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dxppercxdxver · 1 year

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yeehaw!! (more of that collaboration with @chiropteracupola!!)

deep within, your hunger burns

The grandfather clock in the corner of Filomena’s study clicked steadily toward sunrise, keeping in lockstep with her sluggish, pounding heart. Reams and reams of paper sat as yet untouched upon her desk. Her night’s work was young, despite the hour, and the stacks of blank parchment spoke to the effort still the come, the anxiety wracking her body like an unseasonable winter’s chill. Looping scrawl disintegrating by the minute blurred before her eyes; her hand was beginning to cramp from the duration of her encryption, and yet, Filomena had far to go before she could rest.

While her task would be Sisyphean to anyone, the threat of discovery loomed heavy over her shoulder, sending icy chills down her neck. It would hardly do for one of her newfound teammates, or enemies, or friends, or whatever they would become to her, to find her here. Sighing, she drew her shawl tight round her shoulders, fingers worrying at the fraying tassels.

She would need to replace her candle soon.

There was a gentle tap at her door, the familiar sound of silver-bound fingers against an oaken jamb. Without looking up, Filomena already knew who was waiting for her.

“Lady Helen,” she said, never staying her duty, not even for a moment. Long ago, Filomena had mastered the art of continually writing, no matter the distraction, and Helen valued her for it. It made her efficient. Helen did not abide idleness.

“Miss Pauling.” Despite her age, Helen’s voice was slick as oil, sturdy and cutting as any blade. Only the hour demanded the hushed tone in which she spoke, but her words still carried a weight Filomena had come to dread. “May I come in?”

“Certainly.”

Filomena placed her pen back in its inkwell, grateful for the moment to stretch her arms and listen to the joints pop in quick succession, before turning to where Helen stood, regal in her rich purple gown. Her bony fingers clacked against each other under the weight of her jewelry, hands clasped at her stomach tense as the sharp line of her mouth. Eyes narrowed, flashing gold in the firelight, she did not look pleased.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” It was rare to hear from Helen nowadays. The war occupied much of her time, and the air of mystery she had worked so hard to cultivate around their hired band of mercenaries would hardly do to be shattered by too many sightings of her goings about the house, so when Filomena chanced to see her, it was always a relief and a warning in equal measure. The maddening quiet was over, but the news it brought was often a knife to Filomena’s stomach.

Helen laughed without humor. “I should hope you would be glad to see me no matter the cause.”

“Well, of course I am, my Lady,” under the force of her gaze, Filomena always felt herself floundering, a little girl scolded for staining the carpet again, “but given the circumstances, I would presume something is on your mind.”

“Hm. You presume correctly.” Eyeing the scattered papers, Helen raised a sharp brow. Filomena smiled, hesitant and apologetic. Taking a whistling breath through her nose, Helen inspected a long fingernail, flicking at it with her thumb. “Are they getting along?”

“You mean our houseguests?”

“You’re a smart girl, Miss Pauling,” Helen said. “What do you think?”

Shrinking against her mother, Filomena twiddled with her glasses. “Well, I would hardly call them friends, to be sure, but they are settling into their roles quite nicely.”

“Really.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Fishing through her files, Filomena selected two sheets of paper from her personal records, detailing her observations. She passed them to Helen, who skimmed them with a scowl, while she continued, “Monsieur Laurent and Mister Thornton have been more troublesome than most, but not nearly so much as we suspected. Their antisocial tendencies and… exuberance, respectively, have been rather tempered by the contract work and the company we keep. Extraordinarily hard workers, the lot of them. It is… commendable.”

Helen nodded, humming approvingly, before returning Filomena’s notes. “This is good news, indeed.”

“I should say so.”

When it became clear Helen had said her piece, Filomena slowly returned to her work, ears pricked for any further remarks. None came, and for a moment, she felt herself frozen in time, hours before sunrise, with nothing but hollow breathing for company. The scratching of her pen eased her back into a familiar rhythm. She had done alright for herself, she mused, and if Helen’s drawn conclusion was any indication, her mother thought so too.

“Do you think they suspect?”

The question reverberated around the study with all the deafening, omnipresent clamor of a church bell, batting Filomena about the head until it rang in harmony. Without the unequivocal reminders of the true nature of her job, she could almost pretend away the secret mission, the turning of knives in hands and the arrangements of the decks of cards; the forgeries, the lies, the killing. It stood to reason Helen would not allow her to forget.

Knot twisting in her stomach, Filomena’s hand froze.

“I sincerely doubt it,” she said, and found it to be an honest observation. The mercenaries taking up residence in the manor that had stood as her second mother since she was but a girl were too friendly, too naive, too stupid to know the purpose of their mission, and she was damn good at what she did. Her web was around them, and they would be none the wiser.

If they were, she would be dead. They were good at what they did, too.

This was how she knew.

“Excellent. Ensure that it remains that way.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Clicking her tongue, Helen about faced and headed for the door, heels tapping staccato against the clock’s pendulum. It took Filomena longer than she would have liked to notice the off-beats of the cork abruptly ceasing.

“A word of advice, Miss Pauling?” Helen’s expression was stern, gray streak defiant against the inky black of her hair. Shadows played off the bones in her face, rendering it skeletal. When she spoke, her message crawled down Filomena’s spine and into her ribs, clutching at her heart with blackened claws. “Don’t get involved.”

Memories of joviality flitted forth, unbidden, as if reminding Filomena of her secret shame; wine around the dinner table, target practice on the expansive lawn, and games of cards in the library, among many other little pleasures she had allowed herself in the company of their guests. Their guests, who had been nothing but kind to her, even if she suspected a fair few of them never actually meant it. Their guests, who trusted her, who wanted her, who seemed to like her. A lump was fast growing in her throat, threatening to choke her.

“I won’t.” Filomena tapped the side of her nose. “Promise.”

With a conspiratorial wink, Helen said, “Good work, Filomena,” and disappeared into the hall, letting the heavy wooden door slam closed behind her.

“... Thanks.” All that answered was the empty, and the whistling of the wind outside. Beside her, the candle burned ever lower. The wax was beginning to pool atop her paperwork, and she pulled it aside with a huff, scraping it off as delicately as she could.

Damn this, she thought to no one in particular. Casting around the study, replacement candles were not to be found, and only then did Filomena remember she had run out the night before. While others could more than likely be sourced from elsewhere in the house, her legs ached, and her eyelids were threaded through with exhaustion heavy as lead.

“Damn this,” Filomena said again, as the candle winked out, leaving her in the darkness. Instinctually, she reached for the chain wended about her wrist, a token of appreciation from her mercenaries, more than likely stolen from the house of some New Jersey noblewoman. Her thumb quickly and comfortably found the etching in the bronze cross.

She was cut loose, swimming in the warmth of the metal in her palm, the euphoria of Helen’s admiration, and the grandfather clock simply continued its steady ticking march.

#WAHOOOOOO HELEN'S HERE SHE'S HERE SHE'S HERE #hammered this one out So quick because i have been Deep in the filomena and helen feelings #this isn't Super clarified but in this au helen is filomena's guardian/sort of adopted mother #so that's where this come from #and she is most Certainly up to no good #i may go back and revise the balance of questioning from filomena Later since she may be Too Suspicious #especially this soon #but i feel as though the words came easier for this one #and i liked invoking helen's air of What The Fuck Dude #anyway she's a lil. y'know #augh what a dynamic for real #radio free junebug #flintlock fortress #team fortress 2 #the enforcer: filomena pauling #the web-weaver: helen pauling #NEW TAG HELL YEAH #OH and title is from the gauntlet by nathan rogers #the Most filomena song to exist in all the land #captain's logbook

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borderlineomniverse · 1 year

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Gorgeous: a Jebrex Flash Fic

a/n: I know I'm sorry it's taken me this long. Just dont judge too hard, okay? The beginning is a little janky cause I didn't know how to start it but this came to me in a fit of inspired passion so I'm passing it along to you. Also, happy two years to Borderline Forever! This release synced up perfectly.

Based on the Taylor Swift song of the same name, no major warnings, but there's a weird POV change tho if you're not into that sort of thing. Also, language. Enjoy!

~~~

It’s not fair. Why does he have to look… like that.

There he is, the big dork. Looking really funny in his bright red shirt. A mismatched pair of khakis and brown loafers that look just a tad too small. Messy hair (I’m shocked he’s not wearing a hat), tapping and twirling along to the bashful bubblegum beat.

I inhale sharply and decide to sit down with Scott. He’s laughing at something Jerry said.

“Where’s Terry?” they ask.

Another sigh. Where indeed did my boyfriend disappear off to? “The club, I think. Who knows what he’s doing.”

“Not you.” Rex slides into the booth at my side. My breath stops in my throat and I look directly ahead. Out the window, a beautiful sunset. It’s vibrant shades of orange and red, matching his button up. Oh gosh why’d it have to look like that.

Whiskey is served. Normally I don’t drink too heavily, but this night all bets are off. My fingers lock on the bottle and have the cap unscrewed before Scott can sit up and thank the waiter.

“Hot damn. Someone’s thirsty,” says Jerry.

“Yeah, thirsty for something,” Rex teases. Fuck, I shouldn’t have glanced at him when he said that. A bite of the lip and a flirty wink. Why does he have to be like this?

I down the bottle. Then the second. The waiter brings out more. How many have I had now? I can’t tell, Jerry keeps clearing them away before I can count them. They don’t seem to pay much attention to me, laughing and checking out the other partygoers. Rex comments on the pretty brunette. I’ve had enough.

“You’ve got. *gulp* The worst vocabulary I’ve ever heard.”

I get a few weird glances from the table.

“Honestly. Dumpy?? That’s the best word you can think of? Dumbass?”

“Oh yeah? What word would you have used?”

“And your drawl. ULGH it makes me sick.” Or maybe it’s just the whiskey. I hate whiskey. Why did I have so much?

“You’re drunk.”

“And you’re mean.”

“What did I do this time?” Rex stands, exasperated. “You’re the one insulting me.”

“Payback for Thursday,” I growl, also rising out of the booth.

Jerry puts his hands up in a gesture of calming. “Hey guys, why don’t y’all just…”

“SHUT.” The two of us say in unison. It makes me look back at his dumb, gorgeous face. I can’t stand it.

“Look, if you can’t handle being without me for one night…” Rex starts, almost sleazily.

“You told me you would be at my apartment at 5:00!” I yell, turning heads. “So I waited, and waited. And waited. And by the time it was 11 all I got was a dumb text saying you wouldn’t show up; how can you do that to a person?? Your communication skills…”

“Hey, uhh, why don’t we head outside?” suggests Scott. I try to protest but before I know it the four of us are in the parking lot and Scott’s sitting me in his passenger seat. He shouldn’t have rolled the windows down; I give Rex a middle finger as we drive away. I get a violent honk in response.

“What is going on with you two?” asks Scott, turning off the radio.

“I don’t know,” I whine, the sting of tears gracing my eyes.

“Look. I know things haven’t been great with you and Terry lately, and I know you’ve always cared about Rex…”

“I love him, Scott,” I sob, choking on my spit as tears start to free fall. “Why do I have to love him?”

“Have you always?”

“I don’t know. No. Yes. I don’t…” I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my sports coat, which if you’ve ever tried to do that you’d know that that’s like trying to dry your eyes with a countertop. Not extremely effective.

“Then why’d you ask out Terry?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I was hoping…”

“To make Rex jealous?”

I cough. “Sure.”

We drive down the cold open Ohio road in silence for what seems like forever. When lights start to appear on the horizon, Scott takes a deep breath. “Break up with Terry.”

“Huh?”

“Break up with Terry. I think he’d rather be just friends anyway. And then maybe… I think you’d be surprised by Rex’s reaction.”

“What, like he’d notice? Dumbass wouldn’t know if a snake bit him on the nose.”

Scott gives me a side eye. “You’re smiling.”

“Am not.”

“Sleep on it. Think about it. But… I do think that would be the right decision.”

I’m sure Scott is right. He always is.

~~~

The seasons pass. Jeb and Terry break up; its for the best, to be honest. I never thought they were good together, and they're both still friends. I don't think Jeb could handle the communications issues, and Terry wasn't 100% in it. Oh well.

The hardest part was seeing my best friend look so down. He didn't talk for days. He finally started to brighten back up after the first month, but still... something's off. I can sense it.

There he is, in a gecko green button up. Almost four hours have past at this stupid party and he's chatted it up with everyone here, except me. When Employee and I came to say hi, all I got was a quick handshake before he dashed to the dessert table and snarfed up all the cookies and a glass of champagne. Here we go. He's never had that good alcohol tolerance, this night is going to be a mess...

I sit, a little dejected, at an empty table. He walks by; I catch his eye. There's a flash of a little something... terror? Sadness? Guilt? I give him my best soft smile. He stops in his tracks. His smile says he's happy, but his eyes say he's drowning. Fuck, why can't I get anything right? It's like no matter how I talk to him or look at him, I've hurt him. I motion for him to join me. He obeys.

"What's up with you?" I ask him as he takes a seat.

He looks at me with a blank stare. "What?"

"You're not yourself. Is Terry still bothering you?"

He winces. "No. I'm fine. I've gotten over him."

"Then what is it. I've known you for years, Jeb, and I..."

When I speak his name, his back straightens. "It's fine, Rex. I'm okay." He gives me his best fake smile. "Life of the party, right? I'm having fun."

He goes to get up, but I grab his hand as it caresses the tablecloth. He jolts, half standing. I get up and gently take his hand in mine, looking him right in the eye.

"Jeb. You can't keep doing this. Don't keep ignoring me."

"I'm not..."

"Yes, yes you are. I know it, Scott knows it, hell even Jerry noticed, and he never notices anything."

He chuckles lightly, and even though the smile is slightly pained it puts a smile on my own face. I haven't seen him chuckle like that in what feels like forever.

But the moment doesn't last; I feel his hand yank out of mine and he stumbles past me. "My cats need me. I have to get home."

Record scratch. "You got cats?"

He looks back at me, smiling a little bit. "Yeah, right after I moved out of Scott's.

Perfect opportunity. "Can I meet them?"

His face drops for a moment, but then a grin creeps onto his face. "Don't you want to stay here?"

"I'd much rather be with you."

A glint graces his eyes. "Come along, then."

Since we took separate cars to get here, I tell him I'll meet him at his place and I let Employee know he'll have to get a ride with someone else. He understands.

After I ensure that he secures transportation with Scott, I head to my car and ignore all laws of traffic to get to Jeb's apartment as quickly as I can. Music blasts on the stereo; some vibrant pop number. Something about ocean blue eyes.

I park on the street next to Jeb's new apartment. I've only been here once, to help him move in. He never invited me over after that. He's been dodging all my calls and questions. Hopefully tonight I'll be able to get to the bottom of why.

I tentatively rap on the door and wait for it to open. It creaks cautiously, and behind it Jeb stands, still in his formal getup.

"Welcome to my humble home," he says, escorting me inside.

Its clean. Way too clean. You ever walked into a new house or apartment for sale and it's clear that no one lives inside it? That's what his little studio feels like. Nothing has been touched, not a knife in the kitchen or the fabric of the couch. This raises a few alarm bells in my head; clearly, Jeb has not been living. At least, not really. There's one thing to have a clean place that's lived in, and then there's another to have a home completely devoid of life.

"What do you do all day?" I ask.

There's a flash of... something in his eyes. "Sleep, play with my cats. Play some Gex. Work."

"You don't have any hobbies? Nothing you're doing?"

"Gex?"

"But like. You're not staying productive? At all?"

The concern in my voice raises his emotional barriers. "You're not my mom. I'm fine. I didn't invite you in here to tell me how to live my life. Come see my cats."

I want to press the matter more, but I don't. He leads me to the back of his apartment, where his bed is set up. He gets down on the floor and looks underneath it. "Look, there they are. They like to hide here."

I get down and lay prone, sniper style. Indeed, two tabby cats; one lithe and orange, the other burly and brown.

Normally, I'm not a huge cat person, but I feel the need to encourage my clearly distraught friend. "They're so cute! Wha'dge you name them?"

He blushes. "Gex and Stanley."

I laugh; some warm feeling spreads throughout my chest. "Perfect names. Which one's which?"

"Stanley is the bigger one."

"Gotcha."

I keep looking at the cute little cats for the moment, but then I realize how close we are. Jeb's lying next to me, our faces inches apart. I look over at him, and his eyes catch mine. My chest tightens.

"Jeb?" I whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Why've you been so distant, buddy?" My throat tightens. "I've missed you."

His eyes start to cloud. "I. Well. I don't know."

I sit up. "That's not good enough. I know something's hurting you, you've been bothered for a while now. I always thought you would come to me with anything, and usually when something's bothering you I'm the first one you go to. But ever since you and Terry broke up..."

"It's you, okay?" Something snaps in him and the tears start to fall freely. "I. I can't stand being around you all the time."

Initially, a little anger and hurt rises to the top of my brain, but he rolls on.

"You're too perfect, it actually hurts. We've always been close, and I've always loved that, but... I don't know. It's become too much. You make me so happy it just turns back to sad. And I know you're always off looking for some girl to pick up..."

Too far. "Hey hey hey, I never just pick up girls. I haven't had a date in months."

He sniffs. "Wait, really?"

I shrug. "Maybe you're not the only one with a crush."

His head, perhaps subconsciously, cocks to the side. "What?!"

"Jeb, I've always loved you. Me playing around... that's always just been a joke. And seeing you in pain all these months... it's driven me nuts. I hate it when you're sad. I've just been trying to make you happy and reach out and see if, well. Since you broke up with Terry, I thought maybe we'd have a chance..."

"Wait wait. You wanted to ask me out after Terry?"

I inhale. "Before Terry."

The corners of his mouth turn up and the tears stop. "Oh."

I smile sheepishly. "Maybe you shouldn't have assumed you couldn't have me and should have asked me instead."

He bites his lip and takes a few deep breaths before letting out a pained laugh. "I'm so stupid."

I grin. "No stupider than me."

"Gosh, why couldn't this have happened like a normal couple. Why couldn't have we, I don't know. Gone to the river and asked each other out in a normal way instead of..."

"Crying on the ground covered in cat hair?" I laugh. "That's not us Jeb. This was never gonna happen normally. And I'm glad. It's more memorable this way.

He laughs, for real this time. "Yeah. I suppose it is."

We're still close on the floor, even though we're both sitting up now. I stare lovingly into his eyes. They're still a little glassy, but the honey brown is clearer now. He smiles softly, and so do I.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?"

~~~

Pining playlist for your consideration that inspired this post

Thanks for reading!

#it's been a while since I've written please don't think this is the best I can do #sorry for the weird POV change I thought it fit the story better #I'm a little high right now I hope this is mildly coherent #may revise later #jebrex #fanfiction #stw fic #jeb jab #rex mohs #gorgeous taylor swift #borderline blue

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