Sydow last year (or something), so…where was this creepiness then? He seemed to be able to engage with Meera and Benjen and stuff. Was the baby crossfade THAT momentous?

I’m glad Brittany ran away from him. I rather stanned her this episode

Oh btw Theon is alive.

Apparently the Ironboors who survived can intuit exactly what happened on his ship, rather than thinking he got thrown overboard or something.

Hogwarts

I almost forgot this was in the episode

Greyscale is cured! Forever! This plot really mattered so much!

no are we supposed to be affected that Jorah was contemplating suicide? Are we supposed to care that Sam figured this out from what Jess described as a “wiki-how”?

just someone kick Sam out already. This is going nowhere

THE BATTLES

I’ll direct you back to Jess’s review if you haven’t read it already. She does an AMAZING job at explaining how Tyrion’s voice-over removed all dramatic tension.

Fuck traveling logistics, amirite? Of course Larry can sprint around Weisseroff in two weeks. I feel like they threw that timeframe in there just to piss us off.

Again, the importance of Casterly Castle was never in evidence. Larry didn’t care about it enough to abandon it. Tyrion described it as “impenetrable” and even went on to say how once inside, the Unsullied would *still* be outnumbered.

it makes Tyrion seem like an idiot, especially with Larry knowing he’d take it, so was this supposed to be his hubris? But it was never framed as hubris. So…

Oh look, Euron’s fleet warped from somewhere in between Cheryl’s Landing and Porne to Casterly Castle. That works!

Then Larry just warps and takes Highgarden off-screen, because apparently D&D say that the Tyrells are shitty fighters. What. No seriously, what? Where did that even come from? And taking a castle is still kind of a big deal.

^this was a tad disappointing for Highgarden.

Frankly, where did the Tyrell army even go? Tarly’s an important bannerman, but not like ALL of it

The best part was that Diana Rigg seemed as happy to be done with this stupid show as I was for her, so there was a good amount of energy in her scene.

the whole “Cheryl is the worst” thing didn’t land as usual, especially when immediately followed by her confession about murdering Joffrey, but she was just so gosh darn plucky about it!

Aaaand that’s all I’ve got! Boy Deadpan sure is in a pickle that her amazing “divide and fail to conquer” plan was as bad as @turtle-paced described it last week. Add to that Larry’s sudden competence, and she just might yet need Jonny!

Top 3 nitpicks:

Casterly Castle being single-handedly built by Tywin and Tyrion having actually constructed the sewers himself. Not just running them…constructed them.

The Iron Bank investing in the slave trade

The smallfolk LOVE Euron and Cheryl now

Did this land for you? I was seeing tweets about how smart the writing was and just...WHAT. Though Brittany was boss ass, if I may say so myself.

#episode musings #got 7x03 #the queen's justice

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thegeminisage · 7 years

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@dellesayah @spacegaysian @machidielontheway

while cathy did get there first, you guys are all good dependable and reliable friends. thanks. i've been waiting and waiting for a good reason to talk about this. it's gonna get long.

cambionverse vs teen wolf:

the characters i’d ship: katie and allison. katie has a thing for badass chicks (see: her badass witch girlfriend) and she'd be delighted to stay home and keep the house clean while allison went out and kept the world safe. alternative, jesse and scott, because jesse has a type, and scott and ben are NEARLY identicial, character-wise.

the characters who would be BFFs: meg, prior to some of the development she went thru in enter night & cambion & since cambion, would have really loved kate argent. they could have been Ax-Crazy together, you know what i mean?

the characters who would be enemies: aside from the obvious (every werewolf being dean's personal enemy) i think most of the hunters from the world of spn and most of the hunters from the world of teen wolf would ABSOLUTELY hate each other. first off there's the obvious class difference - in spn, hunting is very blue-collar, you live out of motels and your car, you use credit card fraud and hustling to get by, you run from the law and impersonate feds and cops. in teen wolf by contrasts the argents are aristocratic, wealthy, respected - they live in nice homes and have a lot of money, they get federal approval to carry their weapons, they operate alongside the law instead of against it. in spn, you stumble into hunting usually because a loved one gets murdered horribly, and you either learn the ropes or die, and there's a big emphasis on trying not to let your kids get born into the life. in tw, by contrast, argents or whoever get trained from the age they can walk and speak. it's an hnor and a responsibility, they go by an organized code (even though they wind up breaking it a lot) - in spn, whoever has the most firepower wins. so they've got HUGELY different methods for dealing with the same problem; hunting is way more structured in tw, and in spn trying to apply structure to a thing like that all but breaks it. (yes, i have spent many years thinking about this, why?) every hunter in spn would have nothing but disdain for these rich asshole know-it-alls and every single hunter in teen wolf would find the spn ones crass, unrefined, and dangerous. can easily see a scenario where this is used against both parties by some monster outsider

the characters who would be allies: lol scott mccall would take one look at somebody as lost and in his shell and unfairly persecuted as jesse and INSTANTLY want to take him in and train him up proper - same as ben, basically.

the characters who would be allies, but reluctantly: dean winchester and chris argent lol like "yeah okay we gotta kill the monster" but they don't like each other for the reasons listed above. claire and derek would also be allies but with great reluctance. more on this below

the characters who would drive each other bananas: oh thank god i finally get to talk about this. CLAIRE NOVAK WOULD HATE DEREK HALE SO MUCH AND VICE VERSA. listen. part of it is because they're alike - broody, silent, Troubled, trust issues, will murder you for touching them. claire i think would be annoyed by all werewolves' lie-detecting abilities bc 1. fucking amateurs, you guys gotta listen to a PULSE, seriously, you know that's unreliable right and 2. that's HER thing. you know what else is her thing? cryptic nonanswers, long silences, Anger Issues. sounding familiar? these are also derek's things. derek and claire both like to be the most mysterious person in the room, deep down, and so it's like a competition no one will admit to having. they would also be really offended by the other refusing to trust them even though neither of them trust anyone.

the characters i think are the most alike: kate & meg are a lot alike, because they're badass and enjoy killing a little too much, jennifer & brigitta are also a lot alike because they kill For Revenge. claire and lydia are very much alike because they're smart and capable and also mostly human, but they have this little extra supernatural Something that lets them perceive what others can't. jesse and derek are similar - tricked by a hunter they were in love with, a terrible fire happened as a result and they lost a lot of people, have both been tortured by hunters, both have a dead family that perished in a fire and wandered sadly around their burned-out shell of a house for awhile, both are really fucking sarcastic and have trust issues, both have issues with sex, they can take pain/injuries. then as mentioned above derek and claire are a lot alike, and so are scott & ben - those two are nearly identical in many ways, but especially because they are the moral center of their respective universes - they're the character who struggles with what's right and wrong and ultimately almost always chooses to do what matches up with what the narrative wants you to believe is the right thing to do.

my favorite character from each fandom & how i think they would get along: jesse and derek, who would get along only slightly better than derek and claire, and for similar reasons - remember that part in season 1 where he yelled at scott but you could tell he was really yelling at his past self? jesse is all heart-eyes over ben even after all that oliver shit which is like, to derek, the stupidest, dumbest way to be ever??? and he doesn't even SEE it, and derek would be so annoyed.

IN CONCLUSION these universes honestly have so much in common i'd wonder if teen wolf hadn't secretly influenced cambion...if cambion wasn't OLDER. yes, really, cambion is so fucking old, you guys - we started writing it in december 2010 and teen wolf began airing in june 2011. (technically, teen wolf began development sometime in 2009 iirc but there was no way we could have known about any of the plot then, and they didn't start filming until 2010 either, and i didn't even start watching it until july 2012 myself.) fun fact we actually came about THIS CLOSE to picking dylan o'brien as our ben faceclaim after we wrote the first version of only human, but we wound up rejecting him because 1. buzzcut, no thanks, and 2. nobody would be able to unsee stiles.

[CROSSOVER MEME: SEND ME TWO (OR MORE) FANDOMS]

#liz answers asks #dellesayah #spacegaysian #machidielontheway #hilariously the hunter paragraph was longer than the derek & claire one #but if you've talked to me for like even 30 seconds #or read any of cambion at all #you know how fascinated i get by the structure or lack thereof #within the community of supernatural hunters who are technically a bunch of vigilantes #i could go on and on and on #i'll spare you though #teen wolf #cambionverse #ask meme #also you guys were all literally 1 minute apart each #fucking incredible look att he timestamps

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caswatchesoveryou · 7 years

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Supernatural Survey ❤️

i was tagged by @rosewhipped22 thank you! ^u^ ❤️❤️❤️

1. What season did you start watching Supernatural?

i saw it from time to time on tv by accident but i didn’t really got hooked at that time because i was too young to really understand it and pay attention to this amazing show! only when my older cousin told me years later that i have to watch this show and gave me all her dvds, i fell into the pit of this crazy, wonderful, beautiful show and fandom..❤️

2. Who was the first character you fell in love with?

Cas..❤️ i saw pictures of him here and there and i couldn’t wait to finally see him coming through that barn door..❤️ i guess i always had a thing for angels but Cas is something very special..how can you not fall in love with those beautiful blue eyes that look so kind and forgiving..? this crazy dark hair, the stubble, soft lips, cheek bones, trenchcoat just EVERYTHING! WINGS! THOSE STUPID TENDER AND beAUTIFuL HANDS! *sigh* i just wanted to hug him forever..❤️ also i was surprised how deep Misha’s real voice is because at first i watched all seasons that i could get in german until i didn’t want to wait another year before the other seasons finally came to us.. =A= and yeah, his german voice is much higher and i was like:”huh wow..his voice is so deep.. D:” long story short: Misha is just so damn beautiful in every way and so is Cas..❤️

3. Who was a character that you hated at first but grew to love?:

hmm..maybe Metatron? i know he killed Dean, stole Cas’ grace and did many horrible things. but he was an interesting character and in the end helped to save the world. or Mick Davies, didn’t know if i could trust him but in his last episode i really started to like him but then.. dead.. :’<

4. Which character would you most want to be in a long-term relationship with? welp..it’s Cas.. it’s always Cas..❤️ i could listen to his stories for hours and discover life and earth with him all over again..❤️

5. If you could go on a date with just one character, which one would you choose?: Cas..❤️

6. What would you do on that date? maybe just a relaxed picnic at a little river and talking about anything.. = u = and cuddling..❤️

7. Which character would you most want to be like?: hmm..maybe Gabe? he can do just anything and i could prank people who deserve it °^° and just do what i want = u =

8. Which character would you most want to see brought back from the dead?: if it has to be only one then Gabe ❤️ i miss him.. :<

9. Which character would you most like to punch?: i guess Lucifer for killing Cas again and Arthur Ketch for killing Eileen and Mick.. :<

10. Who is your absolute favorite character?: Cas..❤️

11. Which “Big Bad” do you think was the worst?: Lucifer

12. Which character are you most like?: i dunno..i’m extremely shy and also very childish D: there’s no shy/awkward character in spn xD

13. What death hit you the hardest? i think Jo and Ellen..i cried so hard the first time because it was so damn sad and i really liked Jo.. :’< and Cas of course..i was sure that he would come back if he dies but it still hit me so hard and it hurt very, very bad.. :’<<< i cried later when i drew something about it T^T

14. What season finale hit you the hardest?: i dunno..every finale hits me ‘°^°’

15. What are your ten all-time favorite episodes?: umm.. the french mistake, tall tales, changing channels, plucky pennywhistle’s magical menagerie, lazarus rising, free to be you and me, what’s up tiger mommy?, goodbye stranger, heaven can’t wait, stuck in the middle (with you), etc..every castiel/destiel episode is my fave..❤️ no wait, “don’t call me shurley” is also one of my top faves ❤️

16. What’s been your favorite season?: i don’t have a fave °3°

17. Who is your favorite angel? Cas..❤️

18. Who is your favorite demon? Crowley :’<

19. Who’s your favorite evil character? Crowley again.. :’<

20. Do you have any Supernatural ships?: i like Jo and Dean but destiel definitely stole my heart forever..❤️

21. Who’s your favorite supporting actor?: i can’t i love them all..❤️

22. What’s your favorite quote from the show?:

Castiel: No, you listen to me. You -- Look, thank you. Thank you. Knowing you, it... it's been the best part of my life. And the things that... the things we've shared together, they have changed me. You're my family. I love you. I love all of you. Just please... please, don't make my last moments be spent watching you die. Just run. Save yourselves. And I will hold Ramiel off as long as I can. *sobs in a corner*

23. If you could cast one famous actor in an episode of SPN, who would you choose? Sarah Michelle Gellar ❤️ i would LOVE a spn/buffy crossover!!! >3< ❤️❤️❤️

24. If you could write your own episode, what kind of creatures would you like to see included?: mmh..oh i know! Elves! i always loved Elves because they’re so beautiful and mystical..❤️

25. Who’s your favorite girl that Dean’s hooked up with?: Lisa was kind but i always liked Jo the most.. :< they could’ve been good for each other but oh well.. :<

26. Who’s your favorite girl that Sam’s hooked up with?: Eileen :’<

27. What are some of your favorite convention moments?: the fake “kiss” between Misha and Jensen..❤️

28. If you were going to guest star (or be a recurring guest star) on SPN, how would you want your character to be described?: oh oh! i wanna be an Angel! :’D an angel who’s extremely curious about humans and their daily habits, wants to taste and touch everything and is just really enthusiastic about this whole earth and humans thing ^.^ (and i’m very clumsy but i’m trying! °^°)

29. What do you hope to see in the next season?: i only want to see one kiss between Dean and Cas..❤️ just one..i know that their kiss would be so, so, so, so breathtakingly beautiful that it almost kills us..❤️ almost. this would be a beautiful gift from spn to us for all these years of hoping and praying to Chuck..❤️ i don’t care if it’s next season or the last, but i need this kiss..please.. :’<

30. - 40. If you had to choose…

Bobby or John?: i really would love to see John back but i miss Bobby so much.. :’<<<

Bela or Ruby? Ruby was evil °^° Bela!

Jess or Madison?: Jess

Jo or Lisa?: Jo ❤️ :’<

Charlie or Kevin? both? both! both is good! °^°

Balthazar or Ash?: damn i miss Ash.. :< i say both! °^°

Cas or Crowley? boooth!

Ben or Claire? Claire

Jody or Donna? they’re a team, so both!

Sam or Dean?: both both both both! °^° both..°^°

i tag: @jdragon122 @katiegangel @deanosaurzpie @calistiel @runtosleepdreamer @dreymart @aceriee-san @sternchencas @destiel-est-2008

as always you don’t have to if you don’t want to! :) ❤️

#tag games #rosewhipped22 #jdragon122 #katiegangel #deanosaurzpie #calistiel #runtosleepdreamer #dreymart #aceriee-san #sternchencas #destiel-est-2008 #about me #long post

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wellimhavinga3outof10day · 8 years

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All right, so @thislifeisawasteland tagged me to answer a bunch of questions that are actually an ask meme, but w/e. (There are kind of Riverdale spoilers in this post? I’m bitter, sue me.) Here we go:

Full name: I’m not really gonna tell you that, so settle for Jessica

Zodiac sign: Taurus

3 Fears: Death, spiders... that I’ll never fall in love?

3 things I love: Chocolate, green tea, & my laptop

4 turns ons: Humour, kindness, bad pick-up lines, goofy smiles

4 turns offs: Racism, homophobia, an annoying voice, a terrible smell in general?

My best friend: Like all of them

Sexual orientation: Bi

My best first date: I’ve only had one first date, so walking around the mall

How tall am I: 5'8"

What do I miss: My friends, knowing Jughead was safe and happy smh

What time was I born: 9:04 a.m.

Favourite colour: Red

Do I have a crush: Not unless we’re counting fictional characters

Favourite quote: *gross sobbing* “It’s like my home.” Nah, I’m kidding, I don’t really have a fave quote

Favourite place: My library

Favourite food: Chocolate

Do I use sarcasm: No, never...

What am I listening to right now: "Leave” by Jojo (lmao, idk why)

First thing I notice in new person: Their hair, tbh

Shoe size: 6 1/2 (yes, I have tiny fucking feet)

Eye colour: Blue

Hair colour: Brown/blonde

Favourite style of clothing: Casual, comfy

Ever done a prank call? Yes and omg worst experience of my life, almost had a panic attack, never again

What colour of underwear I’m wearing now? Pink

Meaning behind my URL: It’s a line from White Collar

Favourite movie: He’s Just Not That Into You (it’s on Netflix now, I’m so excited!!), also Pretty in Pink

Favourite song: Atm, “Prom Queen” by Molly Kate Kestner

Favourite band: ??? idk man

How I feel right now: Pretty good

Someone I love: Jughead Jones (honestly, fight me)

My current relationship status: Single af

My relationship with my parents: It’s good

Favourite holiday: Christmas

Tattoos and piercings? My ears are pierced and I have no tattoos

Tattoos and piercing i want: I kinda want a sternum piercing, and a rose vine tattoo up my side

The reason I joined Tumblr: I was filling out my social media quota before I went to uni

Do I and my last ex hate each other? Well, I didn’t think so but then she made me answer all these questions, so? It’s up in the air ;)

Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night” texts? Nah, never (unless you count my mom checking to see if I’m awake when I’m home alone)

Have I ever kissed the last person you texted? Nope

When did I last hold hands? ...? Fairly recently probably, I hold my mom’s hand all the time.

How long does it take me to get ready in the morning? 20 minutes, maybe?

Have I shaved your legs in the past three days? Nope

Where am I right now? At my desk

If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me? N/A, never been that drunk

Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? Reasonable (pretty quiet actually if you ask other people)

Do I live with my Mom and Dad? Yup

Am I excited for anything? Jughead to be loved and cared for and warm and safe, for the love of god.

Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to? All right, well “can” and “would” are different words, so technically yes, but I wouldn’t?

How often do I wear a fake smile? Rarely

When was the last time I hugged someone? Last night?

What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me? Eh, might bug me a little, but you go girl. (I mean, as long as it’s not an old man.)

Is there anyone I trust even though I should not? I don’t think so?

What is something I disliked about today? Today just started, buddy. Umm... for some reason my hands are really sweaty? I hate that?

If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? Atm, the cast of Riverdale, but that’ll change in like a month if not a day.

What do I think about most? Probably w/e I’m writing atm.

What’s my strangest talent? ...? I don’t have very minute talents, idk what to tell you. I’m very talented at drinking too much green tea and procrastinating things I actually want to do.

Do I have any strange phobias? Mustard

Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? Behind, probs.

What was the last lie I told? ...? I lie a lot, idk. I probs lied on here. Kidding, don’t think I have. Umm... I honeslty have no idea. It’s anyone’s guess.

Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? Both are horrible and probably the worst forms of communication, but I’m gonna go with the phone b/c I have an unnecessary grudge against Skype.

Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens? Maybe? and yes.

Do I believe in magic? Little magic, sure.

Do I believe in luck? To an extent.

What’s the weather like right now? Sunny, average temp

What was the last book I’ve read? I’m in the middle of Crooked Kingdom right now, but the last book I finished was I’ll Give You The Sun

Do I like the smell of gasoline? Yes

Do I have any nicknames? Yes: Jess, Jessie

What was the worst injury I’ve ever had? I broke my wrist by getting knocked down a hill and landing on concrete.

Do I spend money or save it? Save it.

Can I touch my nose with a tongue? Nope

Is there anything pink in 10 feets from me? Yeah, more things than I expected too, tbh.

Favourite animal? Pigs

What was I doing last night at 12 AM? Talking to Rachael on Tumblr/watching Misfits

What do I think is Satan’s last name is? Claus (yes, I know it said Satan not Santa, but it’s a conspiracy)

What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it? I Don’t Wanna Be Sad by Simple Plan

How can you win my heart? Be nice and funny and care about me (honestly giving a shit about me is really all I need, my standards are fucking low as shit)

What would I want to be written on my tombstone? Idk but something kind of weird and maybe a quote I like?

What is my favourite word: Feral

My top 5 blogs on tumblr: Ugh, I don’t want to do this.

If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say? “I love you, take care of yourselves.”

Do I have any relatives in jail? I don’t think so...

I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power? Flight

What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on? Umm... lots of things, I’m sure.

What is my current desktop picture? It’s a city that Natasha made for a class and it’s super pretty and green.

Had sex? Nope

Bought condoms? Yes, actually

Gotten pregnant? Nope

Failed a class? Nope

Kissed a boy? Nope

Kissed a girl? Yup

Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain? Nope

Had a job? Yes

Left the house without my wallet? All the time

Bullied someone on the internet? I don’t think so, I hope not

Had sex in public? Nope

Played on a sports team? Yes

Smoked weed? No

Did drugs? No

Smoked cigarettes? No

Drank alcohol? Yes

Am I a vegetarian/vegan? No

Been overweight? No

Been underweight? No

Been to a wedding? Yes

Been on the computer for 5 hours straight? Yes

Watched TV for 5 hours straight? Yes

Been outside my home country? Yes

Gotten my heart broken? Eh, probably not

Been to a professional sports game? Yes

Broken a bone? Yes

Cut myself? No

Been to prom? Graduation in Canada, but yes

Been in airplane? Yes

Fly by helicopter? No

What concerts have I been to? So I went to like three in a row a few years ago: One Direction, Marianas Trench and... shit, I thought there were three... it might have been two... oh! Shawn Mendes! (And I’m listening to him right now and I forgot that, lmao)

Had a crush on someone of the same sex? Yes

Learned another language? Kinda

Wore make up? Nope

Lost my virginity before I was 18? Nope

Had oral sex? Nope

Dyed my hair? Yes

Voted in a presidential election? Federal election yes, I’m Canadian

Rode in an ambulance? Nope

Had a surgery? Nope

Met someone famous? Nope

Stalked someone on a social network? I don’t think so

Peed outside? Nope

Been fishing? I have.

Helped with charity? Nope

Been rejected by a crush? Yes

Broken a mirror? Nope

What do I want for my birthday? *laughs* Umm... not a clue.

How many kids do I want and what will be their names? 4: Marcia, Whit, Eli, & Beth

Was I named after anyone? My middle name is my Oma’s middle name too, but my first name’s not from anywhere

Do I like my handwriting? I used to b/c it was literally flawless when I was younger, but now it’s like a mess, so no.

What was my favourite toy as a child? Should I even remember this? Barbies, probably.

Favourite Tv Show? Atm, Riverdale

Where do I want to live when older? Not a clue. Probably Toronto or Vancouver? Maybe somewhere in Europe. Who knows?

Play any musical instrument? I used to play guitar but I probably can’t remember any of it.

One of my scars, how did I get it? Idk if I have any scars, man. There’s like kind of a scar by my elbow? But how I got it is a mystery.

Favourite pizza toping? Green peppers

Am I afraid of the dark? Nope

Am I afraid of heights? Nope

Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad? No, I don’t think so. (I once was caught squirting water in a guy’s face? But he kind of deserved it.)

Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end? I don’t think so...?

What I’m really bad at: Figuring out my life

What my greatest achievements are: I once predicted the end of a book, does that count? And my highest post here is almost at five thousand notes?

The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me: "I love you, but sometimes I just don’t like you.” (Honestly, I deserved it, but it was savage af.)

What I’d do if I won in a lottery: Buy a house, buy a lot of fandom merch, invest a bunch...

What do I like about myself: I’m pretty laidback, I know what I want for the most part, and I try to be a good person.

My closest Tumblr friend: Not this again.

Something I fantasise about my ex: (lmao my first instinct was to put “dying” and that’s not true, my babe, I’m sorry) Honestly? Just having sex, like nothing fancy.

#welcome to my life #thislifeisawasteland

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