#the hell is never ending I need clean pajamas that aren’t a nightmare to wear (it has been very hot lately)

[deityofhearts]

Kane leaves tomorrow ;-;

[haliyam]

interim (iii)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4

Hello! This came out longer than I meant it to be, but I enjoyed writing it. I admit that the chapter couuuld have gone without the middle bits, and I trimmed out a lot already, but this is purely self-indulgent fanfic and I love writing about the Warriors/the candidates, so I hope you enjoy it too.

Reminder that the Reader/OC is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background/surname, but please feel free to set the substitution for the Reader to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension if you’re reading through the browser! So on the browser extension that would be: Lucy = Your chosen First Name.

Chapter 3

If Zeke is going to shut his door in your face as soon as you try to enter, he gives no indication of it. Eyes to the ceiling, fingers barely grasping his doorknob, he doesn’t even look at you as you take one step closer, then two, only urging you to hurry up with a flick of his fingers. As if anyone else is still awake. With nothing for it, you step inside.

Zeke’s room is lit a warm yellow from the lamps standing next to his desk and sitting at his bedside table. It hasn’t changed much, save that he’s replaced his old bed with a much larger one. That makes sense, even though you hadn’t imagined he could get any taller as a child. The only other addition apart from his much fuller bookshelf is a pack of cigarettes on his desk. 

You can’t help but pick it up. “You smoke now?”

Closing his door behind him, he snatches the pack from your hands and walks past you, tossing it back by his desk lamp on the way. “Problem?”

You shrug. You’re surprised, but you suppose that sort of thing doesn’t really matter when you’re a Titan shifter. 

He pulls out the chair by his desk and takes a seat, crossing his arms at you with a brow quirked. Somehow, he manages to be intimidating in his pajamas—though that could very well be your guilt. “You wanted to talk,” he says. “So talk.”

The indifference in his voice makes your throat catch, but you steel yourself. “I’m sorry,” you say, one hand scratching at the other’s wrist. It seems your courage fell apart at his door. “I’m sorry I didn’t write for the last five years.”

“Why?”

“Because—because I should have.” You wrap your arms around yourself, tucking your hands under your elbows. “We were friends. You and Pieck were—are,” you hope, “my closest friends, and… and I left you hanging like that. Even knowing every year that the others hadn’t returned, how worried you must have all been… I didn’t write. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Zeke says slowly, irritated. His lip curls, and you feel nauseous. “Why did you stop writing back?”

Your nails dig involuntarily into your arms. “I was a stupid little teenager. I was upset.”

He scoffs, like he can’t bear the sight of you. “What did that have to do with me? ...With us?”

You swallow, eyes downcast, though they briefly flicker to his. “Am I secure here?”

Zeke glares at you. “Of course you are.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

His gaze softens just a little before the walls shoot back up. “Yeah.”

You nod. And then, after a long moment, you reluctantly begin. “Willy sent me to boarding school once I caught up with the necessary schoolwork. It was… well, you know. Boarding school was an entirely different world.” He does know - you had written them until the end of your first year. “And then summer came. Willy wanted me to spend it with them at home, and I did. The first week or so. But he had business to attend to, as always, and Mila invited me to her tour for the Foundation instead. Willy thought it would be nice for us to bond, and I thought…” You gnaw on the inside of your lower lip in embarrassment. “I thought she was finally giving me a chance.”

“Lucy,” Zeke murmurs. You can’t tell if it’s pity or disappointment, and you don’t want to know. You’re staring at his lamp, as if doing so long enough will burn out the memory from your mind.

“We visited Marley’s new southern nations at first. It was strange to be treated so well again.”

Zeke shifts in his chair. He has his cigarette pack in his hands now, fingers idly folding and unfolding the lid. “What did you expect? You’re Lucy Tybur.”

“I meant by Mila.” When he falls silent, you continue. “And then we visited Ulodana.”

Your eyes meet at that name. No reminder needed for that—Ulodana was the first country to which the regime deployed its new Warriors only months after they inherited their Titans. By then the rest of the unit had been informed of your true identity, and it was the brass’s idea to bring you along as a spectator. Imagine what more the motherland might achieve if the War Hammer were to join the fight, then-Commander Bruning had whispered to you, the mushroom cloud of Bertholdt’s transformation setting your eyes alight. 

“The nations in the south had had time to recover. Grow accustomed to Marleyan rule. But Ulodana was still... bleeding. For the most part, we stayed in the cities which had already begun to rebuild; ones with budding military bases and an increasing Marleyan population. But Mila insisted on bringing us further from the coast—places you and I had last seen as smoking rubble. The people there were… They were still so afraid. Many of them…”

You gulp, pressing your lips between your teeth to regain your composure as you remember the survivors. You can still see them, hear them, smell them. Feel their hands in yours. Mila had pulled you aside and scolded you when you first shed tears before them, saying it was not you who had a reason to cry. And she had been right.

“So many of them were Eldians; others non-Eldians too poor to join the earlier evacuations. They still saw us coming that day, and with no aid forthcoming, they thought the Foundation had returned to deliver the finishing blow. They were terrified, Zeke.” His fingers fall still around the pack as you say his name, but he wears no expression, only studying yours even when he reveals nothing. Even Mr. Ksaver had been unable to read him when he was like this, so you know better than to try. 

“Mila spoke with the people there, comforted them. It was jarring to see her so kind, but she was. And even then, it was hard. They aren’t exactly the regime’s priority, and the promise, even the swift arrival of aid with the Foundation’s help, could only do so much.”

Zeke’s gaze stretches far beyond the walls of his room, but he brings it back to you when you pause. “So,” he concludes, “you hated us for doing that to them.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple. You saw what Lady Tybur wanted you to see.”

Appalled by the lack of sympathy in his voice, you square your shoulders at him. “Mila didn’t conjure those victims out of thin air, Zeke!”

“That’s right, Lucy.” Zeke rises out of his chair back to his full height, reminding you that he only lets you glare down at him. “The Warriors destroyed their military, their cities, and their homes. And if there were civilians who were too slow, Bertholdt and I destroyed them, too. The ones you saw just weren’t lucky enough to die.”

He advances toward you as he speaks, stopping near enough to barely graze your chin with his chest, and it takes all of the girl from back then to stand your ground. But you can only bear so much, and the sound of the boy you once trusted entirely so remorseless as a man has restrained grief ringing in your ears. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How should I say it?” Zeke asks closely, head tilted toward you. Even with the reflection of his lamp shining into his glasses, his eyes, half-lidded with what must be disinterest, bear no light in them. “Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

“I’m not crying.” You fix another glare at him, but it doesn’t last long. Your vision is blurry and your cheeks are wet with runaway guilt, and you wipe them with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, all right?” you raise your voice, speaking forcefully through your shaking voice. 

“I… I thought I’d seen everything here in Liberio, but that place was hell. And Mila said to me… She said it was greed back in Marley that kept things this way. The regime’s… but ours, too. To free the Eldians in the Marleyan internment zones, you… we... made things worse for everyone else in the world. I ate it up. I couldn’t bear to face those people knowing I had been a part of that, no matter our promise. It was easier to turn against the idea of you.”

Zeke is no longer looking at you. You feel like the earth swallowing you whole would feel better than the pressure crumpling at your chest, but there’s no way to go but forward. 

“So I did. Held onto that for months and had nightmares about Ulodana for twice as long. By the time I realized how pathetic, how stupid I was… I was too ashamed to write back.” 

The steel that has constituted Zeke’s bearing since your arrival has withdrawn. He seems exhausted, resigned as he sets his eyes upon you again. You watch each other for what feels like eternity, in the place where you first became friends, both trying to feel out whether a sliver of that bond between clean hands still remains between the two of you now. 

Whatever it is he decides, he asks, “If you knew better... why didn’t you visit? We all heard about Lord Tybur making trips here over the years. He never stopped sending his gratitude to my grandparents and Mr. Finger, either.”

You huff, not at him but at the thought of your older brother, even as you sniffle. “Willy wouldn’t let me. I became… too willful.”

 Zeke raises his brows at that.

“When I figured out Mila’s true intentions, I realized just how much the Tyburs were at fault. They hid it all from me when father died, but… I learned everything. Our relationship with the regime most of all.” 

You’re grateful when he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, because despite everything, you don’t want to tell him the whole truth about the Tyburs. If there’s anything that might make him hate you for good, it might just be that. You know that certainly did it for you in spite of Lara’s good intentions.

“We knew. My ancestors knew about Fritz’s vow and still refused to speak out for Eldians, didn’t protest the development of the Warrior program when it happened. I mean—” Your hands rake through your hair, stopping only when they’re caught in the end of the half-ponytail you’ve been wearing. “Child soldiers? We always knew Marley was vicious, but we—Marley—sent children to Paradis on a recon mission, alone! I didn’t realize it until I saw my niece. She’s eight now. A baby. At that age we were slogging through the mud, learning to assemble weapons, to kill! What kind of monsters would allow…” 

Your hands slide down your face and cover your mouth as your head shakes on its own. You’ve said this all before, to Willy, to Lara, to Pieck, and you’re exhausted. You both know the answer to that question, anyway. 

“The Tybur family doesn’t get involved except to play the benevolent Eldians to the world’s devils, all to soften Marley’s image to the world. It doesn’t care that Eldians abroad are even worse off than we are here because of our Titans. It doesn’t care that Marley draws that debt on Eldia’s name,” you murmur, voice fluttering with emotion again, “not its own. Willy didn’t appreciate how angry I was and wanted to keep me at the estate until I could calm down.”

You only realize you’ve been rambling when all you hear is the cracking of your knuckles beneath your thumbs at your sides and the low hum of the lamps around you. Biting your tongue, you venture a glance up at Zeke, who has his back to you on his way back to the desk, hand in his hair. You don’t know if it’s worse than seeing what he must think.

“But I really am sorry,” you take a step, another after him when he doesn’t turn to look. “You all deserved more. I… I understand if...”

Zeke whirls just before you touch the hem of his shirt, seized instead by a thought. “Why let you choose to study here, then? Magath’s summons?”

At this point, you practically leap at the chance to respond, hands raised slightly. “No. It was Lara. She convinced him to let me, when she saw how much I’d studied. Actually studied, you know,” you chuckle, nervously when he acknowledges it with only a tilt of his head. “And by then I had learned enough of Mila’s game to pretend I had given up.”

“Oh.”

You barely just catch the disappointment in his tone.

“And I missed you,” you scramble to add, obviously. “I missed you all so much. I swore to be on my best behavior just so I could come back.”

A hint of warmth fills Zeke’s deep blues, but he glances away with a familiar eyeroll. “Good save.”

You frown. “I mean it. I just didn’t know it had to be said. You were my first friends. I didn’t exactly make many in boarding school. They were too different.”

“So you were just lonely.”

“Not just lonely,” you say, prepared to launch into another passionate speech about how much you ached to see your friends again, how much of your pride you sacrificed to pester Willy to let you go with the promise of Liberio’s impressive own medical program, when you catch the slight amusement tugging at Zeke’s mouth. “You—are you—” you sputter, embarrassment seeping in cold, before you manage to close your mouth. “You… are awful.”

Zeke smirks. “Even if I forgive you?”

It’s infectious, and you have to resist the urge to both laugh and cry at the very concept of his forgiveness. Eyes wide, you watch him carefully. “Do you?”

He crosses his arms again, sitting back against his chair. “I can put you through more hoops, if you’d like.”

“No!” you gasp, the heat of indignation taking over the chagrin, only to sigh when you realize you’ve given yourself away. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you. You have all the right to be angry.”

“...I was a pretty angry teenager too,” Zeke shrugs. “Then a spoiled little girl had to come and keep disturbing me because if she couldn’t get any sleep, then neither could I.”

Your jaw drops. “That is not how that went. Besides,” you raise your head, every inch the Tybur, even as you slowly make your way to the edge of his bed and take a seat, “that girl was the reason you have any friends at all. I… I bet you missed her.”

“Sure. Now where did you put her?” The full familiarity in his voice has you smiling now, or maybe it’s the grin he openly wears. “Only figured out it was you when I realized there could only be three Eldian runts Magath would ever care to acknowledge.”

You stare at him for a beat and then make to push yourself off the bed. “Anyway, I’m going to sleep now that I’ve apologized.”

“Aw, come on,” Zeke laughs, reaching for your arm, and you squint at him as you dramatically tear it from his grasp. Still, you fling yourself back upon the edge. He leaves his desk to occupy the space next to you, one knee drawn up over his sheets. “Honestly? I was more surprised they’d let anyone in Magath’s office with such a messy armband.” He reaches over and adjusts the pale one wrapped around your arm, pulling out the edges folded in. “You know you don’t need to wear this at home, right?”

For some reason, your breath catches as the heat of his fingers gently press through the cloth of your sleeve. You recover with a cough and a quick oops. “Force of habit. That was the one thing boarding school was stricter about than the military.” You smile at him, leaning away from his touch. “Thanks.”

Zeke suddenly withdraws his hands, now watching you instead of the sleeve. “...Yeah. Just make sure you check it before you leave the house tomorrow,” he says sternly. Not a tone you’ve ever heard from him in private.

Regarding him strangely, and desperate to bring you both back from this alien tension between you, you sit up straight and stiffly raise your hand to your shoulder in salute. “Yes, Warchief.”

Zeke responds with a blank look in his eye, mostly, save the tinge of humor kindled by the upward tug of your lips. You can tell he’s about to kick you out of his room.

“I’m kidding.” You lower your arm, sensing the return of that comfortable familiarity. “I haven’t congratulated you on your official promotion, either.” 

His mirth fades. “Do you hate me for it?”

“No. No,” you stress, as though he has no reason to ask. “You’ve done what you’ve had to.”

After a long inhale, Zeke sighs as he nods. This time, it is he who fills the silence. “Uh—I’m sorry again about your father. So he was the...”

“Yeah.”

He gives you a once-over, as if to search for Titan marks. “Are you…?”

“No, I’m not.”

The slight bitterness in your voice draws Zeke’s gaze back to yours. You shrug before he can say any more of it and try to put it out of your mind. Those are, after all, matters for the Tybur estate. You’re here now, and Zeke has forgiven you. In spite of everything else, the thought makes you giddy with relief, and you rear your head toward him with a smile. 

“So… is there anything you want to tell me?”

Zeke wonders who might have been chosen to inherit the War Hammer instead of its most obvious candidate, but mostly he’s glad it isn’t you. It’s a selfish thought he keeps to himself, but the idea of you living past your twenty-sixth year is one that does not fill him with dread.

Thirty-nine. He’s thinking about how you’ll live to be thirty-nine when your voice interrupts what he imagines you might look like by then. Your tone says you’re fishing for something, so he opens his mouth, meeting your gaze to tell you you’re not quite as much taller than Pieck as you think (he has one joke), nor is subtlety your strong suit, when the whole of you seems to come at him all at once. Your now messy hair, crinkled eyes, that expression he used to find both funny and irritating on your mouth—except the obnoxious grin that subsumes it as he lets the silence pass is suddenly... adorable. 

Huh?

Sitting back, Zeke abruptly presses his palm to your face and promptly pushes it away. “Don’t press your luck, Blanchard.”

You smack his hand off, face flushed as you cry out, “Rude!”

He’s already laughing, using your indignation to overcome the urge to gulp down the breath caught in his throat when you suddenly lean back on his bed and raise your foot. You kick it into his side with a strength he absolutely remembers, sending his ribs knocking against his footboard with a groan. “Ow! You—get out of here and let me sleep already!”

You smile to yourself as you lower your legs to the floor, feet searching for your house slippers. “I chose not to go for your face, you know.”

“Are you seriously studying to be a doctor?” Zeke mutters, rubbing at his side. “You haven’t changed at all.” 

You chuckle through a yawn, hand over your mouth as you ease yourself to your feet. “Okay.”

He rights himself quickly when you’re crossing his room toward his door already. “Lucy, wait.”

You stop, lean against his desk with a small smile like it’s your room. “Hmm?”

Zeke pretends to shake his head at your audacity, letting you grin a little longer before he asks, “Do you want to meet the new Warriors tomorrow?” You blink, and he starts to regret the question. “I just figured—”

“I’d like that.” You open your mouth, ostensibly to say more, when both of you hear movement from down the hall. Footsteps by the stairs. “I should go. See you tomorrow.”

He waves, content to watch you hurriedly leave his room. When he hears the door to yours open and click shut, he goes himself and catches his grandmother still sleepily making her way out into the low lit corridor. Her hands are searching for the stairway light switch.

“Grandma?” he asks, coming over to set a supportive hand along her upper back. “Why are you up so late?”

“Zeke,” she smiles in greeting, yawning. “I was just going to get some water.”

“Let me. I’ll get new glasses for you and grandpa, so go back inside.” When his grandmother thanks him, he heads for the stairs, bounding down the steps with sudden enthusiasm. 

Your words will stay with him long after you’ve forgotten them, and perhaps not for the better—but for the moment, Zeke feels inexplicably light. 

--

So do you when you awake the next morning. Of course you’re still sorry for all you did, or didn’t, do, and you know you deserved all the guilt, the anxiety, being on tenterhooks about your friendships for all that you left Zeke and Pieck hanging. But now that their forgiveness is a certainty, you feel utterly content. Now you can start making it up to them. 

Then again, you are so pleased that you could lie in bed all morning and hardly feel guilty. 

But you have miles to go, so you roll out of your blankets and get yourself ready for the day. Briefly, you wonder if Zeke has gone ahead again, but you find the answer you wanted as you open the door to the dining room downstairs. 

He’s chewing on a piece of bread as he waves at you, the last bite in his hand. “Morning. Breakfast?”

He really has forgiven you, and everything can go back to the way it was. “Morning,” you beam, though you decline as you pass him on the way to the kitchen. “No thank you. I ate too much last night.” You pour yourself some water instead. “Did you have some of the blueberry pie?” 

“Yeah. The Galliards always make quality stuff.” He dusts his uniform off as he stands and heads for the sink with his plate. “Though I could tell who cut it because she left the side with the slightly burnt crust in.”

“It’s crispy, and you know that’s my favorite part,” you huff, leaning against the counter next to him and handing him your empty glass. “That was part of my apology.”

Zeke grins, eyes to his task. “Yeah, yeah.”

You refrain from elbowing him and move to start cleaning his crumbs off the table and the floor. “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Yeager?”

“Market day. Oh—bring a book. We can drop in on the candidates come lunchtime.” He glances over his shoulder. “Or did you have other plans today?” 

“I wanted to pass by the university and find the general book list for the first years, but after the line I went through yesterday... I’m not in the mood. I’ll bring a book.”

“Good.”

The two of you head out once the dining room and the kitchen are spotless. The sky is overcast this morning, so the zone takes its time waking up for the day, even with others already on their way to work. 

It starts to properly stir on your way to the gate. The view of the zone coming to life is something you once enjoyed watching on break days, especially compared to the lonely silence of the estate and eventually to the rigid rush of boarding school, but you don’t get to see all that much today—Zeke purposely avoids the larger avenue coming to the gate and leads you through side streets and alleys instead. Something about avoiding the morning rush. 

You don’t mind. You’re still waking up, too.

--

Eldians have no real hope of rising through military ranks, save those sacrificed among the Warrior unit, so Zeke’s office is quite impressive. He has his own mahogany desk, an entire bookshelf packed with volumes, yet more books and maps stacked against the wall, and his own gramophone. Not to mention the view outside the window behind his desk. He even has a cabinet to the side for his own alcohol, tea, or coffee—the latter of which he offers to you once you two arrive.

“Coffee, please,” you say, on one of the pillowed seats surrounding the coffee table at the center of the room. Sitting back, you throw an arm over the backrest to peer at the bookshelf behind you. “That’s quite a selection. I can’t believe you have your own office now.” You grin, turning back to watch him quietly preparing you a cup. “Zeke?”

“Coming right up.”

His response seems a little muted. When you question him with a tilt of your head, he jerks his in the direction of the gramophone.

Ah, you mouth. Even the Warchief can’t have his own office without being tapped. Par for the course when there are Eldians about, you imagine. That explains why the guards at the front gate delayed you with meandering conversation as soon as Zeke mentioned taking you to his office.

“So what kind of work do you do anyway, Warchief?” you continue far too seriously, absentmindedly flipping through your book for your marker. 

“You know that’s top secret, Miss Blanchard,” says Zeke, who of course plays into it. “Unless you’d like to join the ranks again. You’re certainly welcome to.”

You sigh. You never win when you try him like this. “Commander Magath told you?”

Zeke chuckles, walking your coffee over. “He mentioned hoping you might still be interested in our line of work.”

“Was he mad?” Regardless of your feelings about the regime, you have always remained conflicted about your former drill instructor. There was a time you were certain he wanted you dead, and you won’t forget what he and Commander Bruning put the rest through even more than yourself, but there were flashes of kindness you saw from him that you’ve never witnessed from any other Marleyan as Lucy Blanchard. You still don’t know how to feel about him.

Zeke snorts at such a childish question, pulling out several folders from his desk drawer as he takes his seat. “Should I ask him?”

“Of course not!” 

He chuckles in response, and then starts to ignore you completely for his work. Grumbling incoherently at him from behind your tilted cup for good measure, you turn to your book and begin to read.

--

Your coffee is long finished next to a similarly empty glass of water by the time you start yawning. You’ve read the same page thrice now, and that’s when you know you need to get off your ass and take a little walk around the room. 

Zeke yawns as you start a cross-arm stretch by the door. “You’re so noisy.”

“The nerve of this man, inviting me to his office and then complaining when I breathe.”

He smiles. “Breathe more quietly, then.” Slamming the folder he was reading shut, he follows you to his feet and pulls at his sleeve to check his watch. “Almost lunch time. Want to go check on the candidates?”

Your deadpan stare at his earlier remark remains until you feel just how empty your stomach is. Skipping breakfast was not your best idea, but you prefer it that way before you have to see the poor children who will one day replace your friends. “All right.”

The two of you wind your way through the complex and out to the courtyard, where the sun remains blessedly hidden as you watch the children at the far end doing their loaded running for the day. You hear them more than you see them, panting as they do their best to earn the honor of that red armband on Zeke’s sleeve.

Zeke catches your doleful expression and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I do not miss those days.”

You grimace at him. “My body hurts just remembering them.”

“Don’t remind me. I was dead last in my class before I built any endurance.” 

You don’t comment on the real story behind that. The children are coming closer to your side of the courtyard, though they don’t appear to notice you, and Zeke points them out: Udo, a boy with glasses whose family moved to Liberio from Marley’s new southern territories; Zofia, a girl with a heavy fringe who reminds you strangely of Annie; Falco, a blond boy who—Zeke cuts himself off when the last candidate pushes past them all with a yell. That one is Gabi Braun, Reiner’s younger cousin. 

“Cousin? Extended families aren’t made honorary Marleyans?”

“I was a special case, for obvious reasons,” Zeke answers your real question. “And yeah. Otherwise there would be too many of us, right?”

You frown, starting to fall into deep thought again when a familiar bark makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Hey! No Eldian civilians allowed on base!” 

An older man is jogging over, almost comically shaking his fist at you. It’s as he comes up to the building that he notices Zeke on your other side, and now he peers more closely at your face, head cocked forward. 

“You—” he starts. The years have been kinder to him than to Commander Magath, so there is no mistaking him. As his footsteps slow, his posture shifts from indignation to surprise, and then finally settles on diffidence. “Is that you, Miss Ty—”

“Blanchard,” Zeke coughs.

“Miss Blanchard?” he finishes.

“Instructor Marras.” Among the three who assisted Magath with Warrior training, he was probably the most bearable, if only because he left you to your own devices. He was much kinder when he discovered your true name, which was a shame. “What a pleasure.”

“We didn’t think we’d ever see you again around here,” he smiles widely, briefly acknowledging Zeke. “What brings you back around this end of Marley?”

“This and that,” you say, not quite in the mood to get into it when you can see the children still running. As though he’s read your mind, Zeke steps up next to you and signals toward them. “Isn’t it about time for lunch?”

Marras follows his gesture. “Ah. They got a little mouthy since I’ve been going easy on them, so training has been extended. But,” he says, attention back to his visitors, “you rarely come to check in on the new candidates, and you visit us even less, Lucy!”

Waving at you to wait just a moment, he barks at the children to come over. They’re even smaller than you imagined up close, just like your niece Fine, panting as they clutch their replica rifles for dear life. They do their best to salute Marras, but very obviously find it difficult to keep their composure when they see Zeke. 

“It’s the Beast Titan,” Udo yelps.

“His name is Zeke Yeager, dummy,” Gabi nudges him with what she must think is a whisper.

Zeke raises his hand in a bland wave, “Hey, kids,” but you can’t help your delighted chuckle. Fine is a very reserved little girl compared to these excitable children. Wide with effort and at a real Warrior’s arrival, their eyes all dart to you, and Gabi’s in particular squint at your armband. “I thought civilians weren’t allowed in HQ?”

“And I don’t remember asking if you had questions, candidate,” Marras snaps in his Instructor Voice. The children straighten up at once.

“Sir, sorry, Sir!” Udo and Gabi yell out. Zofia and Falco quietly exchange glances.

“Hello. I’m Lucy,” you cut in with a smile. “I was a Warrior candidate in my time, just like you.”

You can all tell that they’re itching to ask why your armband is grey instead of yellow like Porco’s was until recently, but Marras doesn’t let them. You find yourself grateful to him for once. “It’s thanks to Zeke and Miss Blanchard here that you’ll get an early lunch in spite of all that yapping earlier. So thank them, get changed, and get your sorry asses to the mess hall.”

“Thank you, Zeke! Thank you, Miss Blanchard!” They mix up whose name goes first between the four of them, but Marras doesn’t bother with a correction and nods. The children salute, all of them a mixture of suitably chastised and utterly relieved. 

“Dismissed!”

Nodding and offering you and Zeke grateful little smiles that make your heart melt, the four walk as quickly as they can to storage to deposit their load. Gabi nudges Zofia on the way, challenging her to a race, and the boys bump each other to catch up while Zofia chooses to keep her own pace, simply shaking her head.

Marras sighs, hand over his stomach. “I should get going myself.”

Zeke agrees, “Don’t let us keep you.”

“All right. But you should drop by more often, Miss Blanchard,” says Marras. “I’m sure the Commander would be pleased to see you. He worries. About all of you,” he adds, nodding toward Zeke.

Neither of you replies to that when Marras departs. In fact, you pretend not to have heard it as you both stare into the courtyard. “They seem like sweet children,” you start after a while, “though I don’t remember being that boisterous.”

Zeke breaks the mood with the most disgusting snort as he bursts into laughter. “You? Sure, Lucy. All right.”

You peer up at him, refusing to dignify such a violent reaction with one of your own, even if it does please you to see him laugh so much around you again. “You know what I mean. Maybe I was insolent, but I wasn’t boisterous.”

“Maybe, is it? Well, all I know is I’d grown out of all that by the time you and Pieck were selected.”

“Apparently not enough, Yeager, if you think Marley pays you to tour civilians around HQ.”

You and Zeke whirl in perfect sync to raise your right hands at that imposing voice, except you manage to swing yours right over your ear to pretend you were tucking stray hair behind it just in time to meet Commander Magath’s lifted brow. Behind him stand a surprised Porco and another Warrior candidate, much older than the eight-year olds you just met.

You clear your throat at once, hand falling to your side. “About yesterday, Sir...” 

Magath nods at Zeke in acknowledgment before waving at you. “Don’t mention it, Blanchard. It’s a choice for a reason, and really it was supposed to be the briefing.”

That’s as much of an apology as you’ll get around the others, so you nod. “I understand, Sir.” You lean a little on your right side, trying to steal a peek around the corner. “So Pieck has already gone?”

“Not that you need to know, but yes.”

You try not to flinch at the reprimand. Force of habit. “And Braun, Sir?”

Now Magath peers at you. “His debriefing ends today, if you want to see him that badly. Yeager, I’ll leave that to you since she’s your guest.”

“Yes, Sir.”

With a nod of dismissal at all of you, he continues down across the courtyard, leaving Porco and the candidate behind.

Porco glances between you and Zeke. “Friends again, huh?”

Zeke stares at him. “Problem?”

You don’t know it, but that’s Zeke’s Warchief Voice, one Porco has never heard outside of training. He immediately shrugs. “Just curious.”

“All right. Lucy, we might as well have lunch first before you go see Reiner.”

You nod, and gesture unsurely at the two before you. “Would… you like to join us?” 

“I’m good. Got errands to run for the Commander since Pieck is out and you’re too good for chores,” says Porco, gambling a glare at Zeke in jest. When Zeke chuckles, he sighs. “See you around.” Giving the quiet candidate next to him a light smack on the shoulder, he heads back the way they came.

By now the Warrior candidate looks very confused but also very familiar to you. Luckily Zeke has decided that it’s finally time to introduce you, a former Warrior candidate yourself—and then the boy, who cannot be older than fifteen. “This is Colt Grice. Falco’s older brother, and the new Beast Titan candidate.”

“Oh.” It feels like a weight has settled in your stomach when you realize that it is about time they selected the candidate meant to inherit from Zeke, who received the Beast Titan around a year ahead of the rest. Seeing the children just made you… complacent, think that there was more time. “I guess it makes sense that they chose someone a little older, too.” You smile, slightly guilty about his obvious unease after your reaction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colt.”

“No, it’s my pleasure, Miss Blanchard,” he says politely, shaking your hand.

“You can call me Lucy,” you insist, and then jab a thumb over your shoulder. “The children left for the mess hall, by the way.”

Zeke raises a hand to correct you. “Colt doesn’t need to know that. He’s not made to babysit them like I was.”

“Really?” you ask Colt, who nods in affirmation. “But that was half the fun.”

“She means half the torture,” Zeke says to Colt, who chuckles nervously at his superior. “No, I figured he could take on other responsibilities. Like letting the barracks know that Reiner’ll be having visitors after lunch, and then meeting us at the mess hall. Right?”

“Yes, Sir,” says Colt, clearly eager to please. He gives you another smile before he runs off.

“Falco’s older brother,” you repeat, when the boy is out of earshot. “This isn’t like Marcel and Porco. Why is Falco in the program?”

Zeke clicks his tongue. “The Grices are nephews of one of my parents’ co-conspirators. They need to prove their loyalty, for their family’s sake.”

“After all these years. Poor things.” Not that you’re surprised. Marley has a long memory, however false. “Did you have a hand in choosing him?”

“Wouldn’t that make the brass suspicious? It was the commander’s choice alone.”

“Huh.”

“They’re good kids, Colt especially. Now come on—” he nudges you forward with his elbow as he passes you, “you should eat before you see Reiner or you’ll lose your appetite for good.”

“...That bad?”

Walking ahead of you, Zeke only shrugs. You don’t know if that should worry or comfort you, so you follow suit.

--

Reiner is in his own room in the barracks, resting, when you visit him. He’s just finished eating his lunch when you arrive, and your shock at seeing him is a perfect reflection of his at seeing you. You last looked upon him as a boy, and though you know he only turns eighteen this year, he is now, most undoubtedly, a man. Almost everything about him is unfamiliar to you. His height, for one, his broad build, the slight stubble he’s neglected to shave for the past few days. His demeanor as he stares at you.

You thought Pieck spoke of growing up in general when she compared the two of you having become completely different, but it’s only now that you understand what she meant. Long ago, try as you might to deny it, the two of you were, with Porco, the most boisterous Warrior candidates in your generation. You left no challenge, even your superiors at first, unanswered; Reiner was certain, no matter his rank among you, that he would inherit before the Paradis operation; and Porco was quick to remind you how stupid and ridiculous you both were. 

But that was many years ago. Porco failed but has remained mostly himself, and you failed and realized the sham that is Tybur pride. Between the three of you, only Reiner achieved his dream—and yet you are more similar with one another than with Porco. Even amid his utter shock, the shame in his gaze as he meets yours, though unfamiliar on Reiner to your eyes, is one you’ve intimately known for some time now.

“Lucy?”

“Reiner,” you greet.

Reiner smiles in spite of himself. You do too. You were never close, but if nothing else, you were still Warrior candidates together. “You’ve... grown.” His voice is deep now, just like Zeke’s, but his is… gentle. Another unexpected development.

“That’s an overstatement, compared to you,” you chuckle. He smiles just a little wider, almost shy, but only for a beat. He remembers swiftly enough when he is, just like you.

“How are you, Reiner?” you can’t help but ask. Wrong question. You quickly follow it up with, “I’m glad your debriefing has ended. You deserve to rest at home, with your family.”

“I…” He appears to disagree, lowering his head at once. For one heartbreaking moment, you wonder if you see a shimmer beneath his lashes, but he only seems curious when he blinks up at you again. “Thanks, Lucy.” His voice is steady. Maybe you were imagining things. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since you were called home.”

You don’t complain about the change in subject. “Yeah… I always wished I could have seen you all off,” you murmur, even if part of you is glad you didn’t have to witness Pieck’s sorrow firsthand. Seeing it in Reiner at the mention of the operation, though, you add, “Oh, actually—I just got back a couple days ago, not too long after the rest of you. I’m enrolling in the medical program at Liberio University.”

“Oh?” He considers your words. “So you didn’t…”

That is the question of the century about you, isn’t it? At least among the Warriors. But then who else really knows who you are? “No.”

“Ah.” Reiner nods, more times than is really necessary. You know he doesn’t know whether to congratulate you or to apologize. “The medical program, though. That’s… unexpected.”

“Why does everyone say that?” you laugh. “Is it really so strange for me?”

“Uh—no,” he replies with an apologetic rush. You realize just how much you dislike it in his tone. Zeke says you were always last to say sorry, if you did at all. The same went for Reiner. Where is that obnoxious little boy you knew? “It’s better that way. You’ll do great.”

“I hope to,” you admit, but this visit isn’t supposed to be about you. “Anyway, Reiner… I just wanted to see how you were doing. I missed you all, and I’m really glad you’re back home.”

He’s too slow to conceal his surprise this time, or the way he blinks away coming tears. He always was a bit of a crybaby. To a child who desired to live up to her family name, that was a weakness. To a woman who knows better, you wish you could have told him it was all right. “We… I missed you all, too. It was…” he swallows. “I...”

The truth is you were a crybaby too, just not in front of the others, but you can’t help it when you hear the tremble in his voice, so grown and yet still the same. The first familiar thing of his that you’ve witnessed. Flicking a knuckle at your nose, you nod when he trails off. “You don’t have to say anything. Pieck told me the little she could.”

“Yeah?” he asks innocently enough. And then his voice shifts into something just a little tougher. Maybe harder. “What did Zeke say?”

“Zeke? We didn’t really…” It comes to you as you say it. “...talk about it.”

Of course you didn’t. You were busy talking about you, and he quite literally pushed you away when you tried to ask. But that doesn’t seem to be what Reiner is searching for in the first place. Not with that look on his face—another familiar expression, but not because you know it from your own heart. It’s familiar because you saw it just last night.  

“Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

Zeke’s eyes as he said those words were recalling a memory you can never understand, you know now, because it’s the same with Reiner. Whatever he went through in Paradis for years will only ever be a tale to you. Your shared memories ended before you turned thirteen. 

Still, the resentment that you saw in Zeke remains in Reiner’s golden eyes; only this time you don’t believe it’s meant for you.

You reach out to him, clearly elsewhere as his fists clench over his knees, but stop when your hand rests on the edge of his bed. “Reiner?”

“Sorry,” he blurts out when he returns to his senses. Somehow, he seems more tired than he already did. 

“That’s all right. I should let you rest.” When he nods, shoulders still slumped in apology, you put on a reassuring smile. You understand Reiner even less than you did before, but somehow he also feels more like a kindred spirit than you remember. “When you’re well enough to return, maybe we can have lunch with Pieck.”

Reiner visibly hesitates, but he nods in the end. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

You bid each other goodbye, though you tell Reiner to stay seated when he tries to walk you to the door. When you close it behind you, glancing around, you assume Colt has been sent on another errand. Only Zeke now awaits you along the wall outside, one hand in his pocket as he smokes a cigarette, gaze once again far beyond the buildings ahead. 

When he isn’t playing up his irreverence to deflect or get on somebody else’s nerves, Zeke has always been aloof in public. In that way he hasn’t really changed, but you realize now that you were a fool to think things could just go back to normal between the two of you. Not that they haven’t, on the face of it; he seems perfectly happy to return to your old dynamic, and maybe all this strangeness is just in your head, or a natural consequence of growing up. 

Seeing Reiner, though… you realize maybe you were a little too hasty trying to go back. Just like you, just like Reiner, Zeke must have changed. You wonder how; wonder what he could have done, apart from suggesting the debriefing, that would make a now gentle Reiner wear such resentment. You have some idea, but you brush it aside before you can dwell on it. 

“If you want to try smoking,” Zeke chuckles, “all you have to do is ask.”

You blink, cheeks tingling with embarrassment and a sheepish smile when you realize he’s caught you staring. He holds the smoke out for you, but you wave his hand away. “No thanks.”

“So?” He pushes himself off the wall, putting the cigarette out under his shoe. “What do you think?”

You fall into step with him and take a deep breath. “I think maybe he just needs more time to rest. Grieve properly.”

“Generous evaluation.”

“I think it’s more… it’s not my place to say.” 

Zeke regards you with an indecipherable look, but it disappears as soon as you try to capture it. He only shrugs. “Okay. I need to get back to work. Want to stay, or will you be going home?”

You pretend to give it some thought. “I can stick around your office a little longer.”

“Good. Just try to keep it down.”

He chuckles at your eyeroll and starts to head back to the offices with you in tow. You stare at his back as he turns a corner ahead of you until he glances over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still with him. You give him a smile, brows raising with a question he answers with a shake of his head. But he’s smiling too, the one you got to know past that wall of apathy, and you know that he can’t possibly have changed all that much.

Zeke is still your best friend—the only one who knew everything about you, and the one who trusted only you with everything about him. You’re sure of it. 

/////

I mean, obviously, aside from Mr. Ksaver. Do I think Zeke was the guy whose only friends were younger kids he was forced to interact with for his own survival? Yes. His best friend in canon and the only important person he trusted in his childhood/adolescence was his father stand-in, and even if as he grew up I'm sure he became more sociable (and likeable/'admirable' to Marleyan Eldians as a Warrior), Zeke's existence is a lonely one in my eyes because of the way he viewed life and the lives of others. There would have had to be certain circumstances to gain his absolute trust I think, so feel special, Reader/Lucy. Haha. I swear I love Zeke even if I see him as this sad and lonely bastard.

Also, I know it's not obvious, but I don't dislike Porco. I actually like him a lot (except when he's like -that- to Reiner) and he influenced/es Reader/Lucy more than he knows. And I know I didn't mention Bertholdt in this chapter but that would have been a sensitive topic for Reiner, so Reader/Lucy knows to avoid it for now. (I just wanted to make that disclaimer because I love Bertholdt and I miss him a lot.)

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think so far.

[themissingmarvel]

Forged in Fire (Quentin Beck x Reader) Part 1

(You read that right. This one takes liberties. It assumes Avengers are all still alive because it’s my fucking fic. Also, it still assumes Far From Home took place as it did. ALSO of note, it takes Beck’s history as a stunt man [comics] into account along with his work in tech. That said, it’s my first Beck fic and it’s been a hot minute since I watched FFH. Vague spoilers. And I can’t end it here so there’s gonna be more.)

Pairing: Quentin Beck (Mysterio) x powered!Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Language, mention of torture. )

(gif not mine)

Oh god… they’re really going to do it this time… I’m going to drown.

Your thoughts are erratic. Overwhelmed. Desperate. The water begins to pool around your ankles, your knees, your thighs. Dread fills your body as you pound feverishly against the unbreakable glass you’re confined in. The Box. That’s always what they call it. Once a week, always a different time. Always a different day. But it’s The Box that scares you most.

The water isn’t cold but it stings nonetheless as it rises to your chest, panic filling you and surging adrenaline through your body, not that it matters. The glass won’t budge, your fists almost breaking as you scream desperately to be let out. Two men stand, both in body armor, the room dark as they watch unflinching. They know the drill. So do you.

It reaches your neck and you tilt your head up, no longer able to hit the glass as it begins to lap at your mouth. You wonder if maybe dying would be the best. You’re only sixteen but you need this to be over. You never asked for this. 

Hydra doesn’t care.

One last gasp of breath fills your lungs before the water overtakes you, leaving you floating in this glass container of pain. Suffering. Hate. Panic. Torture. They’ll break you, they think. They want to.

You feel your lungs begin to ache, your body panicking as it wants to breathe. Your lips open to scream but nothing comes out. This is it. They’ll kill me this time. I never said goodbye-

Suddenly your eyes flash open, practically tumbling out of your bed, sweat-soaked and sobbing, gasping for air that was not being withheld this time. Panic was still in your system, though. Adrenaline pumping through your veins. 

That’s when you felt it.

The world around you, the room within Stark Tower, the large open space that felt oppressive in a way you could never explain to Tony but in a way that Bucky understood, dissipated. That giant bed. The white walls. The large windows. They became smaller. The world became smaller. You recognized the purple christmas lights hanging around the walls, the old band posters, magazines on the floor. This was your old bedroom. 

Getting to your feet, the dim lighting reassuring as the room was also, you closed your eyes and took a breath, “Thank you…” a soft whisper left your lips.

You felt his warm arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against his chest, taught and firm, warm. Gentle. Reassuring. You felt him kissing the back of your head, his taller form then leaning down slightly to rest his face against yours as best he could, “I hate when you have those nightmares,” Quentin speaks gently into your ear. 

You’re vulnerable here, but so is he. No armor, no facade, no dramatic speeches and yelling at the rest of the Avengers. No, this is Quentin. 

Looking around the room you wonder briefly how he could possibly have gotten it so perfect. Of course, with Stark Tech at his fingertips and Tony cooperating with the man who loathed him more than anyone in the world, he could do it. He did do it. He did it for you. Tony had chided him for not working on the other more important holograms, but he didn’t care this time. He had found a reason to care about something else.

Placing your hands against his on your stomach you lean back comfortably against him, “They haven’t been as bad lately. I think… I think this helps me a lot,” you turn to face him. His hands remain around your waist, holding you close to him. He likes this. He likes this a lot. More than he should, really.

But he shakes his head, eyes narrowing briefly as he looks away, “I hate what they did to you. That they could do that to a child. Motherfuckers…” he mutters, aware of the complete hypocrisy of his statement. He’d almost killed Peter, after all, and wasn’t he the same age you’d been? It was different, he’d argue. You knew he would.

His sentiment makes you smile and you reach up, turning his bearded face back to you, “Hey. I’m here now, aren’t I? And that’s why you’re here. Helping us take down Hydra. You can take it out on them.”

Peter almost had about twelve panic attacks at once when he heard Quentin Beck would be assisting with the operation of taking down one of the largest Hydra bases yet. They needed a reliable manipulator, someone who could fool even the best tech in the world. As much as Tony hated to admit it, Beck was that man. Loki would help, but his was limited and it was magic. It couldn’t do what Beck’s did. It wasn’t as powerful.

And of course there were the dramatics at first. Tony threatened to kill Quentin should he even look at Peter Parker wrong. Wanda pried through his mind for any sign of deceit. He’d checked out. He’d agreed because he knew he’d get a clean slate. They’d let him go under supervision and under the condition he help when needed. That was prison enough for Quentin. But he’d get the fame. Mysterio would be a hero. Wasn’t that what he wanted.

The last thing he expected, however, was you. He’d heard your name, and he’d seen you use your powers, but he didn’t know you. He’d seen your face in passing. Blips on the screen. You weren’t like Thor or Iron Man or Hulk or hell… even Ant-Man. You were Y/N. Tony always said you were forged in fire. Maybe you were. That’s why water had been the most terrifying. 

Quentin had found you curled in the fetal position in the hallway one night when he first arrived. Your breathing was shallow and rapid. You were hyperventilating. Sobbing. Crying. He had knelt by you and went to ask you what was wrong, to brush back your hair. You’d flinched, as if in pain, and he did the only thing he knew to do: he made an illusion.

The hallway had begun to vanish and you could swear that you smelled the grass. Soon you felt that same grass beneath you, even the texture was real. Confused, and temporarily pulled from your panic attack, you looked up to see a large willow tree encasing you safely. Quentin was next to you, wearing his black pajama bottoms and black t-shirt. Tony told you not to trust him. 

“What did you do?” You asked him, defensive. Scared still.

He got it. He knew why. He couldn’t blame you, “It’s nice here, right?” He had turned and looked around, the wind swaying the dancing branches and leaves, the light speckled as it occasionally broke through, “You looked scared… I uh… I didn’t really know what else to do.”

You knew he had a choice. He could have left you there in the hallway. You’d have come to in a few minutes, feared sleep, avoided it, and you’d have read your latest novel. He could have even conjured something worse, just to fuck with you (although Rogers had warned him doing so would result in a shield to the head, helmet or not). Hell, he could not have come into the hallway at all. 

But you were sweet. Tough. Kind. Powerful. Gentle. Forged in fire. Unbreakable. And you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his perfect blue eyes on. 

Well, fuck.

After that night, you’d both kept it quiet. Stark’s cameras had caught nothing, which was the point, but Quentin offered to stay with you. No strings attached. Promise I’ll keep my hands to myself. He grinned at you with that shit-eating grin. How could a man be like that? So damned infuriating. Good and evil. 

It was a trial basis, you’d insisted. Quentin agreed, going so far as to even sleep on the floor. He’d managed to mess with Stark’s security cameras to sneak in and out of your room at night. Usually he could catch a nightmare before it was in full swing. You always did the same thing, whimpering, begging, pulling sharply at your sheets. He’d wake you with different scenes, until he’d been able to recreate your room from when you were thirteen, from just before your powers erupted. Three years before Hydra.

The nightmares had begun to slow and you’d begrudgingly told him to just get in your bed one night, “I’m tired of you sleeping on the floor, Quentin. It’s a California King anyway, could fit the entire Avengers in here,” you’d muttered. 

He was taken aback. He’d seen you shove Thor, punch Barnes’ arm for being an ass, get into a pissing match with Tony, and almost uppercut Steve for stealing your sandwich. Accident or not, that was your damn sandwich.

And you were inviting him into your bed. 

It had started with Quentin as far away as possible. That’s how these things always start, don’t they? And soon he’d gotten closer, rolled over and not corrected his positioning. He’d told himself it was to keep a closer eye on you. Keep you safe. But when he’d woken up early one morning to your head on his chest, arm draped over him, he knew that this was it. Peter Parker taking down half his drone army and almost killing him hadn’t defeated him. Stark managing to find him and jail him in a max security unit hadn’t broken him. But you? Your form against his, using him for comfort and security, had just about shattered him. Undone by a single person.

Cut back to the present. You see him thinking and you know he’s a man on a mission. He wants Hydra gone. For what they did to you. For what you felt to this day. He’d break every single individual’s mind if he had to. A hundred soldiers? A thousand? He didn’t care. They’d all pay. Every last one of them.

You lifted a hand and brushed back some loose hair, almost snapping him back to reality, “Hey… you with me?” 

His eyes flickered, those startling blue ones the color of the waters in Bermuda. The color of tranquility. The color of a man not to be trusted and of a man capable of complete deceit. He was weak with you, though. Leaning down he rested his forehead against yours, “I’m always with you, sweetness,” his voice was low and soothing, just the way you liked. Always the thing to make you melt. But he knew that.

You did love when he called you honey, but especially sweetness. He was referring, of course, to that Jimmy Eat World song you’d always put on when you wanted to belt out some tunes of a time before Hydra. Back when you were in high school and being that emo kid. The Sweetness. He’d watched you mouth the words when you were doing idle tasks. You knew them by heart.

It had been a month since you and Quentin had been an item. But none of them knew. Natasha had her suspicions that something was going on but she had better things to do then babysit Beck. He was in Stark Tower. There was more security than god. And of course Peter was staying at home. May had made it clear that if Quentin came within a mile of her home when her nephew was present she’d beat him to death with his own drone. Lots of death threats. Couldn’t blame them.

Lifting a hand he pressed it warmly against your cheek, smiling softly. This was the Quentin no one else saw. This was the Y/N no one else saw. Costumes off. Powers gone. The two of you in a moment that was yours. 

He closed his eyes and leaned in, pressing his lips warmly against your own. You closed your eyes and wrapped both your arms around his neck as you returned the kiss, delicious and warm. Comforting. You could taste him as he parted your lips with his tongue, searching out your own as he felt the need for you growing inside of him. The two of you hadn’t… done it yet. The deed. Slept together. Fucked. He had wanted to but he had wanted you to feel safe. Any other woman and he imagined he’d have charmed them into bed. You weren’t any other woman.

The nightmare had left your mind as you pressed yourself against the man who had been protecting you in secret. The man you had fallen for despite all warnings and insistence to leave it be. Now you were in his arms, feeling his hand that had been on your face moving to your hair, raking through it as he kept you firmly in his arms and in the kiss. His other hand was on your hip, gripping it firmly. He wanted you. God, did he want you. Whatever you’d give him, he wanted it.

You felt a soft moan escape your body, muffled in the kiss, but enough to cause a deep growl from Quentin, feeling his blood beginning to get hot. His grip got tighter, that piece of him so passionate and needy flowing through him as he held you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. 

“What the FUCK is this?” A voice boomed, echoing in the room that was both yours and not. Quentin dropped his hold on you, startled, and recognizing the voice, stepping back sharply as he ended the simulation, revealing the sterile room once more. And, of course, Tony Stark standing in his black pants and Led Zeppelin shirt looking like he was ready to murder someone.

He kind of was.

You jumped slightly, “Christ on a cracker! Tony, do you knock?!” You looked at him furiously, knowing what was coming next.

“I was a little preoccupied in losing my shit over Quentin not being in the secured room. I came to let him know we had the hologram blueprints set up. Though clearly the two of you are busy. Should I come back later when you’re done being a goddamn moron, Y/N?” He was fuming, fists clenched.

Unbelievable. 

You glared at Tony, “You had no right bursting in here! And you’ve got absolutely no right in judging this!” Your own fists were clenched, your blood boiling. Your skin hot. Scalding.

Beck snarled as he stepped in front of you, jaw clenched, “Getting ready to take more things from me, Tony? What, you weren’t satisfied with stealing my life’s work, you’re gonna take the one thing I’ve got left that makes me happy?” He was walking now, with purpose, towards the man he had always despised.

Tony scoffed, “That’s rich. That’s fucking rich, Beck. You wouldn’t have been able to create anything if it hadn’t been for me, for what I gave you. And I can take it all back if that’s what you want. Throw you back in a cell for you to rot in.”

Quentin grinned. It was that grin he gave when he knew he had the upper hand. That grin that meant he thought he was the smartest man in the room, “Really, Tony? You think you can? You think you can take down that Hydra base without my expertise? Without me? You need me, and it kills you. Oh, I love this. I really do. You have no idea how much this thrills me,” he had gotten right up to Tony, leaving you behind by the bed.

It was strange to see Quentin in his true form. You’d watched him quip with Tony in the few times they’d be alone together, watched him glare and sulk, brood and narrow his eyes. Hell, you’d even heard him call Natasha “sweetheart” and subsequently watched Clint take the gun from her hand. You hadn’t seen the rage that he truly held for Tony. He’d gone after Peter, thinking Tony was gone, but now that he had the chance to best Tony at something? Hell, he’d take it.

He wasn’t done, though. Quentin kept that grin on his face, body suddenly relaxed as he tilted his head up ever so slightly, “You just want what you can’t have. Control. You’re pissed that you can’t control her, aren’t you? I bet you think she’s just another one of your fucking weapons, don’t you?”

Oof. That one stung. It stung you and Tony. He had taken to you hard, much as he had with Peter, but you were so broken. He understood that. He thought he could piece you back together. Who was Beck to try? 

Regardless, now you were furious, walking towards where both men were and sharply pushing them apart, both able to feel the pain of the heat from your skin. Both winced. Both shut the fuck up immediately.

“I want both of you gone, now! Quen, go help Tony with what you were supposed to be doing to begin with. Tony, don’t ever come in to my room and accuse me of poor life choices, I’m not the one who was selling missiles to terrorists. You wanna pass judgment? Fuck off. Both of you.” You scowled at them, watching as both barely hesitated as they walked out.

Quentin paused once he was out, turning back with a look on his face you didn’t quite recognize, however, “We’re not done with this. Not by a long shot.” 

You narrowed your eyes, confused by your sudden anger at this man who had used you as a pawn in a fight with Tony, used you to hurt him, “Oh, you’re right about that, Quentin.” You shut the door on him, calmly, cooly, and without effort. 

As Quentin walked barefoot down the hallway, however, he knew he wasn’t mad at you. No. He knew that. His words hadn’t been a threat to you. He’d never threaten you. His words were a threat to Tony. To Peter. To Cap. To Bucky. To these people who he thought were holding you back from your real potential. Who were letting you stay broken. Using your anger and fear for their own perverse need for control.

He blamed Tony, as he always did. And as he walked, boring a hole into the back of Tony’s skull, he knew he could have both revenge, and you. Revenge on Tony, on Hydra, on all those damn goodie-goodie Avengers, and still keep you with him.

Quentin Beck was not letting you go.

(Tagging: @ellen-reincarnated1967, @with-the-words-all-wrong, @writingthingsisdifficult, @spookydefendordreamer @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @vigilanteavengerqueen and ask to be added!)

[krycss]

AO3 Link

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          What was left of the night was spent finishing up the rest of her dinner and saying goodnight to the siblings. Everyone was going to be staying in the ranch for the night since it was fairly late. Rook had to fend off all of the siblings who each insisted that someone stay in the room with her to make sure she slept okay. In the end they all agreed to leave her be, though she could still hear Jacob prowling around the area before she eventually drifted off. Sleep did not come easily to Rook. She spent most of the night tossing and turning, her body unused to the softness of a mattress and pillow. Every creak and groan of the ranch startled her and despite Jacob’s good intentions, his pacing didn’t help either. Eventually her body could no longer keep itself awake and she simply passed out from exhaustion.

          She had no idea how long she had missed the smell of bacon first thing in the morning. But when the smell wafted through her room Rook was quick to wake up, quickly sitting up straight in bed despite the headache it brought on. If she could run, she probably would have ran down the stairs. Instead she scoots herself over to the edge of the bed, hesitantly reaching her feet down to the floor. She didn’t want a repeat of her tumbles from yesterday.

           She immediately was hit with a smell that was decidedly NOT delicious.

           ‘Shower. Now.’ She thought to herself.

           She made her way over to the closet nearby and wasn’t sure if she was surprised or not that there were already some clothes inside. The options were limited and the sizes varied but she managed to put together an outfit from a black sleeveless dress and grabbing an over-sized green flannel to wear over it. She was hesitant to check to see if there were any underwear in the room as well, but she knew she’d need some. She really hoped it was just that John was thoughtful enough to keep clothes in the rooms for guests but she had a feeling that wasn’t quite the idea. She pulled out a rather plain looking set of black underwear and its matching bra – the first step to getting better was feeling comfortable, she told herself.

           As Rook made her way over to the door she stopped as she passed the standing mirror. She still didn’t know what she looked like at the moment. She turned her body to face the mirror, her gaze at her feet. She was wearing pajama shorts and as her gaze drifted up her legs she could see the bruises and cuts along her thighs. She vaguely recalled the times the Johnson’s would take their knives to her. The shirt she had on was a little baggy, but she didn’t need to see her stomach to know that she had some bruises there from fists and that her ribs were probably visible. Her arms were also covered in bruises and cuts, her wrists were wrapped to help the healing from the zip ties. Her gaze stopped at her throat, passing over the ‘wrath’ tattoo on her collar – she’d gotten used to it. She clinched her fists, taking a deep breath, and looked straight into her own eyes.

           Her black hair was disheveled, poking out here and there and greasy from not being washed in so long. She had dark circles under her green eyes which seemed less vibrant than they once were. Her nose was slightly yellow, healing from a bruise given to her long ago. When her eyes drifted down to her lips she sucked in a breath. The open wounds were just starting to heal over but they were still red and inflamed. She brought her fingers up to her lips, moving her face closer to the mirror. Her fingers shook as they prodded at the dots surrounding her lips. She could feel the pinpricks of tears forming in her eyes once more. She couldn’t let herself cry anymore. She’s not weak. She reminded herself. Not. Weak.

           Her sin showed through as she was suddenly overtaken with rage and pulled her body back, slamming a fist into the mirror. A few shards stuck to her knuckles while others fell to her feet. Her breath came out ragged. She could hear someone storming up the stairs, no doubt drawn by the sound. She saw Jacob in her peripheral burst through the door in the reflection of the now broken mirror. Her eyes were still staring down at her mouth. She could feel the blood dripping out of her hand.

           “The hell happened?” Jacob rumbled, closing the door.

           Rook didn’t respond.

           “Cat.” He stepped towards her.

           Jacob must have figured out what was wrong as he let out a sigh. He placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her away from the mirror. He brought her over to the bed, forcing her to sit down as he walked over to the nightstand to grab the first aid box. He was silent as he began cleaning up her hand. Despite the situation, Rook couldn’t help the blush that crept up her face at the tenderness he was using. She also enjoyed how big his hands seemed in comparison to her own. She was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of the first aid box closing. Jacob moved to sit next to her, the bed dipping.

           “They aren’t bad, and they aren’t ugly.” He said quietly. “And I’ll keep reminding you until you believe me.”

           Rook’s head snapped up to look at him. Those were the same words she had said to him so long ago.

~~~

           The cages weren’t exactly the best place in the world. Rook would admit that much. But unlike the others around her, despite how much her stomach protested at the hunger, she tried not to let it get to her. She learned after her first trial run that she found that she took to the situation rather well. Not ideal, and certainly not sane, but she found that she liked the training in a way. It reminded her of her time in the police academy. She never liked to admit it, but she always was kind of a teacher’s pet in a way. She always strived for praise, to know that she did well. So when she heard Jacob’s praises during her trial, she knew she was in trouble. When she came out of the haze that night she found that her blood was pumping and she wanted to run through it again. She knew it wasn’t right. But none of this was. Sufficed to say she was a little disappointed the first time she met Eli and the Whitetails. She had wanted the validation of doing well for Jacob, not three strangers hovering over her on a couch.

           When she got the call that Jacob was sending out more hunters for her after freeing one of the Militia one day, she was conflicted. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t try very hard to fight them off, but there was an itch created by Jacob Seed and she knew he’d be able to help her scratch it.

           So here she was, a week into being captured once more and sitting in the mud, her back resting on the bars and her hands folded neatly on her legs. It was night and she was trying to get some rest. It was a little hard to do here with the bonfires, the Judges, and the crying in the distance but she tried nonetheless. She was at least gifted what she considered to be a cage in the “nice” part of the neighborhood per say. The only other person in the area was about two cages away and usually kept quiet – Rook wasn’t actually sure if they were alive most of the time.

           It was no longer surprising to see Jacob roaming around the compound during various hours of the night. He usually stopped by to check on her or taunt her. She always had a witty remark to give back. She liked to think she was getting through to his gruff demeanor since he was starting to speak to her more often. The last time he caught her they actually had a full conversation which Rook congratulated him on – that earned her no food for the night, but it was worth it. She heard the tell-tale sound of his boots getting closer to her cage. She kept her eyes closed.

           “Do you ever sleep?” She mumbled.

           Silence.

           She opened her eyes, ready to say something else when her words were caught in her throat. He looked rougher than usual. His hair disheveled as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was looking at her but his gaze wasn’t focused. She slowly pulled herself up to her feet, moving towards him.

           “Jacob?” She asked quietly.

           Once again, silence. She looked up at him, her head only came up to his sternum which made it a little awkward. He looked around briefly before heading towards the door of the cage and stepping inside. Rook was a little apprehensive. She had unfortunately discovered her actual feelings for the soldier thanks to a few comments from Adelaide so the close proximity had her heart going. Plus the natural reaction to the man closing in on anyone would have them hesitant. He closed the cage and walked back into one of the darkened corners – didn’t want anyone to see him in there Rook guessed. She wasn’t quite sure what to do and opted to stand awkwardly, waiting for an order. Jacob huffed.

           “Sit.” His voice was rough.

           She wasn’t exactly sure where to sit, but he apparently made the decision for her when he patted the dirt next to him. There was a pause and neither of them spoke until Rook couldn’t stand the silence.

           “Nightmares?” She guessed as she sat, crossing her legs.

           He hummed.

           She knew about them, having been told by Staci during one of his visits. She also put it together just based on how tired he seemed all the time.

           “Do you…want to talk about it?” She was unsure what to do in the situation.

           Jacob sighed, letting his head fall back against the bars, his eyes closed. She waited patiently. She’d be happy either way if he told her or not, she was still trying to process the fact that he came to her about it in the first place.

           When he finally spoke he told her about his time in the Army and the Gulf War. He told her about his unit, the 82nd Airborne, and about how he got his scars. Chemical burns were no joke. He told her about Miller, and what happened with that particular scenario. Rook picked at her nails for that part of the story – she’d process how she felt about that later.

           “Every time I close my eyes it’s either reliving the bombs, the fire, the burns, or that fucking desert.” He ran his hands through his hair.

           Rook looked up at him. His eyes were still closed so she took the time to look over his facial scars. They weren’t that bad. Even up close like this Rook could tell that they had healed nicely at least, unlike the ones on his arms. They didn’t take away from his good looks she’d admit. Her eyes drifted down to his neck and then down to his arms, following the scars. His arms were obviously the main source of contempt he carried she imagined. They weren’t that bad, she thought. They definitely needed to be better taken care of. Bites from wolves and his proximity to Bliss probably didn’t help with the healing. It also wouldn’t surprise her if he absentmindedly irritated them a lot.

           When she glanced back up at him he was watching her. She gulped.

           “Pretty damn ugly, huh?” He mumbled.

           Rook shook her head.

           “Nah.” She moved to put her hand on his arm but stopped herself.

           He nodded his head and if she hadn’t been looking she probably would have missed it. Gently, she placed her hand on a part of his arm that didn’t look like it would be painful to touch. She heard him take in a deep breath. She could only imagine how touch-starved this man was. Rook knew this opportunity would never come again any time soon, if at all, and so with her other hand she slowly reached up to his face.

           ‘If he stabs me,’ she thought, ‘it’ll be worth it I suppose.’

           She watched his reaction as her hand made contact with his bearded cheek. She felt the muscle of his forearm twitch under her palm.

           “They aren’t bad, and they aren’t ugly.” She whispered.

           Jacob scoffed but his gaze was soft. She was looking him in the eyes so he knew she was serious.

           “And I’ll keep reminding you until you believe me.”

~~~

           It had been months since that night and Rook was surprised that Jacob had remembered it. He had never mentioned it after that incident.

           “Cat, darlin’, you gotta stop being so hard on yourself. It’s gonna take time.” He glanced down at his arms. “When I first got these I knew that I’d never get over them and that it would most likely ruin any chances I’d have with anyone so I refused to give myself the benefit of the doubt.” He chuckled to himself. “So you can imagine my surprise when years later some girl I’m keeping in a cage, not being a gentleman toward whatsoever, tells me that this part of myself isn’t ugly.”

           He looked over at her.

           “If I’m not allowed to be hard on myself about my scars, then you aren’t either.” Jacob ran a hand down his face. “I’m not exactly…the best at comforting people, but I hope you get what I’m trying to get at here.”

           She shrugged her shoulders.

           “It’s only been a day since you’ve been out of that mess. I’m not saying you aren’t allowed to be upset at what happened, but just know that…that you’ve got someone who’s been dealing with something similar for a lot longer.”

           Rook sighed. She knew what he was saying was true. He’d been dealing with the anger over his scars for years, she’d only just gotten hers and they would most likely heal over nicely. Any anger she felt towards her scars was now directed towards herself for being selfish. She shook her head, puffing her cheeks in frustration. Jacob simply breathed a laugh through his nose.

           “Alright, come on. John’s got breakfast going.” Jacob stood up. “Though, don’t say I didn’t warn you about his cooking.”

           Rook looked up at him and stood to follow, grabbing the clothes she picked out. When they got in the hall she pointed towards the bathroom and made a motion to let him know she was going to shower. He nodded and headed downstairs. Rook watched him as she walked into the bathroom, leaning back against the door when it closed.

           ‘That man makes it too easy to fall for him.’

[ficdirectory]

Somewhere Inside (Disuphere series #4) Chapter 16

(To listen, click here) - 13:25

It’s early when Pearl clips on Cleo’s leash and quietly leaves the cabin.  Her sleep had been restless at best.  She’s looking forward to talking to Jesus while they walk the dogs together.

She checks the door a final time, ensuring it’s locked, knowing Levi doesn’t have to work until this afternoon, and he’s still asleep inside.

--

A harsh knocking jerks Levi from sleep.  He checks the time.  9:30 AM.  Really?  Nobody comes out here, and Pearl has  a key.  He pulls the pillow over his head and tries to drown them out.  If it’s important, they’ll come back.

But this person is relentless.  And it’s pointless to try and get back to sleep now.  Now, Levi’s up.  And not happy.  Cleo’s not even around to lift his mood.

Maybe Pearl took her out and forgot her key?

Levi’s still blurry-eyed as he pulls the door open.  

His entire world stops.

She’s got glasses now.  Her brown hair’s dyed blonde.  She’s still short. But tan now. She’s skinnier.  More muscular.  Back then, she was pale and soft.  No makeup.  Like they caught her unaware.  Now, even her nails are done.  Long. Dark pink.  She clutches her keys in her hands like a weapon.  Like he’s seen Pearl do sometimes.  She looks so normal in jeans and a windbreaker.

Not at all like the person who...

He remembers the bathroom. Her impatience as she pulled his muddy jeans off.  His boxers that were equally filthy. How she jerked him out from behind the closet door where he tried to go to cover himself, embarrassed.  The rough cloth she used to scrub him from waist to feet. He remembers the pain as she scrubs and touches where no one’s hands but his are supposed to go.

How he screamed, “Stop!  No!”  But she’d just looked at him like she hated him.  Like she was so disgusted by him.  So mad.   How she took his jeans and boxers away to wash.  How she gave him a huge robe of hers to wear while she washed his clothes.  How he sat in the bathroom, feeling numb.  Feeling gross and dead.  For a long time until she came back with his boxers and jeans.  He remembers how she threw them at him.  How the denim stung his face as she said, “Get dressed.”

How, when Dad came back, she acted like nothing happened. Like it was funny how he went outside and played in a mud puddle, when really, she’d been livid.

How from then on, whenever Dad said he was going to try and see Pearl, Levi never went.  He wanted to meet his sister.  But he was scared of her mom.

All this flashes through Levi’s head in less than a second.  Because this is the first time she’s been this close to him since…

“Uh, hey…” He has to force the words out.

“Is Pearl here?” she asks, impatient.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Carla asks, short.

“She’s not here,” Levi maintains.  He’s not about to ask her to look around for herself, or invite her in to wait.  “I’m not sure when she’ll be back.  It might be a while.”

“Well, where is she?  It’s not like she ever leaves this place.”  Arms crossed.

This time, Levi does use the door as a barrier, only poking his head around.  “I don’t know,” he tells her honestly.  

“Well, she’s always here.  And she called me.  She invited me.  Seems pretty rude to invite someone and then not even be home when they show up…”

Levi has no idea what to say.  “Yeah...I don’t know…”  he manages.

“She wants to talk about Paris.  Any idea why?”

“N-no,” Levi stutters.

“Right,”  She’s skeptical.  Doubtful.  Hateful.  Just like she was then.  “Well, I’ll come back.”

Just like that, Carla turns on her heel and walks back to her vehicle.  A small black car parked in front.  Levi waits at the door until she pulls out and rounds a corner.  He keeps watching, just in case she doubles back.  

Finally, he thaws out, and can move.  Closes the door.  Then opens it.  Darts outside, and next door, hoping someone’s up.  Hoping the door’s open.  He taps on the sliding glass door, seeing Mariana on the other side.

She smiles.  Pulls it open.  “Hey.  Want breakfast?”

“No.  I mean…  No.”  He’s breathless.  His brain’s going a million miles an hour.  He can’t even think about what he needs.  Doesn’t even know.  

“Okay…” she ventures.  “Need to sit?”

“Okay,” he nods, glancing out the door.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I gotta go to work…” he manages.

She makes a face.  “I thought you didn’t have to go ‘til this afternoon.”

“Yeah.  I just…” Levi trails off, losing his train of thought.  He’s vaguely aware of Mariana sitting down at the table with him.  Vaguely aware that he’s here in pajamas.  Sweats.  Barefoot.  And probably dirty.

--

“So, things are getting kinda hard?” Jesus asks as they walk through the woods together.  

“Getting hard? They’ve been hard.  I can’t wait til this weekend’s over, so I can actually start recouping my sleep.”

“I hate that we leave Monday…” Jesus makes a sad face.

“I know.  But I am glad you’ll be there at least for the weekend. I’ll try not to be such a mess.”

“You can be whatever,” he says gently.  “I know how it is.  Just makes it harder if you feel like you have to make yourself more manageable for other people.”

Pearl shivers.  “I hate the woods this time of year.  But Cleo loves them.  She’d live out here if she could…”

“I’m here,” Jesus offers.  “If you ever need me to walk both of them...like at night or whatever, just let me know.”

“You hate going out at night,” Pearl points out.

“Yeah, but now that I have Dudley, it’s not so bad.”

--

Dominique’s just finishing up in the bathroom when she hears a knock.  

“Yeah?”

She cracks the door.  Mariana’s there.

“Um...Levi’s here.  Something’s up, I think…  Pearl and Jesus aren’t back yet.”

Dominique decides to forego lipstick.  The days she wants to be herself and dress up a little are rare, but she also knows to take Mariana’s word on things like this.

She shuts the light and comes out, glad that Francesca seems content to sleep all morning long.

“Levi?  What’s up?” she asks, coming to sit down.

He’s pale.  His hair’s every which way on his head.  And only dressed in a wrinkled tee shirt and sweats.  He’s tracked grass and dirt inside, because he came without shoes or socks.  For a kid she’s only ever seen dressed in a work uniform or a button-down and good pants, always with his hair gelled?  Well, this is a shift.  And it’s concerning.

“Don’t worry about me,” he smiles the biggest fear smile Dominique has ever seen.  It distracts from the shadows in his eyes, but it doesn’t cover them.

“You wanna go to the dock?” she wonders quietly, but this sends his gaze to the window scanning.

“No, it’s fine.  I should go.  I have work.”

“At 3:00, right? You’ve got six hours.  We can talk in the meantime.”

Levi traces the wood grain on the table with his finger.  Then, he springs up.  “I’m sorry.  I got this.  Don’t worry,” he says.

Dominique doesn’t know what in the hell he’s doing until she finds him with a spare dish cloth, wiping down his feet, and then the floor.

She doesn’t know what to do, so she lets him go to it.  Watches from across the kitchen as he wipes up every place his feet touched.

“Where do you want this?  You know what?  I can wash it,” he says.  He’s smiling hard the whole time.  There are tears in his eyes.

Dominique wonders if he knows that he looks like he’s dying inside.  Like he’s in some kind of agony.  She reaches out a hand for the cloth, and he steps back.  Wary now.  The smile’s fallen off his face.

“Can I take it, and toss it in the sink here?” she asks.

Deliberately, Levi walks over and rinses the cloth several times.  Wrings it out. Sets it meticulously folded over the divider in the sink.

She watches him wash his hands. Dry them, and then straighten the hand towel back out.

Dominique’s never seen Jesus in a cleaning-panic, but she feels like it might look a little like this.  She walks over, stands in front of him.  Takes an annoyingly intentional deep breath.  Lets it out slowly, nodding.  Until he’s drawing a breath, too.  Letting it out, too.

“You wanna go somewhere?  Talk?”

He looks so lost.  But when his gaze travels above their heads, Dominique thinks about how smart he is.  This cabin has an entire second floor nobody uses because the stairs are a nightmare for Francesca and Mariana.

Dominique nods.  Leads the way upstairs, glad Levi didn’t go first and have her follow.

Once they’re upstairs, Levi scopes out the rooms.  Ends up in the chair on the small landing area, overlooking the kitchen.  Dominique takes the footstool.  Just waits.

Levi’s bent almost double. Fingers interlaced at the back of his head.  His arms wrapped around, blocking the sides of his face from view.

“You can’t say anything,” he whispers.  “Please don’t.  You can’t tell Pearl.”

“I won’t.” Dominique swears, keeping her voice low, too.  Aware of Francesca sleeping below them.  Aware that voices carry.  “This stays between us, Levi.  Alright?”

He nods at his lap.  But he can’t seem to speak.

Dominique just waits.  She’s not sure what else she can do.

--

“I saw her,” Levi breathes, just a whisper.

“Who?” Dominique asks, leaning in, to keep his confidence.

“Her.  I saw--  Her, okay?”  Levi can’t say her name.  Can’t say he saw Pearl’s mom who assaulted him when he was just a kid.  For tracking mud in the house.  For being disgusting.

“Okay,” Dominique nods.  She’s so patient.  So opposite of Carla.  “You saw somebody who scares you?”

Levi nods again.  He’s sure it looks ridiculous.  Him cowering like this.  But he can’t not.  He can’t look up.

“Did they hurt you?” Dominique wonders.

Nod.  “When I was little,” he whispers.  “Like...privately.”

“What do you mean, privately?” Dominique asks.

“Privately on my body…” he ventures.  Levi feels like he might throw up.

“Okay.  I believe you.  I do.  Do you know the person?”

“You said you wouldn’t tell,” Levi reminds, desperate.

“Levi, I won’t tell.  I promise you that.  I know promises can feel flimsy, but it’s what I got.  My word.”

Dominique sounds sure and calm.

“It’s Pearl’s mom…” he gasps.

--

Dominique rocks back a little as Levi chokes and covers his mouth.  She’s worried he’ll be sick until she sees the tears start falling down his face.  He’s completely silent.  Just the occasional sniff gives any clue at all that not all is right on the balcony.

She can’t have him thinking that she’s repulsed by him.  She’s not.  It takes a lot to shock Dominique Williams - but - let’s be real - she had not been expecting this.

In fits and starts, Dominique manages to get the story from Levi. Pearl’s mom stopping by unexpectedly.  Saying Pearl invited her.  His attempts to duck her every time he’s at work, or goes into town.  

His choice to live with Pearl when he learned she and her mother were not in touch.

It seemed to Levi - reasonably - the one place here he might be safe.

She doesn’t try to touch him.  Remembers the way he stepped back when she came toward him.  The last thing she wants to do is scare him.

Dominique’s been through hell, but she doesn’t know the first thing to tell someone who was assaulted by his own sister’s mother.

“You can stay here.  And I’ll stay with you,” she starts rattling off.  When in doubt, it’s always best to stick with as many truths as she can tell him.  “Nobody’s gonna hurt you here.”

“I messed up the floor…” he whispers.

“Is that what happened then?” Dominique wonders, piecing things together slowly.  She remembers their recent conversation.  His hurt over Pearl misunderstanding his need to Swiffer up the muddy footprints she and Mariana left in the middle of the night.

Levi nods.

“I’m not mad about that.  No one is.  Mariana’s concerned for you. Francesca’s sleeping.  But no one’s mad.  We’re not gonna hurt you.  I’m so sorry she did.”

“I never told anybody…” Levi manages, letting out a shaky breath, and glancing up.  His eyes are red.  “I never planned to.”

“I understand,” Dominique says simply.

“I don’t…” Levi shakes his head, breaking down again, and ducking his head between his arms.  “I don’t understand this…”

Dominique stays, stoic.  She sits with him.  Because it’s right.  Because he needs someone.

--

Pearl breathes deep, feeling refreshed and heard.  Feeling good, finally.  But she slows down and squints as her cabin comes into view.  “Why is my...door open?” she ventures, wary.

Behind the storm door, the main door stands wide open.  And Pearl was used to not locking it, but she’s not that bold.  

A sick feeling settles in the pit of her stomach. She shoves Cleo’s leash in Jesus’s hand, and rushes inside.

“Levi,” she calls.

But he’s nowhere.

[buffyisms]

❝ Oh, I'm not really into porn... I mean I'm just... I'm trying to cut way back.❞

❝ When you look back at this, in the three seconds it'll take you to turn to dust, I think you'll find the mistake was touching my stuff ❞

❝ Uhm, this is much better. There is no problem that can not be solved with chocolate." ❞

❝ I don't think the forces of darkness are even trying. ❞

❝ Yeah. I ran away and went to hell and then got through it. I'm kind of hoping she doesn't use me as a model.  ❞

❝ I like my evil like I like my men - evil. You know, 'straight up, black hat, tied to the train tracks, soon my electro-ray will destroy metropolis' bad. ❞

❝ Can a nice, safe relationship be that intense? I know it's nuts, but... part of me believes that real love and passion have to go hand in hand with pain and fighting. ❞

❝ Fortune favors the brave ❞

❝ I thought a professional demon chaser like yourself would have figured it out by now. ❞

❝ I'm the Slayer. Slay-er? - Chosen One. She who hangs out a lot in cemeteries? ❞

❝ You're kidding. Ask around. Look it up: Slayer comma the. ❞

❝ Of course, you could smash in all my toes with a hammer and it will still be the bestest Birthday Bash in a big long while." ❞

❝ Don't worry I've patrolled in this halter many times ❞

❝ If you think that's enough to kill me, you really don't know what a Slayer is. Trust me when I say you're gonna find out. ❞

❝ That probably would have sounded more commanding if I wasn't wearing my yummy sushi pajamas.❞

❝ Yeah, well love isn't logical. It's not like you can be Mister Joe Sensible about it all the time. ❞

❝ No matter what, somebody's gonna get hurt. And the important thing is, you just have to be honest, or it's gonna be a lot worse ❞

❝ Are you quite finished? It's over, okay? I'm going to ignore you, and you're going to go away. ❞

❝ Also, in terms of hair care, you really wanna say, what kind of impression am I making in the workplace? ❞

❝I need to know more. About where I come from ❞

❝Maybe if I could learn to control this thing, I could be stronger, I could be better. But... I'm scared. ❞

❝ I know it's gonna be hard. And I can't do it... without you. I need your help. ❞

❝ I need you to be my Watcher again. ❞

❝ Thank you, logic boy. Did I mention this is a rant? Sense really has no place in it. ❞

❝ Oh, right. Yeah. Darn. My fellow ravers will be so disappointed. It was my turn to bring the Bundt cake.❞

❝ Your definition of narrow is impressively wide. ❞

❝ I realize that every Slayer comes with an expiration mark on the package. But I want mine to be a long time from now. Like a Cheeto. ❞

❝ Don't talk about the books again. You get all... and sometimes there's drool. ❞

❝ Power. I have it. They don't. This bothers them. ❞

❝ So here's how it's gonna work. You're gonna tell me everything you know. Then you're gonna go away. ❞

❝ It doesn't matter where you came from, or, or how you got here. ❞

❝ You are my sister. There's no way you could annoy me so much if you weren't. ❞

❝ I don't know about you, but I've had it with super-strong little women who aren't me. ❞

❝ I don't need a guy right now. I need me. I need to get comfortable being alone with me.❞

❝ . I'm starting to feel like... being the Slayer is turning me into stone. ❞

❝ I know this ritual! The ancient shamans were next called upon to do the hokey-pokey and turn themselves around ❞

❝ Okay, no. Death is not a gift. ❞

❝ If I have to kill demons because it makes the world a better place, then I kill demons, but it's not a gift to anybody. ❞

❝ What you did, for me... that was real. I won't forget it. ❞

❝ I'm the Slayer. The chosen one. All mythic and defender-y. ❞

❝ Evil nasties are supposed to flee from me. Not the other way around. ❞

❝ I don't understand. I don't know how to live in this world if these are the choices. ❞

❝ I love you. I will always love you. But this is the work that I have to do. ❞

❝ The hardest thing in this world... is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me. ❞

❝ I think I was in heaven. And now I'm not. I was torn out of there. ❞

❝ Everything here is hard, and bright, and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch, this is Hell. ❞

❝ Now, about my loan. I'm not saying I'm charging you for saving your life or anything, but... let's talk rates. ❞

❝ Is that why you're always cleaning your glasses? So you don't have to see what we're doing? ❞

❝ What can't we face if we're together? ❞

❝ Well, I'm not exactly quaking in my stylish yet affordable boots, but there's definitely something unnatural going on here. And that doesn't usually lead to hugs and puppies ❞

❝ Why can't I feel? ❞

❝ A vampire with a soul? Oh my god, how lame is that? ❞

❝ I am the ghost of fashion victims past. Studded caps? Not a good idea. ❞

❝ I'm not saying that I'm doing back-flips about my life, but I didn't, I don't wanna die. That's something, right? ❞

❝ Yeah, I think the New Kids On The Block posters are starting to date me ❞

❝ You always hurt the one you love. ❞

❝ We do not joke about eating people in this house! ❞

❝ The most important job that I have is looking out for you. ❞

❝ I'm using you. I can't love you. I'm just being weak, and selfish and it's killing me. I have to be strong about this. ❞

❝ I'd say you look like you're ready to get married. ❞

❝ That's because the dress is radioactive. ❞

❝ I have feelings for you. I do. But it's not love. I could never trust you enough for it to be love. ❞

❝ But we don't kill humans. It's not the way ❞

❝ We can't control the universe. ❞

❝ When I clawed my way out of that grave, I left something behind. A part of me. ❞

❝ Things have really sucked lately. That's all going to change and I want to be there when it does ❞

�� I want to see you grow up, the woman you're going to become. Because she's going to be beautiful and she's going to be powerful. ❞

❝ I don't want to protect you from the world. I want to show it to you. There's so much that I want to show you. ❞

❝ Peachy with a side of keen, that would be me. ❞

❝ It's not enough. I need to fix this. I don't usually get a heads up before somebody dies.❞

❝ So what then? What do you do when you know that? When you know that maybe you can't help? ❞

❝ It is always different! It's always complicated. And at some point, someone has to draw the line, and that is always going to be me. ❞

❝ You get down on me for cutting myself off, but in the end the slayer is always cut off. ❞

❝ There's no mystical guidebook. No all-knowing council. Human rules don't apply. ❞

❝ There's only me. I am the law. ❞

❝ It's not coddling. Now go to your closet. ❞

❝ Anna Nicole Smith thinks you look tacky. ❞

❝ OK, you know, this is beyond evil. This is insane troll logic. ❞

❝ If you knew what I've done, what I've let myself become. ❞

❝ "I feel like I'm worse than anyone. ❞

❝ Look, there's something evil working us, and if we are ever gonna have a chance to fight it, we need to learn everything we can about it. ❞

❝ "I don't have a choice. Whatever this thing is, from beneath us, it's bad, and it's only getting worse. ❞

❝ No. I don't hate like that. Not you, or myself. Not anymore. ❞

❝ You think you have insight now because your soul's drenched in blood? You don't know me. You don't even know you. ❞

❝ You know, I didn't even realize it was December. Maybe when we get home, we should decorate the rubble ❞

❝ I'm beyond tired. I'm beyond scared. ❞

❝ I'm standing on the mouth of hell, and it is gonna swallow me whole. And it'll choke on me. ❞

❝ They think we're gonna wait for the end to come, like we always do. I'm done waiting. ❞

❝ They want an apocalypse? Oh, we'll give 'em one. ❞

❝ From now on, we won't just face our worst fears, we will seek them out. We will find them, and cut out their hearts one by one.❞

❝ There is only one thing on this earth more powerful than evil, and that's us. ❞

❝ Welcome to the hellmouth. ❞

❝ But I don't believe in that. I always find a way. ❞

❝ 'm the thing that monsters have nightmares about. ❞

❝ don't know what's coming next, but I do know it's gonna be just like this. Hard. Painful.❞

❝ Death is what a slayer breathes, what a slayer dreams about when she sleeps. Death is what a slayer lives. ❞

❝ My death could make you the next slayer. ❞

❝ The odds are against us. Time is against us. And some of us will die in this battle. ❞

❝ Most people in this world have no idea why they're here or what they want to do. You do. ❞

❝ You think I'm losing sight of the big picture, but I'm not. ❞

❝ You can't beat evil by doing evil. I know that. ❞

❝ The hellmouth has begun its semi-annual percolation. Usually, it blows around May. ❞

❝ They're not all gonna make it. Some will die, and nothing I can do will stop that. ❞

❝ I'm the slayer. The one with the power ❞

❝ I've been carrying you, all of you, too far, too long. Ride's over. ❞

❝ I don't like having to give a bunch of speeches about how we're all gonna live, because we won't. ❞

❝ This isn't some story where good triumphs because good triumphs. Good people are going to die! ❞

❝ Hello! All I do is look at the big picture. The other day, I gave an inspirational speech to the telephone repair man. ❞

❝ "I have a mission to win this war, to save the world. I don't have time for vendettas. The mission is what matters. ❞

❝ "I'm tired of talking. I'm tired of training. ❞

❝ For 7 years, I've kept us safe by doing this, exactly this, making the hard decisions. ❞

❝ And now, what, suddenly you're all acting like you can't trust me? ❞

❝ Don't... be afraid to lead them. ❞

❝ Whether you wanted it or not, their lives are yours. ❞

❝ It's only gonna get harder. Protect them, but lead them. ❞

❝ I cut myself off from them, all of them. I knew I was going to lose some of them.❞

❝ I've always cut myself off, I've always — being the Slayer made me different but it's my fault I stayed that way. ❞

❝ People are always trying to connect to me but I just slip away. ❞

❝ "People die. You lead them into battle, they're going to die. It doesn't matter how ready you are or how smart you are. War is about death. Needless, stupid death. ❞

❝ I'm cookie dough. I'm not done baking. I'm not finished becoming whoever the hell it is I'm gonna turn out to be.  ❞

❝ "I hate this. I hate being here. I hate that you have to be here.  ❞

❝ I hate that there's evil, and that I was chosen to fight it. ❞

❝ But this isn't about wishes. This is about choices. ❞

❝ I'm going down into the hellmouth, and I'm finishing this once and for all. ❞

❝ So here's the part where you make a choice ❞

❝ So I say we change the rule. I say my power should be our power. ❞

❝ Make your choice. Are you ready to be strong? ❞ 

[asktroisiemephantom]

Until Sunrise - April 29th, 2017

In her dreams, sometimes it was herself saying it. Other times, it was Premier or Deuxième or her own mother. And if it were a particularly bad night? The words came from Madam.

She did not deserve to be paired up with you.

On this night, it was her own voice spitting it, and she woke up with a jolt. The words didn’t hurt when she heard it in her own voice; she was already used to fighting with herself. Nothing quite sinks in when she tells herself anything.

Troisième found that her legs had become twisted in her sheets. A product of restless moving during her nightmare. Being bundled close plus extra friction from the moving caused her skin to burn. It was like she was being cooked in her own bed.

The phantom untangled herself from her sheets and pulled her sweaty hair from her face. She hated having long-ish hair, but she had shorter hair when she was younger and still with her family. She wasn’t that person anymore. It was easier to look in the mirror and never have to remember ever being that person. Being physically uncomfortable was worth the protection mentally.

Casting her eyes towards the roomy bird cage in the corner of her chambers, she remembered that Hades was chilling with the other ravens in the aviary. Her raven couldn’t be kept from his social circle for too long or he’d go bonkers and start driving her batty as well.

The realization that she was alone let her mind wander. She was wide awake and probably not going to be able to fall asleep any time soon. Her bedside clock read 4:12 AM.

Focusing on her breathing, she slowly leaned back until her head touched the headboard of her bed. She exhaled with her eyes closed and saw her dream melt away. As therapeutic as it was, she still wasn’t going to fall asleep.

She peeked her eyes open, and the vague shadowy shapes surrounding her sharpened and began to actually look like her bedroom. No longer being under the sheets didn’t make her feel any less hot, and sweat still clung to her skin.

Hades was away, she was alone and wide awake. She leaned her back into her pillow and shimmied her shoulders in some vague attempt to wipe off the annoying sweat - it only succeeded in making her heart race. Though her mind was awake, it was like her body was still trying to resist moving.

Now her clock read 4:15. She sighed. Frustration, boredom, loneliness, sleeplessness - Hell, some deadly combination of all four had attacked her all at once. But she sat there with a deep scowl on her face, crossing her arms across her chest like a pouting child. If only she could just sleep and not have to deal with this.

Trois had an idea and the thought made her raise an eyebrow though her eyes remained closed. She uncrossed her arms, and shifted her legs, incidentally causing her to slide down further onto her bed.

One of her hands cautiously crept across her stomach and pulled the hem of her pyjama shirt up just a fraction of an inch. Her fingertips traced her skin at the same pace that her bedside clock made its faint ticking noise. Upon reaching the edge of her underwear she guided her fingers beneath the cloth and into the patch of hair there, but she lost her nerve.

Who was she kidding? She wasn't in the mood.

Troisieme flipped over and shoved her face into her pillow, letting out a long groan of frustration. She couldn’t stay stagnant any longer.

Lifting herself off of her sheets she crawled to the edge of her bed and sat with her hair tangled in front of her face. Her tile floor was cold against the bottoms of her bare feet, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms. She wasn’t too keen on the idea of uncovering her face and exposing it to the cool air conditioning, but she couldn’t see worth a shit.

Looking at the clock wasn’t an option anymore. Seeing how early it was would only be a disgusting reminder of how bored she was. It was that dead hour in the morning where the phantoms that go to bed at a reasonable time were still in their last hours of sleep, and those who stay up partying or working were finally knocked out. Only the insomniacs like her would be wandering half asleep through the halls of La Dame Rouge like ghosts in a fog.

Trois jolted up and pushed her hair out of her face. She sifted through her closet, looking for anything comfortable, luckily finding loose pants and a cloak to keep her arms warm.

The bedroom door closed behind her before she realized she was moving. It was no surprise that the phantoms’ quarters were deadly quiet; each of her footsteps sounded much too loud against the silence, despite her still remaining barefoot.

She ended up in the elevator without a real destination. The lighted buttons on the panel weren’t giving her any inspiration, but she jammed her finger on the one indicating the aviary. Familiar place, familiar friends, and what better thing to do than to keep yourself busy with work?

She slumped against the elevator wall with her eyes closed as she ascended. The movement forcing her downwards reminded her of how tired she was, but the ding of the elevator reaching the top of the tower made her eyes snap open.

Even the aviary was oddly quiet, she noticed as she trudged to the cage.

Err, well it was quiet, until the phantom stepped inside and a familiar squawk broke out, with excitement.

Hades swooped down, cawing as he went, to land onto Troisième’s shoulder. She saw some of the other ravens shoot them an annoyed look as Hades interrupted their nice quiet time. Sending them an apologetic look, she went to sit down.

Her raven wouldn’t shut up and she took him off of her shoulder to question him or at least shush him. He squirmed in her hands, but at least he cut out the croaking. “What is it, love?”

He tapped his beak against the inside of Trois’ wrist, but she really wasn’t getting it. Whatever he was trying to convey, it was either too complicated to express without words, or Trois was much too out of it to figure it out. He hopped out of her hands in favor of tapping his talons on the ground by her thigh and rubbing his head where a pants pocket might be if she were wearing jeans.

“I am wearing pajama pants, you loon. Cannot carry anything if I do not have pockets. Including my phone. Do you not know what time of day it is?”

Hades shot her a glare and huffed. His look said it all. If you’re ready for your day enough to be here of all places while it’s still dark out, then why aren’t you prepared?

“Do not mock me, Hades. I have already had a rough day, and the time only further accentuates my point.” Troisième rubbed at her temples.

Her raven flew up amongst his feathered companions, and Trois felt a stinging sadness that she’d pushed away one of her few friends with her crassness. She went to apologize before being stopped by him swooping back down again, this time with Sixième’s raven, Otto, by his side.

Otto sounded a bit sleepy and withdrawn (no doubt because of suddenly getting roped into doing something) when he muttered, “Buon Compleanno.”

Trois could’ve facepalmed right then and there, if she didn’t think it would hurt Hades’ feelings.

She looked at Otto with gratitude but shook her head. Turning towards Hades, she said, “Out of all the others here to ‘translate’ for you, you chose the one who has an affinity for speaking Italian? I have no idea what he said.”

Hades looked back at her, then back at Otto and realized his mistake. Sixi’s raven flew away, realizing that he may not be needed. (Though it wasn’t like the cheeky bastard didn’t know how to speak English, so he still could’ve translated.) With a look of disappointment, he looked back at Trois and opened his beak, but nothing came out. Seeing the excitement he’d held earlier when she’d first arrived dissipate was hurtful.

She held out her hand, hoping he’d still be in the mood to sleep all ploof-ed out like normal, when some of the other ravens started croaking. First it was quiet and unintelligible, but then it got louder and a bit more clear. Though many of them spoke at different times the message was the same: Happy Birthday.

It dawned on her like a freight train. And she was the one standing on the tracks.

April 29th.

The Third Phantom was 31 years old now.

The irony that she woke up from a nightmare on the day almost made her laugh, but instead she was more in shock than anything. Thirty-one years old and she still felt like the same twenty year old who ran away from everything she’d known. Despite everything changing, she still felt the same as always.

By the time she’d snapped out of her thoughts, the other ravens had gone silent. Hades looked up at her cautiously.

She smiled, although the day was never much one she celebrated. “Thank you, buddy.” She looked up at the various tree branches that stretched above the aviary and said a quick thanks to the other ravens who spoke up as well.

Hades floofed out his feathers, happy to have finally gotten his message across. Trois liked the sight of him cheering up, so she took off her cloak and balled it up, creating a raven-sized makeshift bed. She found a clean enough section of ground and laid down on her side, pulling the cloak close to her. Her raven quickly hopped into the bed and scrunched down, content.

Although her birthday meant both so little and so much to her at the same time, it was nice to just lie there close to Hades and listen to the occasional clicks of the other birds. She set her head on her arm and looked down at Hades, who already seemed to be in comfortable bliss. Maybe it wasn’t so hard to sleep after all.

Of course, she may have to explain herself in case someone walks in before she wakes, but that was an uncomfortable conversation she’d be willing to endure if that meant getting some shut-eye. Even if it’s only until sunrise.

[scars-ink-and-leather-blog]

✩ (shit i'm tempted to ask for bas and tia.. but you choose)

@fangs-and-lace for Bas and Tia || for this meme I completely forgot about but still am accepting

Send ‘✩’ for the following:

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Tia. All the way. She gets loud. Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Neither. They are both people that if they say they’re leaving, they are gonna leave.Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Bas, mostly because he knows that it is the best way to let Tia cool of. It is never a leave forever. It is a leave the argument. Who trashes the house? Neither.Do either of them get physical? Hell No. How often do they argue/disagree? Not very. They both had rocky relationships before and so they try to talk things out. Plus, too damn old for this shit. Who is the first to apologize? Both. Usually whoever was in the wrong apologizes or if they both were, it’s a mutual thing.

Sex:

Who is on top? TiaWho is on the bottom? BasWho has the strangest desires? Bas, probablyAny kinks?Like a hard kink? Not particularly. Tia likes having her hair pulled. Bas likes to cross dress.  Who’s dominant in bed?Switches. Usually Tia, though, if i had to pickIs head ever in the equation?Always.If so, who is better at performing it?Tia.Ever had sex in public?I mean, yes and no? They happen to go at it quite a bit in Tia’s office at the restaurant Who moans the most?TiaWho leaves the most marks?TiaWho screams the loudest?TiaWho is the more experienced of the two?…. Tia. Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?Make love. Rough or soft?Depends. Usually it is that good middle ground. How long do they usually last?huh… I would say the average is about 10 to 15 minutes to orgasm if there is only minor foreplay. Is protection used?hah, no. Does it ever get boring?Nope. I mean realistically, they are older, so their libidos aren’t raging. But they certainly keep the spark alive and wellWhere is the strangest place they’d have sex?Likely the kitchen table. Which has a wonderful view of the street and the other beautiful houses in the Garden District. 

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children?They both already have kids. They go into the relationship with 7 kids they raised, and 9 if Tia includes some of her baby daddy’s kids she watches over. If so, how many children do your muses want/have?Again, like 9 kids. But they do have one together- Gemma.Who is the favorite parent?Bas, honestly. Who is the authoritative parent?Tia, which is why Bas is the favoriteWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school?BasWho lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around?BasWho turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children?BothWho goes to parent teacher interviews?Both… But Tia does most of the talking because Bas is intimidating. Who changes the diapers?BothWho gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby?BothWho spends the most time with the children?BothWho packs their lunch boxes?TiaWho gives their children ‘the talk’?TiaWho cleans up after the kids?BothWho worries the most?Tia, she worries about everything and Bas usually has to reel her in. Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?Bas, because Tia would be the type to say ‘fudge’ and ‘shoot’ where he just… is not gonna bother. 

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?BothWho is the little spoon?BasWho gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?TiaWho struggles to keep their hands to themselves?  … TiaHow long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?Quite awhile but Bas likely needs to move because his joints. Who gives the most kisses?TiaWhat is their favorite non-sexual activity?Sitting together and just enjoying the fact they’re alive and happy. Likely sit on their front porch and watch everything go by and talk idly about whatever comes to mindWhere is their favorite place to cuddle?Bed.Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Both. Tia is handsy and loves to fluster Bas. Bas just loves to make it clear that Tia is his gal. How often do they get time to themselves?A lot before Gemma. Then it is a little less but they still enjoy it. 

Sleeping:

Who snores?Bas. Oh god, does he snore.Do they share a bed or sleep separately?Share. They’re old but they are not that old. If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?They are always touching but they aren’t on top of each other. Who talks in their sleep?TiaWhat do they wear to bed?Tia usually wears a nice nightgown that isn’t too heavy because New Orleans humidity. Bas likely has nice pajama sets that he may or may not wear the tops to depending on the weather.Are either of your muses insomniacs?NoCan sleeping pills be found by the bedside?NopeDo they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?Side by side. Who wakes up with bed hair?Bas. Tia’s is always wrapped before she goes to bed.Who wakes up first?TiaWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other?TiaWhat is their favorite sleeping position?They often end up facing each other, hands touching and knees brushing against each otherWho hogs the sheets?TiaDo they set an alarm each night?Nope. Both just have an internal clockCan a television be found in their bedroom?NopeWho has nightmares?Bas is the more likely of the twoWho has ridiculous dreams?Tia. Mostly about new dishes to makeWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Bas. Mainly because Tia curls into a little ball. Who makes the bed? BothWhat time is bed time? Usually no later then 10, unless a special occasion just because they both get up relatively early. Any routines/rituals before bed?Bas removes Tia’s make up and helps her wrap her hair before they head off to bed. Just a little moment of affection and care. Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?Bas

Work:

Who is the busiest?TiaWho rakes in the highest income?… I mean Bas probably does and did.Are any of your muses unemployed?Technically, Bas is “retired”Who takes the most sick days?Neither. They could have the plague and still try to workWho is more likely to turn up late to work?NeitherWho sucks up to their boss?They are their own bosses.What are their jobs?Tia owns a restaurant and is the head chef there. Bas is a retired Mafia boss soo…Who stresses the most?Both stress quite a bit when it comes to work. Or did stress in some cases.Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?Tia loves her job. I think Bas saw the good and bad of his. Are your muses financially stable? Yes. Very.

Home:

Who does the washing?BothWho takes out the trash?BasWho does the ironing?Tia just because she is super particular. Who does the cooking?Tia. God she won’t let someone just go into her kitchen. Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?Bas? I am not sure he even knows how to cookWho is messier? Neither. Both likely are so in the routine of keeping things a certain way that the house is never messy. It doesn’t look like no one lives there, but it is always neat. Who leaves the toilet roll empty?Neither. It is a shared pet peeveWho leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?NeitherWho forgets to flush the toilet?NeitherWho is the prankster around the house?TiaWho loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?BasWho mows the lawn?Bas(’s gardener that he hired when Ayla wasn’t there to do it anymore)Who answers the telephone?TiaWho does the vacuuming?BothWho does the groceries?Both. They go together and Bas is always the one that tries to sneak junk food into the basketWho takes the longest to shower?Tia, mainly because she likes to just stand in the hot water and relax.Who spends the most time in the bathroom?Tia. 

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem?Haha no.How many cars do they own?2, though Bas rarely actually drives hisDo they own their home or do they rent?Own.Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside?I would say coast? I mean they live within New OrleansDo they live in the city or in the country? CityDo they enjoy their surroundings?YesWhat’s their song?Cheek to Cheek- Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong What do they do when they’re away from each other?Both do fairly well apart. They certainly have enough to do, and usually are away for business. So work.Where did they first meet?… At Tia’s house.How did they first meet?They were having a dinner where Ana was meeting Tia and Isa was meeting Bas.Who spends the most money when out shopping?Technically, it is Bas because he buys it, but it is all things for Tia.Who’s more likely to flash their assets?Bas. Comes with the whole mobster mentalityWho finds it amusing when the other trips over?… Tia. She is usually in heels and it amuses her so much that her beau isn’t and still trips more then her.Any mental issues?I mean, Bas may have a slight form of PTSD and Tia has minor anxiety but it isn’t a huge hurdle for them.Who’s terrified of bugs?Neither.Who kills the spiders around the house?Tia will put them outside Their favorite place?Somewhere private and by the oceanWho pays the bills?BothDo they have any fears for their future?They worry over the impossible number of grandkids they are going to have to buy presents for.Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?BasWho uses up all of the hot water? TiaWho’s the tallest?Bas. Tia is shortWho’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?Bas. Because he wants a hot shower and not one that is mildly warm and mostly freezing.Who wanders around in their underwear?TiaWho sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?TiaWhat do they tease each other about?Tia teases Bas about how scary he looks. Bas usually will tease Tia when she has to get a stool to reach something she put up in the cabinet. Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?I think Tia sometimes cringes when Bas does the full mobster look because, honestly, who needs that much bling.Do they have mutual friends?Yes. Who crushed first? …. Tia shamelessly flirted firstAny alcohol or substance related problems?NopeWho is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?No.Who swears the most?… Tia, but only in the privacy of angry grumbles.

[smileduponyou]

✩

The Ultimate Relationship Tag

Send ‘✩’ for the following:

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice?: GregoryWho threatens to leave but never actually does?: CraigWho actually keeps their word and leaves?: GregoryWho trashes the house?: NeitherDo either of them get physical?: Very rarely and only because they can hold their own against each other pretty damn well. How often do they argue/disagree?: I want to say on occasion but less than people expect them to.Who is the first to apologize?: Gregory.

Sex:

Who is on top?: Switch.Who is on the bottom?: Switch.Who has the strangest desires?: … Why do I wanna say Craig, actually?Any kinks?: Tons.Who’s dominant in bed?: Both can be quite domineering.Is head ever in the equation?: Do people need to blink?If so, who is better at performing it?: No one knows cause they’re never truthful about it and instead semi-mockingly say the other is.Ever had sex in public?: I feel like they would cause they don’t give a shit.Who moans the most?: TieWho leaves the most marks?: I feel like this is also a tieWho screams the loudest?: I don’t see either of them as screamers, tbhWho is the more experienced of the two?: Gregory.Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?: Depends on the moodRough or soft?: Again, depends on the mood.How long do they usually last?: Honey… if you let Gregory tops and he wants to make you last, you’re gonna be in for at least half an hour to an hour.Is protection used? I wanna say this depends on moodDoes it ever get boring?: With these two??Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?: Probably a roof or balcony.

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children?: I feel like this is a ‘no’.If so, how many children do your muses want/have?: N/AWho is the favorite parent?: You know damn well it’d be Craig.Who is the authoritative parent?: GregoryWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school?: Both. Gregory because he understands the concept of ‘mental health days’ and Craig probably just to fuck with the school.Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around?: Craig.Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children?: BOTH.Who goes to parent teacher interviews?: Gregory.Who changes the diapers?: Turns but often times Gregory talks Craig into confusion and he ends up doing it.Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby?: GregoryWho spends the most time with the children?: Craig. Gregory would try to spend a lot of time with them but his work has him VERY busy a lot of the time.Who packs their lunch boxes?: CraigWho gives their children ‘the talk’?: Both.Who cleans up after the kids?: Depends on who is around at the time.Who worries the most?: GregoryWho are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?: CRAIG.

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?: Gregory. Craig acts like he doesn’t but you know damn well he’s lying.Who is the little spoon?: Often times, Gregory. Though he’ll switch if Craig wants to.Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?: They are both guilty as fuck of this.Who struggles to keep their hands to themselves?: Craig.How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?: Honestly? I wanna say they can last a night, if desired or needed. Generally cuddle sessions can go for about an hour, maybe a little over.Who gives the most kisses?: Gregory.What is their favorite non-sexual activity?: Banter, banter banter. These two snipe each other a lot, playfully.Where is their favourite place to cuddle?: Home. Preferably on the couch and with the cats.Who is more likely to playfully grope the other?: Craig.How often do they get time to themselves?: While Gregory is pretty busy with his charity and revolution work, he does try to set aside time to spend with Craig. So they can get a few hours daily.

Sleeping:

Who snores?: Gregory, actually, though they’re rather quiet ones.If both do, who snores the loudest?:Do they share a bed or sleep separately?: Share a bedIf they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?: It’s a damn adventure. I wanna say they start apart and then just gradually migrate to each other in sleep.Who talks in their sleep?: Craig.What do they wear to bed?: I’ve no idea for Craig but Gregory tends to wear orange, striped pajamas.Are either of your muses insomniacs?: Both of them, terribly. Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?: Occasionally but Gregory keeps track of them.Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?: Again, starts as the latter and then gradually shift to the former during the night.Who wakes up with bed hair?: Both but Gregory’s is worse due to the curly texture of his hair.Who wakes up first?: GregoryWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other?: Gregory.What is their favorite sleeping position?: Craig strikes me as a ‘sleeps on his back’ kind while Gregory is either on his stomach or right side.Who hogs the sheets?: Craig.Do they set an alarm each night?: Gregory’s internal clock wakes him, Craig keeps no alarm and will kill a man if he’s woken before dawn.Can a television be found in their bedroom?: Yes.Who has nightmares?: Both.Who has ridiculous dreams?: Both.Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?: GREGORY Who makes the bed?: Gregory What time is bed time?: Whenever the hell they can manage to sleep.Any routines/rituals before bed?: Gregory is meticulous and will brush his teeth, trim his nails and rub lotion into his hands before bed, as they tend to dry out easy.  Craig probably only deals with his teeth before going to bed.Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?: Surprisingly, Gregory. Craig is that kind of lazy passive.

Work: 

Who is the busiest?: GregoryWho rakes in the highest income?: Depends on what Craig does but generally I’d have to say Gregory.Are any of your muses unemployed?: NahWho takes the most sick days?: These two are so damn stubborn they’d have to be incapable of standing up before taking a sick day.Who is more likely to turn up late to work?: Gregory, since he is his own boss.Who sucks up to their boss?: Neither. Craig would sooner flip his boss off and Gregory works for himself.What are their jobs?: I don’t really know for Craig but Gregory would continue his revolutionary and social work. His income comes from family fortunes and draining the bank accounts of corrupt, horrible people.Who stresses the most?: Gregory.Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?: I wanna say enjoy. I can’t see Craig lasting five minutes in a job he hates because you know he’ll flip a higher up off and end up fired for it.

Gregory has always enjoyed his work, so…Are your muses financially stable?: IMMENSELY.

Home:

Who does the washing?: CRAIGWho takes out the trash?: Either. Depends on who is around.Who does the ironing?: GregoryWho does the cooking?: Gregory. He’s had to cook for himself since he was like… 10, so he doesn’t mind.Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?: CraigWho is messier?: CraigWho leaves the toilet roll empty?: Craig and he always gets scolded for it. Sometimes has the empty roll tossed at his head.Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?: Neither. There are hampers everywhere.Who forgets to flush the toilet?: NEITHERWho is the prankster around the house?: Both are and they will go after each other like it’s a war.Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?: I wanna say this is more so Craig.Who mows the lawn?: Neither. Gregory has a gardening company hired to deal with that.Who answers the telephone?: Typically Gregory but Craig will if he isn’t home or can’t answer right away.Who does the vacuuming?: GregoryWho does the groceries?: I don’t think these two do one big trip. It’s more like a ‘one notices they’re almost out of a few things, calls the other to get it while they’re out’ kinda deal and nothing else.Who takes the longest to shower?: Gregory.Who spends the most time in the bathroom?: GREGORY.

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem?: Fuck no.How many cars do they own?: WELL…. Considering Gregory’s income and his use of vehicles to get to several different areas (and maybe needing to destroy the unidentifiable ones) they can have up to five at a time, though likely only two of them are registered and can be traced.Do they own their home or do they rent?: Own it.Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside?: I feel like these two would be more countryside than coast.Do they live in the city or in the country?: I wanna say somewhere in the middle. Not suburbs but sort of in a space between country and city limits.Do they enjoy their surroundings?: Yes.What’s their song?: I Just Want You from Castle OSTWhat do they do when they’re away from each other?: Gregory is typically doing his revolutionary or social work. Likely leading a protest or staging a coup. Craig I feel would spend a lot of his time either at home or just exploring about.Where did they first meet?: La Resistance but it was fleeting so it’s not really considered their first meeting. That was more at the Batting Cages.How did they first meet?: Gregory was on a walk and just noticed Craig, decided to walk over and see what was going on.Who spends the most money when out shopping?: Gregory.Who’s more likely to flash their assets?: … Craig does it intentionally. Gregory does shit with innocent intentions that can be seen as ‘lewd’. Like the fact he straight up has a pair of booty shorts with ‘Enemy of the State’ over the ass that he wears when it’s too hot.Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?: Craig.Any mental issues?: Craig has trouble with emotions and saying what he means, Gregory has some abandonment issues due to the distance between him and his parents.Who’s terrified of bugs?: NeitherWho kills the spiders around the house?: Spiders aren’t killed. Gregory catches them and lets them go.Their favorite place?: There’s a big hill in the woods behind Gregory’s house. It’s a really great place to see the stars at night and occasionally there are even fireflies.Who pays the bills?: GregoryDo they have any fears for their future?: I want to say they really don’t. Craig might?Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?: GregoryyyyWho uses up all of the hot water?: GregoryWho’s the tallest?: I… don’t know, I don’t know your Craig’ s height?Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?: CraigWho wanders around in their underwear?: Craiiiiig.Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?: Gregory but he has the pipes for it.What do they tease each other about?: Anything and everything, tbh.Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?: Likely Gregory but he wouldn’t say anything.Do they have mutual friends?: Mostly just Tweek. Gregory doesn’t really have friends outside of Mole.Who crushed first?: … Craig.Any alcohol or substance related problems?: No. Gregory only indulges in moderation and Craig doesn’t strike me as the type.Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?: Neither.Who swears the most?: Craig.