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greenninjagal-blog · 3 years

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Deja Vu pt6

Hey guys! Surprise!! Have twenty pages of Dee picking a fight on TV. For those who are new around, [here’s] the first chapter and for those who need a refresher [here’s] the previous chapter!

Summary: Remus and Dee confront The Prince on live TV. Things go downhill rather quickly.

Word Count: 10447

TW: temporary character death, blood,

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Remus is twenty-one and he thinks that people might not actually be worth saving at all.

There’s an electricity in the air, a buzzing so loud that he can almost taste it as he shifts his weight between his feet. There are so many people around him, nearly too many, packed together like sardines in all the crevices that they can fit. Remus wants so badly to kick his leg out just to see if with one nudge he could toppled the human domino train down all the way, but Dee gives his hand a small, gentle squeeze.

His hand is warm, his touch intoxicating in a way that no drug could ever hope to be. Remus has felt it before, in futures that never happened, but it still feels unreal as it's going on. He thinks maybe, possibly that he’s stuck right now, right this second and that his real body is somewhere else bleeding out on the ground.

But he also thinks, traitorously, stupidly, suicidally, that he doesn’t mind as long as he gets to keep feeling Dee’s hand in his right now.

Dee’s touch is featherlight, but Remus is hyperaware of every atom in his body at these moments: Dee goes on to talk about so many things, but Remus’s brain only hears touch, warmth, Dee, Dee, Dee. And the Shapeshifter has to say his name at least four times before Remus realizes that time is passing and he’s not passing with it.

It should be annoying-- Remus thinks that Roman would have tried throttling him by now--but Dee just gives him a wispy, honeyed smile and does it again, like seeing Remus short circuit is somehow the best sight in the world.

Which is sweet, sugary, splendid. It might even mean that Dee intends to stick around after those feelings fade away to the bitter acquired taste that is Remus’s company after a year. So very few people ever got past that: the kids at school had flocked to Roman’s cotton candy exterior and had eaten him all up and then got burned when they mistakenly thought that Remus was anything like his twin outside his face.

(He wonders even now if Roman still shares that face with him. Did he dye his hair? Get piercings? Or did he cover his mirrors so he wouldn’t have to remember Remus existed at all? Does Roman think about Remus nearly as much as Remus thinks about Roman?)

Oh wait, Remus knows the answer to that last one.

Dee squeezes his hand again, even without looking. He insisted on dressing presentably today: shining shoes and one of his new suits tailored to his exact size and a flattering face that just screams trust me with all your finances, I won’t rob you blind, Grannie! When they were getting their coffees, the woman in front of them had called him a gentleman and Remus almost choked on his drink at that. A pretty face, a kind gesture, a mask and Dee wore his like a skin walking alien and no one was any wiser about it. Except Remus.

He reaches over and steals Dee’s latte from his hand. Dee tenses, then relaxes and watches with an amused smile as Remus sniffs it.

“Not nearly enough vodka in this,” he decides and Dee laughs.

“Ah, yes, because the girl at the counter is surely old enough to be serving alcohol,” Dee says. “And the last thing I want to do is be on TV drunk.”

His nose scrunches up at the detestable thought, but Remus thinks it’s the exact opposite of what they should be doing. Dee? On TV? With no inhibitions? Remus listened to his late-night rambles on the flaws of society when there was nothing but sleep deprivation weighing on their souls and Remus was moved enough to find himself here today. There was something about his honesty, his psychological approaches, his confidence, that made him so trustworthy. He was a leader at heart and Remus was happy to follow him, even if it meant going right off a cliff.

(Not like he hadn’t done that a time or fifty before. And besides, Dee could grow wings if he wanted. He’d catch both of them and fly them to safety.)

“A dash of vodka is just liquid courage,” Remus says.

Dee turns his green eyes on him, the light through the window making sparkles in his irises, or maybe that’s just Dee doing subtle magic of his own. Whatever it was Remus decides he doesn’t ever want to look away again. Dee's eyes are priceless; Remus wouldn’t be surprised if Dee had stolen a hundred jadeite stones and shoved them in his eyes for safekeeping.

“Who needs liquid courage--” Dee says “--when I have you?”

Remus tips back Dee’s latte and slurps it so that his tongue burns right out of his mouth, because then at least there’s a reason for the mortifying smoldering all over his face. Dee reaches up and rubs the pad of his thumb over Remus’s cheek, tickling his mustache ever so slightly and laughs again.

“Darling,” he says. “You’re too easy.”

“You going to do something about it?” Remus challenges. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it right here, over this table, you know. Might wanna make sure little Timmy over there is covering his eyes first though. He doesn’t need his awakening until a few more years down the line.”

They’re close enough to the other customers that an elder woman with a pocket dog in her purse gives him a glare and a teenage girl in a sweater turns bright pink and stares out the window just a bit too hard. There’s a good chance that Remus could get both of them to do something more, but before he can open his mouth again, Dee is leaning in.

He’s using his usual height today, which means that Remus is just a bit taller, but Dee makes those three inches feel like hairbreadths. His breath is warm on Remus’s neck, and it sends shivers down his back when the phantom feeling brushes over his skin. He smells like cardamom, and Remus’s mouth freezes, his words long lost and forgotten in the prospect of Dee saying literally anything at all.

But in the end Dee just wordlessly hums and drops back to his flat foot.

It takes Remus a whole second to remember how to breathe. And another to realize that Dee took back his latte and was drinking it like he was entirely unaware of what he had just done to Remus, except that his lips slip off the rim on his cup and they’re curled upwards in that absolutely sensual smirk of his.

“It’s almost time,” the shapeshifter says moving on casually while Remus tries not to let his brain melt right out of his ears. “I should go get into place.” He peeks at Remus and glances away just as quickly. “You…you’re sure that you’re alright to do this, Remus? You don’t have to if it will hurt you.”

Remus wonders vainly if Dee was aware that the term “Martyr” was engraved on his ribcage, imprinted on his heart, seared into his soul. If there was ever a choice between himself and someone else getting hurt, Remus wouldn’t hesitate, and he never had. If Roman had ever looked, like truly looked, he might have noticed that, and then maybe things would have turned out even marginally different. But this time around, Remus nods at Dee and squeezes his hand back so hard that his fingers lose their blood flow.

“It’s not gonna hurt me,” Remus says, which might be a lie and not even a believable one, but they both pretend. “Besides, this means something to you, doesn’t it?”

Dee’s shoulders tense, and resettle, as if he’s reminding himself that Remus is not a threat. He licks his lips, chasing after the taste of espresso. “It does,” he says and it shouldn’t feel like Dee is telling him some big surprise secret, because they spent the past three days planning this whole thing out on the floor of their hotel room while Remus rolled that casino coin between his fingers and thought about how Dee’s hair looks soft and fluffy when he’s just waking up.

“Remus…” Dee starts. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet. About me. And… this.”

Whatever this is. He’s hesitating again, hovering like he’s on top of a fence topped with barbed wire and he knows that he needs to pick a side but can’t quite decide which side will hurt less: the spikes or the lava? Remus shakes away the unneeded thoughts to focus in on the trepidation in Dee’s expression, but as soon as he zeroes in on it, Dee smooths it out.

“Timing,” he says almost as if to himself. Then, “I’ll tell you after we do this. I owe… I owe you that much.”

Remus doesn’t think there’s a single thing that Dee could ever owe him at all. Not when Dee pulled his bleeding body off the balcony, not when Dee kissed him with all the tenderness in the world, not when Dee stayed with him in the face of literally everything. Dee can’t possibly owe him anything when Remus is the one standing here with a power that’s not even helpful unless it’s killing Remus, and Dee is out here trying to save lives with what he has.

But Remus is decently sure that if he opens his mouth to say any of that, what will come out will be something undoubtedly more emotional than they have time for and will probably scare Dee away entirely: a love confession, a proposal, matching headstones for their graves that they’ll probably be in much sooner than either of them would like.

“And Remus?” Dee says, like he doesn’t notice that he’s literally the only thing that matters in Remus’s little world. He gives Remus’s hand another meaningful squeeze. Then he pops up on his toes to brush a kiss to his cheek in a way that makes Remus feel like a middle school girl in a catholic school discovering how attractive boys are for the first time.

His heart beats so hard he thinks he can taste it around the coffee and whatever the hell it is that Dee tastes like.

“Thank you,” Dee says with sincerity.

“If we were characters in a book, this is the part where right before the author kills you off for dramatic effect.” Remus reaches out and clinks his cup with Dee’s. “Don’t make it that easy.”

Dee snorts in that very dignified way of his. “Of course, what was I thinking? My apologies. Here I was, assuming that the soothsayer might be able to help me to cheat Death but apparently I was mistaken.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there in your ear, Despacito,” Remus says pointing towards the earpiece he’s wearing. “You won’t be able to get me out of your mind even if you wanted me to!”

Dee smiles, quick and wonderful and Remus drinks in the sight like it’s the newest liquid craze, better than the latte in Dee’s hands, or the ice coffee in his own, or fresh drinking water in the middle of the desert. Dee’s hand drip, drip, drips right out of Remus’s, although the atoms in his fingers don’t stop tingling with sensation.

“I look forward to it,” Dee says as final parting and then he weaves his way out of the café. Remus bites his plastic straw and follows with his eyes until he can’t anymore. The people around them move out of the way for him because Dee gives off that aura of someone important and no one wants to be caught dead getting dirt on his freshly polished oxfords.

For all their planning, Remus still feels a little nervous with everything going on. They gathered as much information as they could about the day: the new registration office was being set up in a public library as a temporary location and it was closed for activity outside of the registration. Remus took particular pleasure in reading the heartwarming amount of public backlash about that from regular people who just really liked the library for some reason. The building is a lucky four stories tall-- which Remus thinks is nice. The library back in his hometown was two, poorly funded, and he’d been banned from visiting when he was ten because he’d seen the old librarian fall off a ladder and tried to help her by grabbing which did not go over remotely well.

The street is casual: a bunch of modern buildings with local shops and boutiques. Dee got sidetracked two days ago picking out new shoes from a window display and chatting with the owner who surprisingly was very informative.

“The Prince? My niece thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread,” the older woman said while packing up a pair of single strap monks.

“Oh?” Dee said conversationally which made Remus look up from where he was flicking through a rack of sun dresses.

“I think he has a few screws loose,” the woman said. “No child his age should be running around in a costume like that. He’s just inviting danger to himself, not to mention those around him. In fact, Linda-- you know Linda right? She owns the chocolatiering place on fourth street? It’s got lovely chocolate strawberries-- Linda said over our weekly tea that if she got the chance, she would punch him in the face!" the woman chuckled. "But I don't blame her at all. All this nonsense about super powers and abilities and someone might start looking twice at how her baby girl can get any animal to eat out of her hand."

Dee raised an eyebrow. And the lady waved off his unasked question.

"Magic ability or pure coincidence! I don't care about any of that! If that FBE comes knocking on Linda's door the whole group of us shop owners are ready to stand up against them. Linda’s little girl belongs right here with her family and not anywhere near some secret government building or on some watchlist like a criminal!"

They left after that and paid a visit to the chocolate shop on fourth street. And what do you know, the little shop received a generous cash award from a lesser known chocolate secret society group thing. Remus doesn't remember the actual name Dee used, but he does remember that they were selling dinosaur shaped chocolates and he bought a box just so he could bite the heads off all of them.

The main street leading to the library-turned-registration office was closed off completely and marked that way with crowd control fences, which might have been for the best. In just the two days leading up to the grand opening, the city’s population seemed to have doubled. Remus was moderately amused by it, watching from the window of their hotel room: people came from the woodwork, springing into the city with the rigour of a bunch of busy ants who were so completely unaware of the exterminator coming.

Dee didn’t let him try looking to the future more than a few times and to be very ridiculously honest, Remus is kinda grateful for it. Every time he looks he feels something off about himself, something he can’t put a name to, something he can’t put a finger on. It just seems that one minute he’s fine and the next he’s hacking up blood.

Which by the way, means he’s dying according to WebMD and Google. Remus doesn’t let Dee see the worst of it, but the nosebleeds are stronger, and Dee’s not exactly stupid. He can tell that Remus is using more tissues, that he’s holding them to his face longer, that he’s pale and tired and his hands are colder to the touch.

They don’t talk about it. Not really.

They should.

But if there’s one thing that Remus’s mother taught him, it’s that if you avoid talking about something for long enough it will disappear and you’ll forget about it.

Perhaps the biggest thorn in their sides-- both of their sides and their lungs and the back of their necks right through the medulas killing them instantly-- is the charming Prince himself! The character seems to be everywhere and nowhere all at once: the news has him stopping burglaries and home invasions up and down the east coast, calming down violent criminals, and helping little old ladies cross the street, and flashing his award-winning, crowd-hypnotising smile at the cameras. And yet for all the several hours worth of footage that Dee and him had scoured through, neither of them can quite figure out what The Prince’s power is.

It’s mental, at least. Something to do with information based on what Remus can come up with. He can tell from the way that the guy reacts in the middle of any confrontation: there’s a moment where green lights flash in his eyes, flickering so quickly it might have been a trick of the camera if Remus hadn’t caught it so many times on so many different occasions. One moment he’s acting one way, the next he’s changing course entirely, moving or stopping or avoiding. Like he knows what’s going to happen.

Like he can see the future.

But somehow he avoided all the fun nosebleeds and the feeling of death over his shoulder. Like maybe when his power manifested people actually believed him! Like maybe his friends didn’t shove him away and maybe his mother loved him and maybe he stayed home and watched Disney movies with his brother all night when they were seventeen instead of letting him go to a party where everything went wrong.

Remus’s hands shook far more than they had any right to when he first made the connection, first made the comment, first made the joke out loud for Dee to laugh at without pay attention to what he was actually saying. Then he dry heaved into a trash can for fifteen minutes while Dee rubbed his back and pointedly waited for an explanation that Remus didn’t give him because Roman is nothing and no one and he doesn’t matter when Remus has Dee.

“Perhaps he’s a mind reader,” Dee suggested.

Whatever he ends up being, Remus decides that The Prince better hope he figures out some shit with Dee. Because if Remus has to enter the ring, he doesn’t think the Prince will be leaving it in anything other than a body bag.

“You seem very… invested in him,” Dee said when Remus told him as much over a breakfast of french toast and eggs at a dinner where the waitress didn’t tell them to stop making out in any flickers of the future he blinked at. Dee was choosing his words carefully. Too carefully.

“His face is very punchable,” Remus said, squeezing ketchup in his orange juice. “I’m surprised no one else sees it! Don’t you just get filled with rage when you look at him?”

The way Dee blinked said a lot, but Remus pretended not to notice as he used a straw to stir his drink and poured a bit of syrup in too. For flavor and fun. Dee doesn’t say anything more on the topic, and Remus doesn’t ask because he gets the feeling Dee will tell him the truth if he does.

And Remus doesn’t think that this is a truth that Dee wants to tell right now.

Maybe later. After Dee’s dragged the Propaganda Prince from his golden pedestal and Remus has had his fun in the mix. After they stop the FBE from their nefarious plans. After.

Remus tastes the word in his mouth and he’s not sure why it feels so foreign to him. It’s a strange mixture of bitter and unforgettable, of sweet and strange, of something he’s never tried before and might never get to taste again.

It’s better than blood. Less red too.

Remus taps his foot as he watches out the window of the coffee shop. There are a lot of people inside here and he’s not sure how many of them are regulars compared to how many of them want to just watch the possible freaks that have to walk down the street and enter the building pretending like they can’t feel all the world watching them do it.

Remus isn’t even one of the suckers doing it, but he can understand how it might make someone queasy. The number of eyes looking, watching, remembering them is something of a curse; the cameras are blatantly obvious and the gawking of the other people is unignorable. If things were different, Remus wonders if he might have been nervous about this, about entering the building, about taking a step out of line and telling the whole world what he could do.

It was supposed to be a secret, right? At least that’s what his mother had always encouraged him to believe. She told him to stop talking, to stop crying, to shut up and pretend nothing was happening, smile at the cashier, Remus, but don’t tell her that you can see her tripping over her shoe laces and cracking her head on the floor. When people asked his mother how her children were, she never had enough to say about Roman’s achievements.

Remus sticks his straw all the way in his mouth until it pokes his uvula and his eyes water.

She tried.

And in the end it wasn’t enough, isn’t enough, because now she talked so much about Roman that she didn’t even remember that he existed anymore. He’s grown up and she’s still the same.

He wonders if she would even recognize him if they passed each other on the street.

Something to think about. Perhaps he can convince Dee to take a trip with him to the other side of the country, to his hometown, to his old neighborhood. He’s sure that by now they have enough cash for a couple dozen eggs that belong on the outside of his old two story suburban house. After all this, after they save the day, after they put Princey boy in his place. After.

The clock on his phone ticks down, and Remus feels like his chest is going to explode if his heart gets any faster. The FBE registration office opens at ten a.m. and he’s not entirely certain the world will still be standing by ten oh five, but that’s what makes everything fun, isn’t it?

The coffee shop customers shuffle and move like a complex organism trying to rip itself apart but never quite managing it. Outside there are more people, pressed together, close enough to be touching, to be talking, to be nervous and excited and emotional. Camera flashes go off, news crews stand in the middle of the street with microphones interviewing the normal people who are treating this like a festival or a parade rather than the thinly veiled death threat it is.

They’re packed so closely together that Remus has a hard time seeing over their heads, and peeking at the temporary stage that’s been set up in front of the entrance to the library. There’s a podium on it, though, and decorations of a brilliant red, white, and blue, along with speakers and microphones being tested for the brilliant speech that the Prince is going to give for his adoring fans. There’s security and police patrolling everywhere, news crews and reporters and civilians watching with bated breath as the time draws near.

Part of Remus wants to wonder why here, why now, why did the Prince choose to come cross country out of the blue like this? Surely he could get just as much adoration from his fans in New York.

There must have been something that happened on the East Coast that drove him out here. Bad publicity that might make him look bad-- for a moment Remus entertains the idea that the Superhero managed to kill someone and now the FBE was graciously covering it up and sending him to Oregon so that he stays out of the way, stays out of trouble.

Too bad for him; Remus and Dee had claimed this part of the country as their own playground and they brought nothing but trouble with them.

Dee would take extra special delight in taking a bat to the Prince’s glass house reputation if the man let him. Remus would take extra special delight in watching Dee do it.

Remus tapped the screen of his phone again, checking the time. Dee should be in place by now, hiding among the normal people, slipping between the patrolling law enforcers, and plotting the best place to be in order to make his grand entrance.

((It was adorable watching Dee figure out what he wanted it to be: the man curled up in a sweatshirt with hair still wet from his shower and chewing the end of a pencil in between spitballing ideas at Remus. His eyes seemed to glow when he got excited, and they were hypnotizing to look at, swirling with all the colors: grey blue, jade, hazel, silver. Whenever he liked an idea he scribbled it down on a piece of paper and smiled with his fangs out and Remus had to resist the urge to kiss him again, lest they fall behind in their planning phase due to an excessive make out session.))

In the end, planning this whole thing wasn’t all that much different from their other heists: the casino where they met, the fancy banks, the jewelry stores, a privately owned winery. There was less of Remus looking at the future, true, but that just meant that they spent more time lying next to each other scouring the internet on their individual phones for relevant information and eating chocolate dinosaurs.

The clock strikes thirty-till ten and the whole world seems to hold its breath. Remus can feel it, the way the air holds itself and suddenly the whole coffeeshop, the patrons, the cashiers and the machines go quiet with anticipation.

“There!” yells a kid from a window seat, covered in chocolate from a partially devoured muffin and bouncing on the cushion. He presses both his hands to the cleaned window, as if he can phase right through it if he pushes himself hard enough. “There! It’s a car!”

“Where? I wanna see!”

“Is it The Prince?”

“The Prince! Move I want to see!”

Remus barely has time to brace himself before there are people pressing up against him, strangers shoving and pushing and yelling and trying to get to the window to see exactly what is going on. Remus himself leaves a nice face print to the glass that he suspects the long suffering employees are going to have blast cleaning later.

Assuming that the shop is still standing after all this.

Someone’s elbow goes into Remus’s spine and for a second Remus blinks and there’s a guy standing over him, pressing a hand to his pulse, and the manager at the front desk of their hotel is screaming again. Remus hisses out a harsh breath that fogs up the window and scrubs the thought, the concept, the memory from his mind. Because he’s not dead, he’s not dying, he’s not on the hood of a car. And the last thing he needs is to forget that.

The car that the kid had pointed out was actually a caravan of cars: black nondescript SUVs with tinted windows and tires thick enough to be bulletproof. The type of cars celebrities and CEOs and politicians ride around in when their limos are being deep cleaned. The crowd blockers leave more than enough room for the cars to parade through the street right to the stage. Someone outside even sets off a confetti cannon so it rains red and gold and white paper through the air.

Remus grinds his morals together and shoves himself backwards, knocking into about six more people who are swarming for his spot so quickly, so frantically, so vehemently, that Remus doesn’t actually make out any of their faces or forms or bodies. The whole shop was swarmed with people, but now all the bodies were pressed against the street windows and Remus thinks if they were on a boat, they would have capsized. He tugs the front of his leather jacket to straighten it and elbows his way through the front doors and out into the street.

Outside it’s not much easier to see anything. The cheering crowd is the most annoying thing ever. Although the hand made signs people are waving are a close second. Remus fights the urge to knock several of them out of people’s hands because the crowd control are watching like hawks and--

-- “HEY! HEY!” one of the uniformed guys yells at him. Remus flips him the bird, and because he’s so busy laughing at the guy he misses the sign holder’s left fist coming for his face.--

-- “HEY! HEY!” one of the uniformed guys yells at him. Remus flips him the bird, and because Remus knows better now he manages to dodge the incoming fist and drive his elbow up under his attacker’s guard and right into his diaphragm. There’s an exhilarating feeling flowing through him as the crowd around him jostles and shouts and falls to chaos in a way that completely derails the plan Dee worked so hard to put together.--

--Remus tears himself back to the present, stumbling slightly over a swaying ground. He coughs into his fist as his body is checked by a passerby into the outside wall of the coffee shop. There are flecks of red, so small Remus wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t looking for them. That’s good, that’s great, that’s fine.

He’s fine.

The crowd pulses and the volume of dissonant cheering increases tenfold. Remus wipes his hand on his thigh and looks up to see over through the crowd for what was happening, although he already has a good idea. The cars must have completed their slow circuit and the doors of one of them must have popped open for the guest of honor to step out.

Another burst of confetti shoots out filling the air with white pieces of paper that almost look like snow. Remus ignores them mostly as he slips through the crowd in ways that his body probably shouldn’t be able to move: under an elbow here, passing a shoulder there, winking at the college student his face is three inches from as he scoots between him and an older woman with a crying child on her hip. He feels his spine crack more than he hears it as he moves.

He makes it to the crowd barriers with an impressive number of bruises, a bit of coffee from an off balanced teenager, and a scrap where someone hit him with one of those stupid signs. He’s close enough to the stage that his skin itches, that his throat burns, that his toes curl; the Prince isn’t even looking his way but Remus thinks that the white of his super suit would look excellent covered in his blood. There’s a rapier at his side that glistens in the sunlight, silver and shining and ready for use although Remus has yet to see him actually use it as a weapon rather than a fancy prop.

The Prince is an actor on a stage waving to his fans, a red herring meant to distract everyone from the implications of the FBE headquarters right behind him. He blows a kiss to the crowd and Remus gets the urge to punch his face again.

Instead he presses up against the barrier wall, hooking his arms around the metal bars to hold himself in place and watches with his tongue in his cheek. He nods at the techie standing on the other side: a guy with hefty headphones, bright purple hair, and a mouth mask with an anime character on it from a show Remus vaguely recognizes. The guy squints at him suspiciously for a moment but ultimately just shrugs and goes back to writing something in a pocket notebook and leaning against the side of a News Crew van he presumably works for.

On stage, The Prince approaches the podium waving still and smiling twice as broadly as before. Remus isn’t sure how anyone can look at him and think “safety” when his charming show of teeth also makes it look like his mouth was going to split his entire head open. A police line-up stands along the wings of the stage, like he’s a real prince about to address a nation.

Someone Remus doesn’t recognize is also on the stage in a suit. The Prince grins and shakes the guys hand like they’re old friends. They pose for a camera flash for a moment, sharing a laugh that can’t possibly be that funny, and the new techie rolls his eyes so hard his head shakes. Another person from the crew joins him standing side-by-side and they share a short conversation that leaves the one with the headphones glaring.

The guy on stage claps The Prince on the back and offers him the podium with microphones before stepping back clapping enthusiastically.

Remus thinks boredly that it would have been funnier if Dee were up there, dressed up in a stranger’s skin and stepping back only so that The Prince never gets to see the knife Dee shoves in his neck. But Remus knows Dee better than that; he’d never kill, and he'd definitely never deliver a fatal blow when his victim didn’t know his name.

(Remus wonders distantly, when he realized how much names meant to Dee. Was it before Dee offered up his name at that casino? Or later when Dee was breathing into Remus’s mouth and Remus was trying to figure out what was wrong with himself? Dee wanted people to know his name, wanted people to remember him when he left, wanted them to recognize him-- but he also didn’t and Remus isn’t sure how to solve that puzzle yet so he sticks it in the back of his mind to work on when its just the two of them alone in a hotel room in the dark.)

The Prince winks to someone in the crowd and finishes his last wave. Remus glances back at the line of SUVs but no one else comes out of them-- which isn’t that weird? Remus seems to recall the Prince being very specific that he had a team and a partner and yet he’s up there all alone receiving all the glory.

Of course they could just be shy, but based on how little information there actually is about the team and partner existing, Remus thinks that maybe it’s a farce meant to placate children’s dreams of being on a super team with their super hero!

(Remus is not alone in this thinking either. Dee’s favorite website called AnxiTEA has several dozen articles written about how The Prince sucks and that he’s just doing all this for publicity and recognition-- along with a carefully worded warning that if The Prince begins losing either of those things, he’s most likely going to become feral and turn on them all.)

Remus adjusts the earpiece in his ear just as The Prince opens his mouth to start off that particularly exciting, bold, inspiring speech of his. But before he gets more than a syllable out, a shadow floods from overhead.

The crowd collectively gasps and screams, spreading apart in every which direction; Remus lets out a hefty groan as the guy next to him bowls into his shoulder and he nearly flings over the fence. The techie on the other side drops his little notebook in shock, and his friend pulls out a phone immediately.

The shadow sweeps downward through the air like the largest bird in history. Remus laughs as he watches, Dee’s wings glisten with black wings that glisten yellow when the sun reflects off them. In fact just watching him, Remus has a hard time believing that Dee didn’t grow up with wings attached to his back. He makes floating and flying and landing look graceful, ethereal, easy and breathless and exhilarating. Dee lands on the stage due left of The Prince, safely with his knees bent to absorb the shock. When he stands back up, his blond hair flows slightly in the kickback wind and his trustable dark eyes sparkle.

(He went with the black and yellow color scheme. That had been Remus’s favorite option. The black of his suit makes the shimmers of gold look expensive, dangerous, and untouchable. Although, Remus is a little biased on the front that he always thinks Dee looks dangerous and untouchable. He’s a caution sign, a warning, and Remus can’t wait for The Prince to ignore it.)

“Hello,” Dee says and Remus thinks he can hear his barely concealed laughter over all the crowd's confused chaos. The police line behind The Prince lurch into movement at the sound of his voice, but the hero himself throws out an arm and stops them where they stand with hands on their tasers.

Dee raises an eyebrow, a polite expression on his face. And the Prince mirrors him.

“Oh wonderful!�� the hero says in a confident tone, in a reassuring tone, in a placating tone that tells the audiences watching that there’s nothing to fear from the black winged Angel that just descended down on them like a herald of Death. Dee’s eyes shine with amusement that Remus can pick out even from over here. “Another friend like me!”

The Prince offers a hand to Dee, a handshake. Remus digs his teeth into his tongue as he watches Dee take it from above, like he’s royalty allowing the poor publicity prince to greet him.

“Not quite like you, my dear Prince,” Dee says. “If the wings weren’t a dead give away already.”

The Prince’s lips tighten. Remus thinks that his expression screams “calculating”. He looks at Dee like he’s still trying to figure out if he’s a friend or foe, and Dee’s body language offers no hints at all.

Or well, maybe a few hints. Remus can see it, because he can see Dee: the tilt of his head is a challenge, the light in his eyes is condescending, the openness of his body facing the crowd speaks in volume of who he’s actually there for. Remus can read every bit of Dee and it sends a shiver down his back to realize.

The crowd bobs and murmurs, unsure of what to do with the surprise visitation. Several camera flashes go off like someone is trying to prove to themselves that the wings are real. The techie on the other side of the barrier reaches up and hooks a finger over his mouth mask as if he’s debating ripping it off to breathe easier. Remus digs his chin into the metal bars of the crowd barrier and wishes he had some popcorn.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Prince,” Dee says silky smooth.

“Good things I hope,” The Prince says back. “I would love to sit down and have a conversation with a fan as elegant as yourself, but I really must be getting back on schedule. I’d be happy to sign somethin--”

Dee laughs pleasantly, although Remus thinks he should be swinging to dislodge the superheroes head from his neck.

“You are a riot!” Dee takes a few steps forward. “You think I’m up here to get your autograph?”

The Prince’s eyes narrow slightly. “Aren’t you?”

Dee flexes his wings just as slightly, letting them shimmer so beautifully for the crowd up front to see. “Oh no. I must confess I’m not much of a fan at all. I’d really much rather skip to the debate portion of this.”

“The debate,” The Prince repeats like he hasn’t ever heard the word before. Remus half expects him to snap at that guy behind him to offer up a dictionary so he can read the Webster definition before he responds. But in the end the Prince merely moves his arm back and settles his right hand on the hilt of his rapier.

“I’ve been fascinated by you, Prince,” Dee continues, gliding around him and stretching his wings so that the police line is forced to take another step back or get bumped. Dee circles the hero much like a snake starting to coil around its prey before the final strike. He’s slow and methodical and Remus doesn’t think anyone can look away from him. He knows he can’t. “They call you a superhero. The first real life one to walk the streets.”

The Prince follows Dee’s motions with his head. “I have no control over what the media says.”

Dee gives him another condescending look. Remus thinks it’s eerily similar to the ones that his teachers used to give him when Remus insisted that the other kids shoved him on the playground when he did nothing to them first.

“Of course you don’t,” Dee says. “The media can be rather misleading at times. After all they said that my way of handling an out of control child with an arbitrary grasp on fire was fallible. Incorrect. Deplorable.” Dee stops just over the Prince’s left shoulder and tilts his head. “Villainous.”

The Prince blinks, stiffening.

“Oh,” he says. “You were the one at the mall. In Idaho.”

“Yes,” Dee says. “And if I had done nothing, that child would have continued to operate under the impression that killing is an acceptable punishment for petty thievery. And yet I’ve received nothing but bad press, criticisms, insults for what I did while you get praise and recognition from your… adoring fans. I would say that’s quite unfair don’t you think?”

The Prince’s nose twitches. Remus watches his hand on his rapier tighten, but he refrains from drawing and making the first blow in front of a billion witnesses. The cameras couldn’t draw away even if they tried.

“Perhaps if you had tried talking first, rather than jumping straight to violence--”

Dee tuts and presses a hand to his chest. “I so do love how much you know about what happened there! With all the completely accurate information and that confident tone you’re wielding, my prince, one might be convinced that you had been there and watched that child nearly kill three innocent people after I attempted the talking part first.”

The Prince’s jaw set.

“Oh? Nothing to say?” Dee lowers his chin to look The Prince dead in the eyes. “The truth is that the child in question decided to attack a man robbing a previously insured jewelry store-- most likely out of desperation-- and decided to attempt to burn him alive. The action of which nearly killed me and my… partner if it hadn’t been for a spot of good luck. Then when I attempted to help preserve the criminal from the life threatening third degree burns he was suffering, the child called me a villain and demanded I and another brave bystander back away from the man so that he could die.”

Dee’s eyes flash blue and green and then a cold steel blue before they settle back on the silent superhero. “You and your original way of thinking are an inspiration to us all.”

The Prince’s face twitches again, the whole thing this time, twisting into a not-very-nice expression for just the briefest of seconds before he remembers that there’s a captive audience watching this play out. He takes a deep steadying breath and lets it out again.

“I apologize,” he says. “I jumped to a conclusion. You made an acceptable call in the face of a diffic--”

“I made the only call,” Dee inserts harshly. “And I don’t want your apology. Words mean nothing.”

“What are you here for then?” The Prince asks, and Remus can’t help the feral smile that etches across his features. He leans forward as far as he can without tipping the fence because he doesn’t want to miss a single second of this.

“Oh, that would be simple,” Dee says. “I want you to explain to the world, why you are trying to get hundreds of people killed.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I don’t suppose you would.” Dee says. “I can’t imagine that you’ve had to do a lot of critical thinking these past few weeks.”

The Prince scowls and opens his pretty little mouth, but Dee waves him off with a clandestine motion. There’s a delicious looking smirk on Dee’s lips: something that Remus thinks he can spend all day staring at. He’s having fun up there with all the attention on him, having fun with people hanging on his every word, having fun leading The Prince around like a dog on a leash. A showboat, a leader, an actor-- but Dee’s the director too, telling the cameras where to point and what to frame because this is his show, even if no one else realizes it yet.

“I’ve been following the FBE for a while now. You can imagine that as someone with an ability I tend to be interested in politics that directly affect me, as all good upstanding Americans should.” Dee flutters his wings a bit again. “However, I can’t imagine why anyone-- certainly not someone with the brains such as yourself-- would purposely align yourself to their less than noble intentions. They aim to take advantage of people like us, and you are using your… well earned celebrity status to convince the people that this is acceptable. Good, even! Surely you don’t truly believe that the FBE and Madam Secretary of Defense have your best interests at heart?”

The Prince shifts his weight around, looking for all intents and purposes like he was ready to leap across the stage and make Dee eat his own words, in the end he just settled back down.

“I do actually,” The Prince says. “I’ve been working with them for a while-- all of my team has. Madam Witchall has been a great help in getting this project on its feet so that the FBE can provide aid to--”

"I guess what it boils down to is this," Dee says, steam-rolling everything else the Prince might have wanted to say. Remus can pick the irritation out of his clipped tone, simmering under the guise of being passion rather than anger. "How much do you trust your government? How much faith do you put in people, Princeps?

"This is, after all, the same congregation that sends military recruiters to the more impoverished schools in America and hounds kids until they believe that their only option to get into college is to sign up for the military. Is that what they did to you as well? Convinced you, you were dangerous and unable to control yourself and that they could help you?"

The Prince’s jaw tightens so hard that even Remus can see it from where he’s standing. He wants to laugh, but he puts his hand in his mouth instead. The crowd is murmuring, mesmerized by the sheer audacity of this shapeshifter to show up and question the morals of their beloved hero. It would be funny, if Remus doesn’t close his eyes and see Dee’s charred corpse from that kid at the mall not so long ago whenever he tries to sleep.

Hero idealization was a dangerous thing. It needs to be nipped in its bud before it strangles everyone; luckily there’s no one better with a pair of shears than Dee.

"I do believe that’s none of your business," The Prince says.

"But it is," Dee coos just a bit too sweetly. His words come out slick with honey. "Because you are also a person of ability and I happen to care a great deal about people with abilities."

"We have a duty to those less fortunate than--"

"We--" Dee cuts him off sharply “--do not have a duty to anyone for anything."

He takes a breath, recenters himself, and when his eyes open again, they’re a piercing green that pins the hero to place on the stage for everyone to see. "In case you’ve forgotten, my dear Prince, we are mere humans, too. Not everyone wants to grow up to punch each other in the face. Some of us would like to live a normal life, without being forced into superhero dramatics."

His easy dismissal is inviting danger to come knocking. Remus likes that about him, the fearlessness. Did it come from after he had met Remus, or was it something Dee had grown up with? A symbol of faith in Remus’s abilities or a symptom of delusion? The mystery is tantalizing on Remus’s--

--tongue. Remus savors the taste of it with a grin. It’s so much better than blood, so much better than slushies, so much better than french toast and eggs and only one step down from the taste of actually kissing Dee.

Remus blinks, pressing against the barrier, his eyes catching sight of something else amongst the crowd although he isn’t sure what it is at first. A flash of a camera? A pushing shoving motion? It's something and Remus tries to follow it but it’s gone in the next half blink and he’s not sure what it was at all.

Then everyone is screaming and the crowd is in chaos and Remus gets slammed into the barrier again and shoved along it for a sharp second before he hits the ground. The noise roars over his thoughts, over his breathing, over his ability to comprehend anything that’s not how he’s being stepped on by careless bystanders fleeing the streets. Someone trips over him, someone steps on his ankle, someone kicks the back of his head and his lungs burn and his eyes itch and he knows he missed something---

--Tongue. Remus savors the taste with a hint of confusion. It’s better than blood that’s in his throat, than slushies in his memories, than french toast and eggs and only one step down from actually kissing Dee.

Remus blinks, pressing against the barrier, his eyes catching sight of something else amongst the crowd although he isn’t sure what it is at first, and doesn’t bother caring, because something else is happening and he needs to know what it is that causes the crowd to splinter apart like shattered glass. Dee is talking on stage, winding up the toy Prince to dance to his tune, and Remus is watching with his heart in his throat and unable to hear a word of it.

Then Remus blinks and Dee is not standing on stage because the shapeshifter’s body is morphing exactly the way it shouldn’t be. The crowd screams, and Dee’s eyes are empty in a way that Remus has seen a million times and abhors unlike anything else in the world.

Dee is not standing on stage because he’s actually fallen off it onto the asphalt ground below and there’s a spray of red mist in the air where he had been standing before. Remus is body-checked into the crowd barrier, and skimmed along it, until he hits the ground and feels himself get trampled over, but it doesn’t matter because he knows what he saw.

Dee is not standing on stage because he’s dead with a bullet in his head from---

---Tongue. Remus does not savor anything about the taste because whenever he closes his eyes the only thing he can see is Dee’s dead body and the only thing he can feel is copper clawing its way up his throat with the blind terror.

Remus leaps over the barrier, causing everyone around him to yell. The techie with the purple bangs in particular jumps back, but Remus ignores them in favor of watching, because Dee hasn’t seen him and doesn’t know what's coming and Remus wants to scream at the top of his lungs because watching Dee die never gets any easier to see.

It’s a bullet to the head. From the right temple through his brain at a downwards angle and Remus feels the blood sprinkle over him like sea spray straight from his darkest nightmares. He barely even notices, barely recognizes it, barely cares about it at all, because the next thing he knows Dee’s body is following it down right into Remus’s arms and unseeing blue-grey eyes stare at an empty sky.

The Prince is there too, mouth open and horrified, and even though everyone is screaming Remus can hear him start to say a phrase, a word, a syllable, “Re--”---

--Tongue. Remus’s mouth tastes like blood and absolutely nothing else because Dee is going to die from a shot through the head from a sniper, a shooter, an asshole and Remus thought maybe that Dee was over exaggerating before with his whole “the government is going to turn us all into weapons or eliminate us” rhetoric, but Remus thinks that he should have paid attention a little harder. Listened a little more. Believed a little better.

He stares at the building behind them, the library that’s being passed off as the FBE and the dark tinted windows that make the upper floors look abandoned completely. It’s like watching….it’s like…. it’s …

There’s a flash, a flicker. Then a heartbeat and then Dee is dying, dying, dead all alone and Remus feels himself body-checked back by a faceless person in the crowd and tossed to the ground to be trampled to death too.---

--tongue. Remus spits blood out of his mouth curling in on himself to stop anyone else from seeing because fuck him. He presses two fingers to his ear piece and pretends poorly that his throat doesn’t feel like someone took a pack of razor blades to it.

“Sniper shot, fourth floor, third window over,” Remus rasps. His heart pounds in his throat, in his skull, behind his eyes in a way that makes him want to tear his skin off to get the feeling to stop. Blood floods over his fingers, smearing on his chin, and across his sleeves no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it.

“One minute, forty seconds,” Remus coughs, and stares at the drips that hit the lower half of his shin, the toe of his boots, the asphalt.

Dee doesn’t react. Not at all and Remus wants to scream because he can feel time passing and he can’t stop the future from happening. He can’t, he can’t he can’t he can’t--

"You heard me, right?" Remus says maybe a little hysterically, because fuck, if they got this far and their mics weren’t even working and Remus just got the only person who ever mattered to him killed on live TV.

At this distance, Remus doesn’t know if he can make it, but even if he does, even if he tackles Dee down from the stage and the bullet misses them both it will go straight into the crowd, and there are people in this crowd-- people with lives, with families, with friends. They might have abilities, or they might not, but once that shot is fired the entire street will become a riot. Remus can hear the screams in his ears, ringing there so loudly it makes the present sound like a graveyard.

"I hear you," Dee says airily, acting like he’s talking to the superhero, but the words loosen the knot in Remus's chest, because he changed his speech, changed his stance, changed how much he knows about the future and now things will be different. The Prince eyes him rightfully warily, because Dee’s biggest weapons are knowledge and words.

"I hear you,” Dee says again directly to the hero, “I hear that you’ve been brainwashed into thinking that you owe something to the people who helped you control your ability, but the truth is… you could have done it without them, on your own. You certainly have the brains and the intuition for it."

He offers a hand out to the hero, casually, fluidly, and Remus almost laughs. He thinks if he opens his mouth again then only thing that will come out is blood and the people next to him will definitely notice that.

"Come with me, Prince of the People," Dee says right as the sniper lines up the shot. "Let’s discuss a better way to protect innocen--"

The gunshot is silent. Remus almost misses it in the collective intake of breath from every living thing in a ninety mile radius. Dee’s hand is out and the bullet catches the sunlight in a brilliant single flash.

-- through his brain at a downwards angle and Remus feels the blood sprinkle over him like sea spray straight from his darkest nightmares. He barely even notices, barely recognizes it, barely cares about it at all, because the next thing he knows Dee’s body is following it down right into Remus’s--

Dee’s skin ripples, his wings disappear. At this distance, Remus can’t tell what it turns into, what he impersonates, what he becomes that can fend off a bullet, but in the end it doesn’t matter at all because The Prince leaps forward with his sword drawn.

Remus blinks and the world feels like it tilts on its axis, spinning faster under his feet. He hugs the crowd barrier to steady himself. That… that isn’t possible. This isn’t what he saw. But there it is: The Prince wraps himself between Dee and the bullet, and draws his rapier so quickly that Remus almost misses it happening. It shouldn’t be possible-- It can’t be possible, but he’s faster than the bullet and somehow the piece of metal veers off trajectory into the stage at their feet and embeds itself there.

“That’s--” Remus’s breath catches, clumping up in a knot in the back of his throat that tastes a lot like blood.

The people in the crowd scream, the people near the front shove to move back, to get away, to find shelter and safety from bullets that were only targeting one man on stage. The police guard springs into actions that Remus can’t focus on because he’s so busy trying to remain upright when gravity is trying to drag him straight down to Hell.

“Are you alright?” The Prince asks, lowering his rapier.

“I--Dee--” Remus stutters.

“Was that... going to hit me…?” Dee asks in a tone that suggests that all the oxygen left the atmosphere.

“I don’t-- I can’t--” Remus swallows a mouth full of blood and it goes down his throat like thick, slow slugs trying to suffocate him. “I swear--”

“Have no fear,” The Prince says. “I’ll protect you. As long as I’m here, no harm will come to you. You have my word.”

“Re,” Dee says. He sounds like he’s several distant planets away. Remus’s hands are red and sticky and he swears if he closes his eyes that he can feel the misty spray of grey matter over his face when Dee falls from the stage, when his body lands in Remus’s arms, when those empty eyes stare up at him and see none of the grief in Remus’s eyes.

“I watched you,” Remus chokes.

He saw it. He knows he saw it and it was real and Dee died and Remus was left all alone like every nightmare he’s ever had. Dee died up on stage in front of the whole world and Remus saw his whole world shatter.

It happened.

“You can’t see the future, Remus!” Roman yelled four years ago and Remus has proved him wrong a hundred billion times over since then. He shouldn’t have to keep reminding himself of that.

“You died,” Remus says. “You died and I watched and I’m sorry-- I’m sorry, sor--”

“That’s all I needed to know, darling,” Dee tells him.

“Pardon?” The Prince asks, realizing maybe for the first time that Dee isn’t talking to him.

“You’re clever, Prince,” Dee says loudly, and Remus hears him so clearly in his earpiece it stabilizes him even when the world spins under his feet. Dee shoves himself out of the hero’s hold, stepping back twice, and looking downright murderous. “Far more clever than I gave you credit for! Did you just try to have me shot? Killed? All so you could look like the dashing hero on screen?”

“What?” the hero says and because he’s an actor Remus almost believes that he’s confused and not threatened.

“You just tried to kill me!” Dee snarls. “In front of all these people?! Because I dared ask a few questions about your motives?!”

The Prince stares at him, and Remus imagines his insufferable mouth is twitching into an awkward smile, like this is a joke that he doesn’t understand but doesn’t want to be rude.

“I assure you that is not the case here,” he says. “In fact I believe it’s far more likely that you arranged to have yourself attacked on this stage to emphasize a point on your part. I suspect you might have some type of protection against bullets, but even if you did I could not stand idle when there is a chance of you being hurt.”

“How noble,” Dee says. “Throwing yourself in front of everyone and asking nothing in return no matter the situation. A true hero complex.”

The Prince’s grip on his rapier tightens, but he says nothing.

“You say such pretty words, Prince,” Dee says. “Tell such convincing lies. You want people to step up and join you in a game of play pretend without realizing there are deadly consequences when abilities get out of control. You want people to follow you, to sing your praises, to believe you can do no wrong…. You’re the hero, of course! They’ll be so enamored with you, they won’t notice you leading them straight off a cliff.”

For a second the world stops turning, time stops passing, the crowd stops moving. Remus feels every atom in the air pressing up against him, itching, pulling, compressing against his skin as his heart pounds in his chest like some type of creature trying to escape his ribcage. There’s a ringing in his ears made from the silence between Dee and The Prince and it’s louder than any scream that the crowd makes, any gunshot a sniper takes, any calm Dee fakes.

“And I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Dee offers a complimentary shrug and then he launches across the stage, aiming for The Prince’s throat.

[Chapter Seven]

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

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Rain

Carol Danvers x fem!Reader

ONE SHOT

Warnings:SMUT (18+) protected sex, always.

Summary: Tis the weather to make love with your wife.

SOME of you have already read this work. I don’t know which ones. But I did not include it in my masterlist previously which is why I am reposting it again as a full fledged one shot.

Word Count: It’s my fault. I brought it on me, really. No one else is to blame but me for my inability to take my meds and not see a doctor when the world was still open. PS Please don’t tell Tari. I don’t know what she’ll do with me once she finds out

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The coldness of the generous shower outside your room seeps in through the walls and windows along with the sound that comforts your calm heartbeat. The warmth of your duvet engulfs you, the perfect barrier between the subtle heat keeping you cosy and the pleasant cold wanting to touch you and show you how it could tickle your nerves. And it does get a chance.

The barrier is slowly moved from your naked back, giving the crisp air full access to your sensitive skin, making every single hair strand its personal plaything. Ohhh it is heavenly. The readiness with which the frosty air treats your naked form is satisfying, to say the least. But that is not what enthrals your half-sleepy form.

Kisses.

Deep, heavy, wet kisses starting from the lowest point of your backbone send strings of sparks down your core and up to your heart before lighting up your brain. Slowly they move up, caressing middle of your back with softest lips leaving chaste pecks as you wiggle under their fulfilling presence.

Heaven.

The lips reach your shoulder, forcing a moan out your own when they mischievously caress that sensitive spot right at the edge of your neck.

Fireworks.

As if this smouldering ember isn’t enough, a tender hand find their way around your waist, travelling up your torso, compelling your body to go blank before the metaphorical volcanos of hunger start to erupt from lit up corners, feeling the first burst as it wraps around your breast.

Bloom.

Breathlessness. That’s all you can define your state as when those otherworldly lips curl up to let the teeth feel your skin under them before that infamously playful tongue licks away the bites of love all over your neck. The hand teases your nipple, breaking a wave of goosebumps down your entire body as they rise at the delicious call.

Heat.

The touch is more surreal now, burning you up, making you rise into the exposed form dominating you.

Hunger.

The restraints holding you back break and you turn to look at that glowing face of the woman you adore with every atom that has created you. Oh, she looks nothing less than an angel; a warrior of the heavens; A God. The golden strands coming down her face to tease you with the same intensity as her eyes that tell you her intentions clear as a crystal.

Mine.

The movement of your hands to caress your face, watch her close her eyes and give in to your touch with the most gratifying breath.

Tender.

You rise to take her lips unto yours, letting them speak for the intensity of your devotion to her. The kiss wakes up your soul, taking her in, breathing her scent, letting her enter you, playing a scintillating tune with her tongue on yours, all the while, grabbing you from your ass and bringing you as close to her as she can.

Lust.

You push yourself closer to her, grinding your heated wet core into hers. She lets go of your lips to give you that smirk of hers you love the most. She knows what you want. Of course, she does. She had been working all this while for it after all. And now she finally gets to do it. She gets to watch you moan under her touch. She gets to give you the best high of your life.

Desire.

Her hands grab your thighs to slide you back into the bed before raising your wrists above your head and locking them there with just one of her hands.

The other one travels down to your folds, feeling the wetness dripping down, letting her fingers immerse in your liquid before letting you playing her favourite note with your clit, making you vibrate through and through.

While her tongue creates a path down to your breasts to tease them, her fingers create a languid movement to let your body feel that pleasure and impatience for more.

More.

Your legs wrap around her hips, raising yourself, your eyes looking at her, telling her to fuck to the moon.

Dark temptation.

Her finger enters you, catching her breath at the slickness mixed with the heat. Every corner she touches lights up and escapes you with a groan that moves her to drive another finger into you. And another. The pace increases and your pleasure goes to a new high. Your hands want to touch her, feel her, bite into her skin, dig your nails into her back, find an outlet for this explosion going on inside you, rising up faster than it did last night, your walls clenching around her hands that just do not stop till they have given you what you want. The cries escaping you grow higher as you feel yourself closer to the edge, the waves crashing into the damn before finally giving away with a wild shudder. She doesn’t stop till she knows she has given you her all.

Breathless bodies lie next to each other, drowning in sweat, looking at each other with the satisfaction you can only find when you have found your calling. When you have found your love; your life.

The raindrops falling mimic the sweat beads on your skin, their sound a sweet lullaby to the satisfied hearts with content bodies wrapping themselves in each other’s warmth before falling back to sleep.

Love.

#Carol Danvers #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x you #carol danvers x y/n #carol danvers fluff #carol danvers fic #carol danvers smut #smut #fluff #marvel fluff #marvel smut #mcu fluff #mcu smut #mcu fanfic #MCU #MCU fanfiction #marvel fanfic #fanfic #carol danvers fanfiction

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solarsmith49 · 3 years

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First Entry

So I figured I should have a preface/background post before I jump into sharing my writing lol, be warned this is kinda sappy but necessary haha. I’m going to focus on writing for Creatus Annus; I got back into watching Mark’s channel during the initial March lockdowns after being away for a couple years, and from there into Ethan’s channel and Unus Annus. I relate so much to Ethan in the brutally honest video talking about how he’s felt aimless and drifting the last few years, because that’s exactly how I felt for a long time- I started 2020 unemployed, no money, no direction, with seemingly no passion or drive to really get out and /live/ instead of just existing. In April I had a breakdown, and I realized I had to get myself and my life together while I still could because it really did seem like the world was burning down (thanks covid!) and if I didn’t do it now then there wouldn’t be another chance. I was able to mentally get myself together, and I did find another job in May (which has been a godsend). And at about the same time as I got hired, I found Mark’s vlog talking about his surgeries and the post-op pain medicine screwup that almost killed him. I closed my laptop and cried after that, because it was exactly what I needed to hear, when I needed to hear it, by the right person I needed to hear it from. Because I realized it described me perfectly, not acting on my potential and (even worse) not feeling the /need/ to do so. So I took a long look at myself, and this essay below is the first thing I wrote after watching the video, exploring my complete love of space and /why/ it drives me in the way it does. I think it fits the whole message of Unus Annus, and what we’re trying to do here with Creatus Annus, trying to give our own answers to why our lives and our art matters. Space colors all of my poems (as you’ll see later haha), as well as the creative tension I have from my religious and spiritual background (I was raised Catholic, and still am to a degree, but my personal beliefs range all over the place and the relationship and dialogue I have with God/the Divine and what it means to Create Things is a major theme with space). So, here’s my first entry for the project; I’m going to write my general ideas for specifically what I want to do in the ideas thread later, but enjoy the essay - I think you guys will like it.

Even until just a few days ago, I didn’t think I had any life passions, or at least, any passions that mattered. I have hobbies, sure - gaming, crafting, reading, general learning - but I never thought much of them because I didn’t see how I could use them or even if I should bother trying to make anything of them. Certainly I didn’t think I had any interest that moved me enough to devote a life’s pursuit ot it - but that was another self life, perhaps the greatest, one born from a mix of complacency, lack of faith in myself, and a fear of really facing what truly honestly drives me and the action that that would demand. The change that that would demand. Because I do have a passion, and I love it in a general sense, learning about it and following it casually. But it's also something I turn to in dark hours, something that resparks me when I’m tired, that keeps me going and holds my faith and sustains me when everything else fails - family, friends, my job prospects, failing health, chaos in the larger world, evil in the larger world, even when my belief in the Church burns down and God as seen through the “Catholic” lens seems distant and irrelevant. Something that I adore with every fiber of my being and in the core of my very soul. That something is space: the stars and galaxies and their natural functions and processes, but also in particular the space program and what it says about human nature and our relation to the wider universe and ultimately to God himself.

I believe the human endeavour to get to space and the various space programs throughout the world showcase the pinnacle of what our species can do, the best of humanity in terms of technology and cooperation and curiosity, and one of the most fundamental drives we have as humans - the drive to be remembered. Every single human being, from the greatest to the worst of us, is the end product of 13.6 billion years of cosmic cycles, stars being formed, exploding, sending out dust that forms new stars. Every single atom and primal element in our bodies, our carbon, iron, calcium, magnesium, everything was forged in the nuclear fusion reactor in the core of a star, untold eons ago and untold millions of lightyears away. Probably more than once as the dust clouds combine, are forged, and then scattered by the shockwaves of supernovas across time and space. Over and over and over again, until 4.6 billion years ago when our Sun grew from dust and the planets grew from the leftovers. And the Earth - the Earth! - undergoing the same process in microcosm, plates shifting and rock melting and gas expanding and water sifting until the Earth was made solid, and then! In the process, as a by-product, a side effect! The right combination of star forged elements and electricity and chemical reactions was struck and gave the collections of dust atoms Life and Breath! Living, self sustaining action on its own accord, independent of outside forces, movement greater than the stars because it happens on its own! And THEN - a more focused microcosm of the star forge, as 4.5 billion years of evolution refine Life, uncounted species live and die and refine their genes and physical makeup and brain processes and living interactions with the inert world around them; the decay of their bodies feeding plants which feed animals which lets them reproduce and keep the cycle going, echoing the ancient and unaware supernovas, until at last! 100,000 years ago the human species was fully evolved, and, miraculously, became self aware.

Think about that for a minute. As wonderful as Life is, we could have been just another species of animal, but for the greatest innovation and combination of stardust the universe has ever seen. We were cavemen, we knew next to nothing about the stars or the wide earth or about our potential, but for the first time Life had gained the capacity to know. For the first time in 13.6 billion years, dust atoms had gained the capability to learn their origins and how they were made and ultimately to define why they were made. So, what is almost the very first thing we do with this capacity of thought as an infant species, newly self aware? We make art. We make, preserved by some quirk of fate in a French cave, handprints on a rock wall. We - living stardust - take inert ochre and pigment and stamp an outline on the wall, and those outlines survive intact for 50,000 years. In this scribbling of an infant species we can already recognize the drive still present in ourselves - the need to say “we were here once, and our existence mattered”. Humanity for the first time, living relics of ancient stars, giving voice for the first time to those stars, saying in art and words what stars declared in the mute atoms and elements and light they left behind: “we existed once, and that existence mattered.”

Humanity is the universe made self aware. And just as galaxies are made of millions of individual stars, so too do we as individuals make up Humanity as a collective. Every single one of us is the universe learning about and defining itself. And the impulse behind our earliest achievements of cave art is present in everything throughout our history, our collective achievements, our art, our architecture, literature, science, theology, our empires, our struggles, our failures, our compassion for each other. It's present in all of us as individuals, for which of us doesn’t want our life, our memory to be remembered when we are gone? We as a species are capable of such great things, great destruction and great good. And throughout our entire history as a species, we’ve never stopped looking up at the moon and the stars, admiring them, fascinated by them, studying them, unaware at times of our origin among them but always drawn to their light, their unspoken promise. Until finally in the 20th century, the culmination of thousands of years of research and science and engineering, the best efforts of the best we humans have to offer - we unlock the sky we’ve dreamed of for so long and we build machines to take us to the Moon. We build the Saturn V, the Apollo capsules, we push ourselves from the cradle and beyond our ancient limits and we - fragile, living mortals - walk upon the Moon itself. We leave our handprints, after all this time, in the purest form of star dust we will likely ever physically encounter, the living imprinting its shape into the inert, like a brother finally coming home.

But we don’t stop there. We build satellites and the Hubble Telescope, the International Space Station and satellites and rovers and probes to pave the way for us, our reunion with the stars. We take more stardust and primal elements and fashion them in our image, to go to other worlds and scout the cosmos for us. We name them after the best of ourselves: Pioneer, Perseverance, Curiosity, Sojourner, Spirit, that they may represent us well to the cosmos and whatever it may contain. We build Voyager 1 and Voyager 2, currently the furthest of our creations from the Earth in the cold vastness of interstellar space, and in Voyager 2 we place the Golden Record. A disk of pure gold upon which we recorded the sounds and voice of Earth - water running, leaves falling in the wind, ocean waves, volcanoes bursting, birds singing, and us - human voices, human laughter, human crying, greetings in every language, our music, a baby crying, a heart beating. We took inert stardust and imprinted ourselves, living dust, upon it, and sent it out into interstellar space to be our witness and our message. That we, the universe living and self ware, see the stars we came from and that we understand; we say through the pinnacle of our innovation and with the same depth of expression as those first handprints, “We, the living dust, give this record back to you and for ourselves, that we existed once, and that it mattered.” We sent it as a testimony, as an offering, as a prayer, and as a vow: that we aren’t done yet, that as long as Humanity lives we will never be done, and if we do eventually end that there will have been a time, if only briefly, that the stars knew and understood themselves, and that despite or even because of its brevity, it will have mattered.

#creatus annus

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admiralty-xfd · 5 years

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Culmination

This is chapter 7. To start at the beginning click here.

COLLISION

(all things)

SCULLY

Their worlds are colliding. Her world, his world.

There’s no other way she can describe it. The force of gravity pulling them both down to earth. Two meteors crashing into each other. Magnetic poles fusing together.

She doesn’t remember exactly how it started. She only remembers waking up alone on his couch, his fish tank bathing the living room in a pale green light, the ugly blanket from his couch around her, smelling like Mulder. She loves that ugly blanket.

What if there was only one choice, and all the other ones were wrong?

She’s been making the wrong choice for years. Now the only thing she wants to do is make the right one and she doesn’t want to wait any longer. She is done waiting and wondering. So she goes to his bedroom in the middle of the night like a moth to a seven-year-long burning flame.

There is no more hesitation. She runs to him and it begins.

They are sitting on his bed together, a frenzy of tangled limbs. Their clothes come off fast enough to make her head spin. All she can sense is him, his heat, his mass, his every atom.

A flurry of thoughts invade her mind, first oh my god I can’t believe this is finally happening.

Then this is a mistake, we shouldn’t be doing this.

Then stop.

Stop.

But she doesn’t want to stop, she knows she’s not going to stop. She banishes these thoughts because even though her mind is screaming at her to stop she knows her heart will not listen.

She’s made her decision.

Physically, this is what she wants, she knows this is what both of them need. But emotionally, she worries what it might mean. What if this really is a mistake? What if they can’t be like themselves after this, can’t go back to being them?

Tears prick her eyes and she admonishes herself. It’s exhausting, hiding your feelings from the one person you want to tell the most. Fantasies of this very moment have permeated her thoughts for years, and every day that passed without it happening made that exhaustion exponentially worse.

And what about him? What is he thinking? What is he feeling?

God, he feels amazing. This is amazing.

He feels exactly like she always imagined he would. Her fingers trail along his arms, his back, his shoulder blades, all the places she’s never been allowed to touch this way. Her mind tries to focus as stray thoughts from over the years fill her head: his hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of an autopsy bay. His steely hazel eyes locked onto hers for just a few moments too long. The heat of their mouths just inches apart as he pulls her forehead to his but never crosses that line.

All those times she wanted him to.

Sometimes nothing happens for a reason.

Well, that line has certainly been crossed now. She rationalizes that it’s pointless to stop even if she were capable of doing so. There is no going back now. None of this is rational anyway; all her rational thoughts have left the building. His building. His bed. His body. His hands. His mouth.

Him, him, him.

Finally.

It’s dark, but the moonlight is bright, almost otherworldly. She should feel self-conscious about her body but she doesn’t; they’ve seen each other naked on multiple occasions over the years. Never in this context, admittedly, but she can’t bring herself to care. There simply isn’t enough bandwidth in her brain right now to go there.

He’s kissing her deeply, hungrily, all over, like he’s discovering her. She lets him. He’s nothing if not single-minded when it comes to his passion. As frustrating as it can be in moments when they don’t see eye to eye, she admires that about him.

She loves that about him.

“Is this okay?” He is the first one to speak. It’s an odd thing to say, considering she's the one who started everything. He must notice the tears in her eyes. Maybe he’s thinking about what happened in the car. She worries he’s misinterpreting.

“No. I mean… yes, it’s fine,” she smiles. “It’s better than fine. Just ignore me.”

He smiles and pulls her in again. His hands sink into her hair, his fingers entangle and disappear.

He tells her he’s ignored her for too long, he won’t make that mistake again. Something like that. Her head is swimming and she doesn’t hear exactly what he’s saying. She’s never felt so wonderful in her entire life, she knows that much. The actual fulfillment of the one thing she’s wanted more than anything else is overloading every single one of her senses. Her stomach contracts until it almost hurts.

The rain is pounding on his bedroom window, the trees whipping against the glass. She still can’t believe this is happening at all and wants to live in this moment, wants to make this go on forever, but a familiar ache is telling her this preliminary dance can’t go on much longer. It’s been years since she’s been with anyone and she’s more than ready for him.

Rarely are they on the same page, however, and tonight will be no exception. He’s kissing her everywhere, slowly, taking his time. But she needs him right now.

She pushes him back against the wall and her hand moves down in expectation, first touching him softly but then grasping him firmly. Hard evidence, her favorite kind, she jokes to herself. She suspects Mulder would appreciate a dumb science joke but she tucks that one away for later. Now really isn’t the time.

“Wait.” He pulls away, holding her face.

She looks into his eyes and sees exactly what she’s been hoping for so long to see: desire for her, maybe even love? He’s looking at her with wonder, like he just saw his first UFO. But then:

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Fuck. What is he doing?

Maybe he’s considered this so many times and stopped himself so many times because he knows it’s probably not a good idea. Does he really want to stop? Does she?

No. There really is no turning back this time. She’s made her choice. Whatever he believes, she wants to believe everything will be okay, no matter what, because it’s them.

They can take on the world.

“I’m sure.” She says it clearly, assuredly. “Are you?”

Possible consequences are not driving her at the moment. He is like air, like water. Her need is primal and urgent. God, she hopes he’s sure.

He nods and smiles. That smile. The one she’s tried to ignore all this time. The one that stirs up these feelings she’s pushed away year after year until she finally realized that smile was all she ever wanted to see.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life, Scully.”

“That’s certainly saying something, for you,” she says, grinning, as she climbs onto his lap.

It’s the first time they’ve made contact in this way and their eyes lock. The significance of the moment isn’t lost on her, but all she can think of is how he can’t get inside her fast enough. She berates herself for feeling so powerless to these urges, because the Scully he knows doesn’t behave like this. That Scully isn’t impulsive, especially with Mulder. It’s how she’s kept her hands off him all these years.

As she looks into his eyes, though, she realizes she’s actually very much in control. She’s more in control than she’s ever been. For the first time with him, she’s going after what she wants. This Scully, the one holding onto him now, is real, and she wants him to know her so badly.

This is what she wants, he is who she wants. He is all she’s wanted ever since she walked into his basement office all those years ago. Her life started at twenty-eight and she hasn’t realized it until now.

Suddenly they are one, and she closes her eyes, marveling at its exquisiteness. It has never felt this way for her before. The symbiotic dance that has gone on for so long between his beautiful mind and hers has finally manifest in their bodies and it’s every bit as divine as she imagined it.

She remembers what he said to her years ago in his hallway: You made me a whole person. She never knew until this moment she had not been whole without him.

The rain continues to pummel the glass. Her hands are in his hair, his hands are everywhere. They find a rhythm and time and space don’t exist anymore; only they do.

She holds his face and studies it: his perfect bottom lip that she can’t help but stare at whenever he’s rattling off a theory he’s excited about. The stubble on his face he’d neglected to shave for some reason that probably had something to do with her absence. And his eyes, the same eyes that have looked directly into her soul for years, now looking more closely into her own than ever before. The only reality she can perceive right now is him, wrapped around her like he belongs there.

This feels so right, and so real, and as their bodies move against each other, his familiar voice an unfamiliar groan in her ear, she wonders why it took them so long to get here. But as she wonders, she simultaneously believes deep down within her that this, right now, was worth every single second of waiting.

She doesn’t want it to end but eventually, it does for them both, at the same time. That never happens, she marvels. She can’t believe how perfect everything is.

Her eyes close and she pulls his mouth to hers again, drinking him in. Her lips dance around his face, tasting the sweat dripping down his forehead, the sweat she helped put there. His body starts to relax, his eyelids close and he looks completely spent.

“ScullyScullyScullyScully….” he whispers into her ear, as if her name is the only word his brain can locate. It’s the best thing she’s ever heard him say. And he’s said a lot.

She holds him tightly, their bodies still joined upright. Her chin is resting on his shoulder, her knees locked around his hips. She studies the texture of the wall behind him as reality starts crashing in around her, and decides extracting herself from his arms is something she wants to put off as long as possible. Mostly because this feels like heaven, but also because then she will have to face him and think of something to say.

She doesn’t know what to say.

She wants to tell him the truth, she wants to say the words, but she can’t. She’s terrified. Just because he’s said yes to sex doesn’t mean he loves her the same way she loves him.

What if she says it and he can’t say it back? It would ruin everything that hasn’t already been ruined.

She can’t help but hope they’ll ruin it again. And again.

It’s too soon to say it, she tells herself. Seven years and it’s too soon. How fucking stupid is that?

She thinks of the millions of people who say it all the time without meaning it, and here she is, meaning it and not saying it. She prays to whatever God is listening that he says something first.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs into her ear, in that tired voice he uses while discussing a case and they’re on round four of one of their bantering sessions. “You have no idea, Scully… no idea how much I’ve thought about this, how much I’ve wanted this.”

She thinks she probably has some idea. She says nothing, but clings to him even tighter and kisses his temple. He’s breathing quietly into her ear as he holds her, and she is more happy and content than she’s ever been. She’s never been this close to him before and she wants to savor it before the moment is over and they have to try to go back to doing whatever it was they did before this.

The rain has begun to slow down, as if the storm itself was waiting for them, only for the two of them, to swell and subside as they did. As if the world had been holding its breath. They embrace each other quietly for what feels like an eternity, their breath slowing, their hearts pounding, the rain outside. Finally, reluctantly, she unravels her body from his and slides off the bed.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom, I’ll be right back.” She hears him flop back down onto the bed.

She closes the bathroom door behind her and looks into the mirror. She likes what she sees. The tableau of Mulder’s bathroom mirror framing her wild hair, her puffy lips, face red from the scruff on his chin, that just-fucked look in her eyes.

This feels good, this feels right. She smiles at her reflection.

She turns on the sink and splashes water on her face. She tries to turn off the faucet but a stubborn drip protests.

After a couple minutes, she emerges into the soft moonlight of his bedroom. He’s already asleep, of course. The jet lag from his flight from England that afternoon combined with their activities would be plenty to send him off to dreamland.

She considers climbing into bed with him, holding him all night until their breathing falls into sync like everything else, and staying there with him until morning. But she doesn’t. She can think of a million reasons to go and only one reason to stay. And that one reason is something she’s not ready to tell him.

She decides to leave that for another night. Because as awkward as this all may be, deep down she knows there has to be another night.

She softly pads around his bedroom, collecting her clothes. Her skirt is on the floor near his head, and as she crouches down to get it she watches him sleep for a moment. She presses her thumb to her own lips, then his, and says what she’s not ready to say, quietly. He won’t hear her, but she tells him anyway, because it’s the only thing left to do to make everything truly perfect.

She returns to the bathroom and gets dressed, the sink still dripping, unfinished business. Like they will have tomorrow.

After exiting the bathroom she notices the wind has picked up again. She tries not to read too much into it. She pauses at the foot of the bed to grab her jacket and looks at his naked sleeping form, half obscured by sheets. A tiny, triumphant smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

MULDER

He’s talking too much, as usual, the droning sound of his voice starting to bore even himself. So he stops and lets his gaze rest on her face, asleep on the couch next to him.

With one finger he gently tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. She’s so heartbreakingly beautiful. Once again, the bad thoughts he’s been fighting against rise up inside him.

You don’t deserve her.

You’ll never be good enough for her.

Oh, and you’ve completely fucked up her life, by the way.

He doesn’t want to think these things but he can’t help it. He’s a fucking disaster and he loves her so much it hurts.

He briefly considers waking her up so she can go home, but he wants her here, as near to him as possible. So he tucks a blanket around her shoulders and after one more lingering gaze, reluctantly leaves her side to go to bed.

He’s tired, anyway. A whirlwind trip to England to investigate crop circles that all ended up coming to nothing. And he and Scully had a stupid argument before he left, not to mention that whole awful thing that happened in the car the other night. It was a shitty weekend.

At least she’s here now, and everything seems to be okay. They’ll move on like always, in the numbing embrace of the status quo, because as usual, he’s too chicken shit to do anything about it.

He brushes his teeth, takes off his pants and gets into bed. He’s tired but his mind won’t rest. How can it while she’s here in his apartment, so close, right now?

He’s lying there, his mind racing. He should wake her and offer her the bed. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. Fuck it, maybe he should just scoop her up and bring her into the bed with him. Be romantic, do something unexpected.

Ugh, no. She’d probably slap him or leave or something. It just isn’t him, it’ll never work.

As he mulls his options over, she appears in the doorway. At first he thinks he’s dreaming, that he’s willed her into existence, some gorgeous fiery haired tulpa. A corporeal being turned physical by sheer imagination.

“Mulder.”

Her voice is husky, unfamiliar. He’s never heard her say his name this way, and he’s thrilled to add it to his list. He’s amazed that one word uttered by her has already stirred something deep in his groin.

He props himself up on his elbows and blinks.

“Scully?”

Before he can even comprehend what’s going on she’s across the room and in his space, kissing him wildly, her hands in his hair. He kisses her back.

And just like that, they’ve changed. They’ve become something else.

Of all the times he pictured this happening, and there were many times, he was always the one to make the first move. He’d thought about it in their office. He’d thought about it in the field. He’d thought about it at home, at times when he felt so lonely he could hardly stand her absence even though they’d already spent twelve hours together that day. Some nights he’d call her up for no reason at all, just to hear her voice. Other nights he’d turn to the stash of adult videos he’d tried and failed to keep a secret from her.

Hell, he’d actually tried to make a move, on more than one occasion. All of them failures.

It feels pathetic how long he’s been unable to act on his feelings in this way and now, here she is, finally doing it for him. Like she does everything for him, always.

What she’s doing now isn’t like his lame attempt on New Year’s Eve. This isn’t some arbitrary excuse to press her lips against his. This is the exact opposite of chicken shit. She’s so much braver than him and he is in awe.

He knows he doesn’t deserve her but he feels so goddamn lucky that for now, just for now, he tries to forget that.

He’s sitting up now and they are pulling, tearing each other’s clothes off. Everything falls to the floor until they’ve eliminated all the barriers that have ever been between them.

This is it, he thinks. This is really finally happening.

Just then he sees tears in her eyes. Is she crying? He asks if this is okay. After what happened in the car the other night he would never want to make her feel that way again. She says it is okay, and he believes her. He will always believe her.

He starts talking into her neck but then shuts up. They talk too much. All he wants to do is kiss her, a thousand kisses he should have given her so many times before: dozens of stakeouts where they were so close together he found it impossible not to wonder what it would be like. That night he took her hand and they danced together at a concert. The time their hands entwined around a bat as they hit baseballs in the cool night air, his arms wrapped around her. When he told her she was his constant, his touchstone, and he knew, he knew that time if he’d gone for it she would have probably gone there with him. But still, he hadn’t.

That goddamn fucking bee in the hallway that interrupted them, just outside of his apartment, mere yards from where they are now, gasping for breath and tracing every inch of each other with their fingertips.

He can hardly believe it but now her hands are moving downward, and suddenly his rational brain snaps to attention. This is headed exactly where he wants it to go, but...

What if she regrets this?

What if it affects our partnership?

What if what if what if?

He looks into her eyes, knows he has to ask if she’s sure.

She pauses for a moment and he’s having trouble reading her face. He’s so sure about this he now wishes he hadn’t said anything at all and he’s painfully aware he’s given her an out.

Please don’t take it. Please stay with me, Scully.

She takes his face in her hands, looking deeply into his eyes. It nearly takes his breath away.

“I’m sure,” she says, with the same certainty she reserves for the scientific facts she recites for him daily, and his heart almost bursts with relief. She crawls into his lap and his world spins off its axis.

Before it’s over, he adds three new “Mulders” to his list. The very last one she screamed out is his new all-time favorite.

Afterwards, she clings to him tightly, both of them breathing heavily. He wants her to know he loves her, that she means more to him than anything in the world. But he doesn’t tell her, not right now. His brain hasn’t caught up to his body and he can barely process how incredible this all is. How incredible she is, how much he’s wanted this for so long.

He can tell her that much, so he does, softly, into her ear.

Suddenly he’s completely exhausted. He knows they’re going to have to figure this all out but he can’t think about that right now. All he can think about is how amazing her body feels next to his, just the way he’s always imagined it. Better, actually.

For the moment, he is utterly content. He would be perfectly happy just holding her like this forever.

After a while she releases him to head to the bathroom and he feels a pang of sadness to let her go. He flops back onto the bed, the sheets still tangled from his attempt at sleep before she pounced on him.

He shifts over to one side of his bed to make room for her. He’s not used to having to do that, his long limbs usually stretched out across the entire bed. His couch has been the only place he’s slept for so many years; sleeping in an actual bed has been relatively new for him.

He could get used to having her in it, he thinks, and he’s picturing such a scenario when he drifts off to sleep, the wind beginning to whip the leaves against the windows once again.

Thanks for reading! To continue, click here. Otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow for the next chapter!

#txf #msr #msr fanfic #mulder and scully #all things #first time fic #culmination #sometimes nothing happens for a reason

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pastelblue32 · 5 years

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This ones a bit lengthy but thought I’d share :)

We,

the sinners, the saints, the empty, the human

Are brought into this world

Blood covered and naked

Screaming as a sign of life

Soft and vulnerable

Small and fragile

As a squishy mess

Of new skin

Our brain—

our blank canvased brain

devoid of hatred

no sign of corruption

no evidence of the destruction we hold onto ourselves

—Our brain,

Intakes all of this ‘newness’

oh, oh i’ve never heard before!

oh, oh that must be my mother, my father—

oh, oh i’ve never had one of those before—

oh, oh what is this!

oh, oh this must be touch!

oh, oh my mother's breast is warm when she hugs me—

oh, oh that is her heart!

oh, oh my father’s eyes are the most wonderful shade!

oh, oh i want to look at that color forever!

oh, oh i think i love you all—

oh, oh what a wonderful feeling love is!

oh, oh i never want to stop feeling this love—

And as we age

And age

We forget

We don’t…

R e m e m b e r

What it was like

To breathe

To blink

To be

For the very first time.

Do we,

the sinners, the saints, the empty, the human

Not remember,

we don’t

we won’t

W h y w o n ‘ t w e ?

that is our curse,

you sinner

you saint

you empty

you human

I w a n t t o r e m e m b e r .

we can’t

W h y ?

you see,

you sinner

you saint

you empty

you human

you were never s u p p o s e d to remember

your freshly formed mind couldn’t remember such a thing

when you are born

your soul

breathes your first breath

with you

as your soul

breathes,

attaching itself to your new skin,

your bloody skin,

your screaming skin,

the souls

made of dinosaur dust

made of s t a r s

pass by your little body

on their way

h o m e

and in this moment

this split second—

your new soul,

can s e e

all the old souls

who wandered this earth

much much much longer than your new soul can even comprehend

they close to you

as sparkling clouds of knowledge

you and your soul stare for a while

in a blissful silence

as the old

the dead

the departing souls

smile at you two

the flicks of light

like solar flares from that orange sun you have yet to see

sing to you

the lullaby

every newborn soul is sung

“You must be so scared,”

one hums as their atoms shake angrily, frustrated and confused, lost in The Divide, crying out, for they no longer understand where they belong… to the living or to the dead?

“Do not be afraid.”

the other cloud sings, lifting your chin with a gust of calming air that whistles in your ears

“Small sinner, saint, empty, human,

We are here to explain to you the way of this world.”

and the other will smile at you

and you will want to remember that smile

that warm, safe smile

oh how you’ll want to feel this warm and cared for

for forever

“Oh child,”

they’ll take the warm hand from your chin

and you will cry

demanding the warmth and safety return to you

‘can’t you see!’

you’ll want to scream

‘i don’t want to be cold again! come back! come back!’

“I know that look,”

the other will wipe your tears,

but their touch is fading

it’s so cold

it’s distant

“That’s your first lesson of this world,

you sinner, saint, empty, human.”

the other will smile warmly

and your big eyes will fill with pleading

‘stay!’

they cry

But these are lessons

Not rewards

“This world is unfair

It’s full of limitless moments

Of joy

Of grief

Of bliss

Of peace

But it is unfair.”

“You are being given an insight, little infant,

But that does not mean you get to k e e p i t.”

“This is our curse”

“This is our nature”

“You will begin

With a love too pure to keep

With a trust too good for this world

With a lesson…

...too vast

...too kind

...too loving

For the cruel world to allow you to keep.”

“Our curse

Is to spend our entire lives

Searching for the answers

To the questions we gather

Throughout our time here

The answers

We were given

As infants.”

“Before we were sinners”

“Before we were saints”

“Before we were empty”

they’ll kiss your doe eyes

with a profound empathy

you have yet to learn

“Child,”

they beckon,

“Keep dusting for the lyrics we sing

All of your life

Piece together the melody

With trials

And errors

With beginnings

And endings

With heartache

And loss

And grief

And closure

And moments

And love—”

“—oh, child, never forget to love.”

“This world is cruel”

“Oh, so cruel”

“But don’t let it bend you”

“Be kind”

“Be forgiving”

“Be loving to all the other sinners

And saints

And empties

And humans”

and you’ll want them to stay

but you won’t cry

and they’ll kiss you again

with a heart

worn with stories

and lessons

and oh, so much love

and they will leave.

and you and your new soul will forget them.

and you will forget their lullaby—

your very first lullaby.

and you will cry.

you will ache

for something

you don’t understand.

you will miss

people you never met.

and you will cry.

you will cry for hours.

grieving something that was never yours—

and you will age.

and the songs

sung by old souls

will slip out from the cracks

of your own aging soul.

and you will have oh, oh so many lessons to relearn.

but that’s the one beautiful thing of this unfair, cruel world:

you spend an entire l i f e t i m e learning.

a l i f e t i m e of new sounds.

a l i f e t i m e of new people.

a l i f e t i m e of new textures.

you are reborn every single day

a l i f e t i m e of firsts

waiting for y o u

the sinner

the saint

the empty

the human

#my poetry #life #stuff i wrote #poetry

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jungdrizzydraco · 5 years

Text

An O.C. for Your Asses!!!

I wanna see if the characters are legit before I move forward with this short story im working on (I'm a character first kinda guy, so I work inside-out) leave any form of constructive critique you wish, they are still works in progress, thanks!!

Augustine Harriet Andersson

Age:22

Sign: Gemini (sun) Cancer (moon) Virgo (rising)

Height: 5'8

Eye Color: Formerly dark-brown, bleached to a pastel-hazel because of some dark magic fuckery

Hair Color/Cut: dark-brown,q shifting variations of a fade, whose design changes somewhat based on his thoughts and emotions (yes, this is an enchanted fade)

Build: lean, lightly muscled from years lifting cauldrons in his grandfather's potion shop

Notable Features: Dimples; left-dimple is deeper than right, multiple piercings on each ear, artificial left eye (looks organic but to magical eyes, it looks otherwise)

"Have you ever been like...fundamentally angry? I feel that way...like at my core, there's this rage that seethes and coils at the pit of my stomach, everyday, like a python that can't quite squeeze his prey all the way to death. Everytime I think I've grown up, forgiven something or someone or myself, there's this anger that tightens right back up all over again...like it's reminding me of something. Somedays...I feel like that feeling will petrify everything I've ever loved about myself, and I'll just be another slave to outrage and ego and pain...just like everyone else...haha, then I'll really be a normie." -August Andersson, on his depression and internal anger issues.

Augustine Andersson is a witch-boy. But you could probably already tell that from looking at him: the way his eyes are almost constantly fixed towards some unseeable infinity, the way air molecules hum with fresh, manic energy around him, how he seems to absorb sunlight and the way his brown skin would filter the glow as a result of his connection to the natural...it was all very off putting to others around him for most of his young adult life. And as we all know, no one likes a freak, so such years had a hand in building his current trust issues, feelings of great anger and inadequacy, and all the tics and tricks he uses to keep such feelings at bay. He's not at a total loss; at his core he is a humanitarian, deeply compassionate and available to those who have managed to capture his heart, as well as wild and humorous. However, he keeps a tight lid on his darkest feelings and insecurities, out of fear that they may be too much for those around him (also, he might accidentally call forth a vile arch-daemon on accident, but that's neither here nor there.) After finally having had enough of his mundane time amongst the humans, he vanishes from his college campus one day and takes to the open road, hoping that like the many young, angsty teens in the movies he loves, he will find himself in his own solitude. But the best way to deal with oneself is when confronting someone else, and after a close-call with a reckless (and very cute) motorcycle rider on an interstate, August will be forced to deal with every single part of himself, the good, the bad, and the strange...

A few more things about him...

1. His father is Afro-swedish, hence his last name.

2. Loves to travel and is nomadic by nature.

3. He gets a special kind of warmth out of being moderately petty at all times.

4. He loves open spaces and bodies of water, as well as hikes through mountains (ok so he only went once in Vegas, so sue him, he really liked it!)

5. Surprisingly low maintenance, really just likes being around people that are happy, and the feeling easily rubs off on him.

6. Both positive and negative emotions easily rub off on him.

7. Can get caught up in moments of warm content, given his unstable interior life, and can get lost in wasting/spending time.

8. Gets restless easily.

9. Budding film buff, faves include Kill Bill vol. 1&2, Her, Moonrise Kingdom, Gone Girl, Blue is the Warmest Color, Moonlight, & Mean Girls.

10. August's father is very engaged with politics and civil rights, so in honor of that, he decided that his son's middle name would belong to one of the greatest figures of the civil rights movement: Harriet Tubman.

11. Favorite new movie is The Favourite.

12. Due to a lack of acceptance of his full self and the full spectrum of his sexuality, he is judgemental of others and holds them to the same near-impossible standards he holds for himself.

13. Things he expects from others: To read his mind and conjure what he wants without saying, to have his needs and boundaries respected without actually stating so, for others to fit in whatever box he thinks they should be in, for everyone's intellect to be slightly lower than his own, but high enough not to annoy him with silly questions, ect.

14. Listens to Lorde, J. Cole, Rex Orange County, Frank Ocean, Lana Del Rey, Tyler the Creator, Young Thug and assorted film soundtracks.

15. Enjoys playing into his double-sided nature when it suits him, and has a secret glee in melding into different roles depending on who's around him.

16. Is attracted to more eccentric personalities in platonic and romantic relationships

17. Smokes weed to escape boredom. (and his problems)

18. Smokes weed because he likes the feeling.

19. Is secretly a little ratchet, but he'll kill you if you say so, it'll fuck up his reputation as the quasi-sociopathic erudite.

Magic House-Thoth

Augustine is a member of the Sacred House of Life, witches whose magic is passed down from the Egyptian Gods themselves. August himself is a descendant of an African slave-witch, once known as Ashe. She was taken to Egypt as a typical piece of cargo from zealot raiders, and was sentenced to a life of building the pyramids. Or so she would have thought: Thoth, the God of Magic and Knowledge, took pity upon her and beguiled her to follow an invisible force into the desert one night. He then revealed himself to her in his ibis-headed brilliance and bestowed upon her a set of choices: he could free her now and set her loose across the desert with all the things she would need for survival, or he could give her secrets and wisdoms unknown to man at the time, but she would have to frequently return to him for lessons. Ashe always prized knowledge and growth over any material thing, or even something such as freedom (I prefer to disagree myself). And secrets from a God must count for that much more, right? She indulged in option two. Thoth grinned and whispered to her the mysteries of life, the secrets of the stars, and the riddles of worlds lost and intangible, he spoke magick into her very soul. She would then use her newfound knowledge to fool her captors, freed any slave that would believe in her, and with her wits about them, guided them across the desert to build a library-like sanctuary, in honor of Thoth. The former slaves then learned from the god's teachings, passed through Ashe, and became witches and educators in their own right, and Ashe came to lead this new coven of magi. This is how the House of Thoth became to be.

Magick: As a member of house of Thoth, August has the ability to manipulate various aspects of the moon, writing, hieroglyphics, knowledge and sciences, and the progression of time. His particular specialty is the creation of Moon Dust, a substance used as a medium for most of his spells. By gathering various quantities of mineral, be it: crystal, rocks, pearls, aluminum, or even silvers and golds, he can channel his magic into them and break down and rearrange their atomic components into a corrosive, abrasive substance that also tends to stick to objects due to an electric charge. This dust is also dangerous to breathe in. He tends to carry around a pouch or two on his person, as trying to create some on the fly is nearly impossible given how much time and intricacy is needed to create the substance. (I mean, working with just a pile of plain old rocks would take a couple of hours to convert, let alone harder or more distilled substances.) Spells that he has mastered so far include...

Spell of Refraction: A spell in which the moondust bonds to whomever or whatever August desires (sans the harmful effects, it's enchanted in this state) and whatever is enveloped in dust turns invisible via light refraction.

Spell of Revelations: He can spread his moondust over an area and have the pieces cling to imprints of negative emotion or dark magick. A spell used for forensic work.

Spell of Retribution: An offensive spell that uses moondust to its fullest offensive powers and creates small funnels of dust to ravage the opponent. The largest funnel made could surround a fully grown man.

Golemancy: Can create golems out of the moon dust he has formed, usually no larger than a human toddler. They tend to take form roughly resembling lego-men (he was a big fan of the Lego Expanded Universe as a child), but one can easily be fooled by their size: each golem has the strength of three men, and can combine to further power themselves up.

There are a few spells that don't require the moon dust...

-The Veil: A surface-level illusion layered directly over the skin. This allows the caster to look like whatever he wants to look like and sound however he wants, but can be broken if struck with bad intentions (like a slap from an offended woman on the street)

-Somnus: A very old, yet practical spell. Also one that does not require moondust, this handy spell induces sleep. Those affected by this spell will not remember being forced to sleep, but they will have active and vivid dreams for distraction. Also necessary for Dream Diving.

-Dream Diving: A skill Augustine has yet to master, this allows the caster to astral project into one's consciousness for complete access to the afflicted parties mind, if the brain is distracted by dreams. August has gotten stuck in several public nude dreams, and it takes long hours to remove oneself from another's mind.

-Illusion Casting

-Temporary Madness Inducement

-Script Magick: By writing down a word or phrase on any surface that can be sufficiently marked on, whatever has been written manifests somehow, just so long as it is within his power. He can't create miracles with it though.

Top 10 Roadtrip Songs

Sobriety- Sza

No Role Moldelz-J. Cole

Sacrifices -Dreamville, assorted artists

Grown Up Fairy Tails- Chance the Rapper, Taylor Bennett

My Boy-Billie Eilish

U.N.I.T.Y.- Frank Ocean

West Coast: Lana Del Rey

Cruise Ship-Young Thug

400 Lux-Lorde

Let Em Know- Bryson Tiller

#writblur #oc #my writing #my ocs #iwrite

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outlyingthoughts · 5 years

Text

Portrait of Livia: Summer 19

Livia;

There are millions of babies born each year, on a planet rotating on itself in an ever expanding universe, an ever expanding population on a pressure-cooker-like planet. Infinitely small on the human scale, and yet our daily interactions, anxieties, priorities remain overwhelming. Weirdly sometimes all things and concepts stop making sense, like words you repeat a little too much, syllables and letters mashed up seem irrationally meaningless when we give them too much attention. In the same way, all the things and concepts that makes us, all those pains and losses sometimes lose sense when we overthink them, millions of breaths and tears shed but when laying mind clouded, nothing makes sense anymore.

When our minds trip on reality, the game is to wonder what is more irrational: giving up on years of socialization and society overall because nothing really matters or pouring too much meaning and fear in a life and future that is infinitely smaller than all things around us? Atoms, on their own, mean so much more than us, tiny pieces of matter that constitute the universe, far more significant than all the thoughts that will ever cross our lost neurons. Because life and things of the nature will irremediably travel across ages and spaces without me, you, us: humanity and what we give meaning to, society and expectations don’t really mean anything.

Obsessed by our irrelevance, we kill our souls over our empty meanings and fill our brains with more worries. As irrelevant as we are, the pain and wounds of being a living mortal remain the most vivid reality of our lives. One occurrence in an infinite number of realities and hypothetic dimensions, we end up here. Silver lining in the elevator, the higher we get, the more my heart presses against my chest, the fear of height and breath-taking view leave me at loss of words. Far away from home, in a city that goes too fast, we take a break from our priorities, gaping at the Tokyo view.

There are moments in our everyday life, where we just stay silent, either scrolling aimlessly and endlessly or lost in our own mental universes. In any case, I know I could remain in this floating in between. Alone and yet you’re here because with time you became an extended part of my brain. Seating in that in between, I watch the busy night from a rooftop and you’re tensely silent.

Night views make me happy, they used to remind me of lonely yet blissful nights on my balcony back in middle school, now they remind me of our first year at uni and falling asleep to the peaceful Den Haag skyline . For years, I dreamt of bigger and farther away city escapes, cutting shapes of metal in the neon darkness of megacities. One common dream of living in New York and I adopted yours of visiting Tokyo: You have a special bond with Japan, it ties you to the music you love, to love in general and million memories.

There’s a kanji on your shirt and your heart on your sleeve when you tell me about the things that make you happy. In this massive universe you’re drowning into, you absorb its darkness and exhale soft words that make us all feel okay, there is a nostalgic tint in the way you love nature that evoke great forests and empty spaces, magnificence of the Nature and how tiny we are. A recurring theme that darkens your mind is how insignificant we are, how manipulative are the things around us, tricking us into believe things, walking on eggs unsure of how truthful is our understanding of our surrounding; afraid of our own conspiracy theories, you smoke to forget but it drives the doubts further. Another friends of us once said: “what if weed is controlled and taboo within our societies because governments know it brings people to enlightenment or at least allows them to see the wider truths?”. I don’t want to know for sure as it’d either mean that we’re sickening our brains or current governments are sickening, or maybe both are true? See? tripping and overlapping realities, maybe the Matrix is the reality ? And while I try to flee from my own mind games and thoughts labyrinth, you dive deeper on a trip to the truth, as aching as it is, a desire for fairness and justice powering you.

No matter what, you find a way to escape, there is a distance in your eyes and a thousand kilometers in your silences, road trips to yourself because we’re too aware of the current climatic crisis to afford actual trips to peaceful northern landscapes. Still, from the Hague or Tokyo, we can distinguish the stars, trap their shapes into constellations that we don’t really want to believe impact our lives and shape our beings. Yet in a mystical search for meaning, looking at the stars to decipher our nonsense existence actually provides a bit of cohesion; us so small and useless and celestial bodies so big and widely stretched out yet still useless, one maybe guiding another, at least did: didn’t the great explorers use the sky as a map to walk or sail the earth? Ask Christopher Columbus, maybe we should blame our current US “world domination” on the stars that guided him to the Americas. Still, maybe we can’t afford to put all the fault “in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings”. Maybe that’s why the world around us is so fucked up, maybe we all escape somehow, us from shitty environments we were brought up in, our world leaders escaping from their responsibilities and the heritage of past centuries’ rise of capitalism, ruins of colonialism, rejection of minorities and normative discourse preventing us all from seeing larger truths, starting from the Western centered way we were taught in school to the coming crises challenging to our generation and ignored by current leaders.

Apart from the miracles of Nature, art also connects you to the rest of your world, tears bled into ink then sung in studios: music; proving you that other people feel such ways. I relate to this feeling, but this is not about me. The primal surge that music creates in most humans makes it hard to not add a layer of personal thoughts to its discussion. And you know how personal it can be, as you make playlists for every single one of us, like a teenage lover in the 80s, you pour your love onto us, one carefully chosen song at a time. Playlists as effective coping system. Memories roll before your eyes, just like the modern Japan landscape before ours right now. Sometimes, you’ll venture to tell me how music makes you feel and it’s probably even more elevated that how high we are, on the rooftop of a skyscraper; just like music, architecture is an art you are sensible to, and soon this manmade landscape will make you ache with nostalgia, it’s odd to think that for years, you’ve dreamt of visiting this country, blissful waves of hope and bright future where you can move freely and visit this place for the first time. Now your first time here is almost over and like a song attached to a person about to eclipse from your life, a twinge in your chest shuts you out of our world, deep into yours. Calm and peaceful because there’s nothing we can do against time flying faster than our hearts, you surrender and try to envision what artists think when they write those sad songs you add into our playlists, your curiosity in people’s thought is another escape from your own racking brain.

Sometimes, I’ve felt lost in time and spaces, consumed by the fear that no one’d ever feel nor understand that aching pressure in my chest and pinches in my guts: empathy and intense feelings due to my surroundings and people I love. Yet one day you told me you knew how I felt because you felt the same way, overwhelming pain that seizes one’s soul and tears it down with nostalgia and empathy.

It was a suffocating but clear night back in my old room, in my old life, on a summer break that felt like a too-long pause on the sideline of the highway I’m living on now. We were on the phone and gazing out, I was trying to collect in my head memories dripping of bliss, epiphany of why I’m so much happier now, because I know I have you all and you told me: “I get my happiness through you all”. Told me that your parents don’t understand why you keep talking about your friends but it’s because you live through them. I’ve rarely felt this happy in my life, because never had anyone phrased something i relate this much too. And I knew staring into the dark, that as far as I was from our new home, as hard as being surrounded by the ghost of my past was, the bond that we had created over the nine past months was an everlasting one, if you will, full of sisterhood, care for each other and faith in friendships. As much as it’s hard for you to believe in and trust people, we have a lifetime to work on our insecurities.

No matter the dozens of atrocities we see, whether they are corrupted leaders showing you the worst of humanity or couples fighting their ways to hatred, making me fail to understand love, somehow an intuitive faith for the future convinces me that we’ll be alright as long as we have faith in our friends and loved ones. You swiftly swing from one side to other on your seat deep in your thoughts as deep as I am in my fears of loveless life. Sharing and caring, as hard as it gets, is the only cure we found so far. You’re a sponge and hopefully we, your friends, provide the sun you need to cast a brighter light on your life, because we all care about you, all of us that have stuck around, here to stay as long as the stars and pressing global warming will allow us to.

Still swinging on the metallic chair of the rooftop bar, eyes deep into to the dark, you sip a peach flavored tea, small reminders of home. The wheels turn fast and hard behind your eyes, they calculate, divide and jump into conclusion by the minute, and I wonder what is dividing your Libra soul again. There’s guilt in your aura, it’s in the weight crushing your shoulder, in the way you carry your pains around. Under pressure, we all want to pop the champagne bottle that you are, release the bubbles, let you be bubbly and pure like this foamy and rich liquid instead of the tame version of Livia you serve us because you’re afraid of the million powers you hold in. Being so intense in a world empty of meaning makes you absorb the surrounding’s emptiness, only confusion appears to cloud what the world sees in you, full of light and brightness: dark only because of the world we live in. A paradox you say it yourself.

In the thousands lives and adventures that we’ll have, I know there’ll be this question hanging out from your eyes, one that questions what you are and what world we are in. Unsettling in my small certitudes, we know there is still a whole world we have to tear down to make room for our vision. The struggle is the path, the hardened way to our glistening futures, and as you reflect all the energy of Tokyo, boiling under your skin, I know there are neon lights to film, pavements to run onto and lyrics to shout from the top of my lungs. And stories to tell my kids on how “your mom and aunties Livia & Zeineb went to blah blah or used to make random ass movies” or whatever is our next adventure, we’ll tell them.

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positiveparker · 6 years

Text

blue boy | p.p

hey loves, sorry I haven't posted anything original in agessss!! I have been super busy with school. I am sorry this is super rushed and bad but feedback is always appreciated!! :)

- pairing ; peter parker x reader

- warnings ; fluff! swearing!

- masterlist

- request ; soooo being peter’s chemistry partner and having a huge crush on him. Then him having a huge crush on the reader but she has never told him the name of who she likes and so she talks about her crush on peter and one day he gets fed up and admits his crush on her and yeah

not my gif

“you like someone right (y/n)?” Peter stuttered, he had a stubby pencil intertwined in his pale fingers, writing the title in his grubby notebook. His writing was scratchy and messy, I kind of liked it though. It somehow had its own personality. The way he curled his ‘y’s’ and slit his ‘a’s’ in the middle somehow fascinated my running mind.

“yeah, yeah, of course” I shrugged.

My insides twisted. I leant down closer into my notebook and pressed the tip of my pen into the crisp paper. I let my hair fall to the side of my face, this way I could peak through the strands and stare at Peter without him noticing. Every lesson I would analyse every inch of him. The way his brow furrowed in deep thought, the way the corners of his lips curled up when he knew the answer to a question. Everything about him made my fascination grow. Of course I was dying to tell him I liked him, but I guess part of me was scared my love for him would be unrequited.

Today he was wearing a blue button down shirt with his usual grey hoodie over the top. His face was deep in thought. I watched the way his chest rose and fell effortlessly as he took a deep breath every so often. I wish I could look at him without having to hide.

“yeah yeah same” Peter nodded, his lips spread into a straight smile. He fidgeted with his pencil, tapping it against the hollow desk. Peter gazed up at our teacher who was droning on about Relative Atomic Mass. I tried focusing on the words coming out of my teachers mouth, somehow they always seemed to brush past me. I guess it gave me more of an excuse to ask Peter for extra tutoring. He was so smart and I envied him.

My eyes couldn’t focus, they were stuck in my head, envisioning various scenarios about Peter. Every so often I would lean down to write something in my notebook and sense his stare from next to me. I didn’t want to look back though, just incase I was making something out of nothing. “okay class we are going to do a practical!” My teacher hollered, Peter pushed his arms into the edge of the table and casually scraped his stool backwards. He stretched upwards and went bouncily over to the back wall. Most of the class was crowded around the glass cabinets against the wall, they were heaving full of bunsen burners, pungent chemicals and thin flasks.

I followed Peter and shoved myself amongst the flailing hands. I reached in and touched the tip of a flask, trying to desperately pull it out with my finger tips. During my struggling another warmer hand brushed against my fingers and pulled the flask away, I knew it was him. His warmth seeped into my soul, rooting my feet into the earth. He always managed to comfort me without even opening his mouth. I whipped my body around to peer behind me. There he was holding up all our equipment. He had the glass flask I was trying to reach, effortlessly clasped in one strong hand.

“thanks” I said softly, our eyes locked for a second and in embarrassment I quickly darted mine to the dark grey, plastic ground. I hated being awkward but for some reason I almost couldn’t linger my gaze on his for too long. I was scared my crush on him would get too strong and it would be even more painful keeping it from him than it already was. We went back to our seats and awkwardly set up our equipment. Looking into his eyes was like liquid obsession being poured into my brain. The more I stared and noticed the little things about him I secretly learned to love, the more I found myself not being able to control my feelings. The rest of our lesson together was spent in awkward silence.

Everyone else around us was bubbly and talkative. I wanted to know what he was thinking. What thoughts he was associating me with. I was scared he thought I was weird. I wanted to be able to read every positive and negative thing he thought about me, in the hope I could iron out the negatives and be as perfect as possible for him. Every so often in my peripheral vision, I could see him parting his lips to say something. Every single time my heart clenched. He would stop mid breath and carry on adding water to our mixture. I obviously tried avoiding his touch but almost on cue we both reached for the small clear bowl of magnesium. Our hands touched, his over mine. Warm seeping into my cool skin. My heart took a huge, deep sigh. I was expecting him to take his hand away immediately, but in unfamiliarly lingered. Seconds turned to minutes and we both stood, not even looking at each other, but lightly touching. It hurt because his hand felt like it belonged over mine, it was like a missing puzzle piece I had somehow been looking for my whole life.

*dingggggg dingggggggggg dinggggggg dinggggggg*

The bell blasted in the class’s ears and I yanked my hand violently out from under his, grabbing my backpack from beside me and shoving my books into it. Usually we were forced to pack up our equipment before we left but I had to leave, my emotions were taking over and I was scared that they wouldn’t stop. I slung my bag over my tense shoulder and rushed out the door leaving him behind me. I hoped my teacher didn’t notice but that was honestly the last thing on my mind. I went to my usual thinking spot, under the bleachers. I slid past the passing crowd and slipped under the moss green tin bleachers overlooking the field.

Something was tearing at my stomach and plucking on my heart strings. It was the most overwhelming feeling and I couldn’t stop it. At the same time I didn’t want to, it was like nothing I had ever felt before. Pain and happiness at the exact same time, morphing and melting into each other. Exhaling, I flopped back on the cool grass feeling the small slits of sun peering through the gaps in the bleachers on my cheeks. I muffled out the noise of the crowds passing around me. Footsteps banged above me and voices rang through the metal. I felt like a tap, overflowing and pouring with thoughts about him. I could turn it off or twist it shut, I couldn’t even adjust the amount. They all just filtered out aggressively, all at once. For some reason more and more voices started to crowd, I hoped they would leave since it was the end of the day. Then my heart sank suddenly, there was an after school football game and I was sat under the heaving crowd.“shit, shit, shit” I repeated whispering into the ground. From next to me I could see hundreds of feet passing and clambering onto the bleachers. I crawled stealthily to the gap I had come through and waited for everyone to pass. I tried picking out familiar voices and then one loud one filled my ears and overpowered the rest.

“where’s Peter, I hope he isn’t here at the game, he hates sports!” Ned’s booming voice rang past me, his scruffy new balance shoes paced passed my head.

I wanted to grab him and ask him where Peter was but I almost couldn’t. I wanted him to find me. I knew he wouldn’t but the scenarios in my head started to take over, they somehow seemed more believable than usual. After a few minutes the feet filtered away and clambered up onto the bleachers, there was my chance. I grabbed my bag from my side and crawled up and out from under the layered metal. The crowd was silent for some reason, I felt like everyones breath was on me.

“(y/n)?” Peters soft words somehow slapped violently into my back. Like every single feeling all at once.

A few gasps rang from behind me. His voice was louder than usual, I turned to see a small figure in the middle of the football field clasping a white megaphone. Everyone around us was looking, this time I didn’t mind the attention. Peters face was ashy white with nervousness, he shakily pulled the megaphone away from his lips and started running towards me. he passed the crowds sat on the bleachers. I met him in the middle pacing slowly in his direction. I dumped my backpack on the cement ground and then his body was wrapped around mine, hundreds of eyes still lingering on us.

“(y/n), there’s something I have to say” He admitted, pulling away slowly

“me too” I replied, my voice was brittle and fragile. He had me at my most vulnerable.

“you first” He insisted lowly

“no…you!” I laughed fruitfully

“fine, fine, I didn’t want to admit it at first. I was scared, I was scared about loving you because I didn’t feel good enough” He poured out “You are so much more than you think (y/n) because every little thing about you makes me want to love you more” His words rang against the metal of the bleachers and back into my heart. Clenching and twisting in my stomach.

“Peter I-“ I started to say “-I think it is just better if I do this” Then every little inch of will power in me leant up to his face and brushed my lips softly against his. My heart was beating so strongly I felt like he could hear it. Every little piece of passion went to my lips and focused on the feeling of him. The moving mass around us started to rejoice as my arms snaked around his neck and his curled casually around my waist. The shouting and cheers clenched around my heart, it allowed both of us to become grounded back to where we were. Peter leant away and started smiling around at the people around us. I looked up at him and the small dips in each side of his smile. The scenarios I had dreamed about somehow came true.

TAGLIST ;

@tomsfireheart @feelingsareharddd @lovelyh0lland @hazeyholland @t-o-m-holland @lookclosernow @choke-me-sweet-pea @whatareyouhidingpeter @spidey-pal @cutiepie-holland @radd-but-saddd @pinkcutepug

#Peter Parker #Peter Parker x reader #tom holland #Peter Parker fic #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker Spiderman #Spiderman x reader #Peter Parker au #Peter x reader #p.p fic #fic recs #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fic recs #marvel au

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vantaert · 5 years

Text

Crystal snow

The universe has never been fair enough . if it is the beautiful moon wouldn't shine in the darkness . Thus I wouldn't be surprised if it plays his dirty tricks on me like a magician hides well his secrets to keep playing with people's minds in the palm of his hand .

Sometimes I feel as I'm dying deep inside . As I'm alive but I'm a dead body inside . A feeling I can't ever reach to decipher ,keeps possessing me as I'm someone's else daydream yet I'm his biggest nightmare . It's crazy how the time flies in the blink of eye . But the memorial box in the back of my head still locked as it's been spelled by the black magic . Therefore a faint voice is trying his best to ring a bell. That this box is full of golden priceless memories should never be forgotten . But rather should be buried with me when the ground hugs my lifeless body .

It's insane but why I feel I'm already lifeless ! . Hand over my heart praying desperately that my heart doesn't miss any pieces like a forgotten puzzle couldn't be collected because the most important piece is missing . GOD only knows where it could be .

Unfortunately my insects tell another theory . They sing a lyrics how my puzzle won't match because I gave up on the liveliness piece to complete another puzzle. Surprisingly my heartbeats dance willingly along the rhythm as they're familiar with the lyrics while my brain finds them strange .

I wince a bit once ,twice ,when my heart skips a beat . Its clear as sea a memory hugged it or else I wouldn't feel the sudden warmth engulfing me head to toe .

It is merely impossible for me to pull the sides of my lonely lips into a smile . How can I while I'm deserted from memories as I'm spring without blossoms, winter without rain and heaven without Angeles .

I stop staring fondly at the pouring rain outside . How incredibly the pitter patter reminds me of tears . Both of them are ways to tear apart the untold pain . That chest is no longer able to hold . Since it's already started working on breaking my bones . Trust me I can hear the damage like an earthquake is happening against my ribcage. All I can do is letting out a big heavy sigh ignoring how close I'm to lose my mind the same way I lost my memories.

I open the door and the Cold breeze slapping my pale face alongside the rain sound embracing the soul that I pity the most . Should I walk slowly under the lazy rain like a bride struggling with her high heels kicking away wedding jitters . Or should I run as I'm in marathon against the unfairness that the universe is spitting on me as I'm kinda of angel his wings has been ripped . First option works better for a person like me who craves drama .

I'm surrounded by strangers . Their grips holding tightly the umbrellas fearing the harmless rain . Suddenly It's snowing. The snowflakes is wandering everywhere like butterflies . I heard first snow sprinkles a wish . I'm not supposed to believe in fairy tales but who can deny the fact that these fairy tales are the doors into fantasies . I don't have to say my wish out loud because all of my insides scream it .

Miraculously among the strangers a figure is painfully familiar. I'm meeting those mischievous hazel eyes for the first time yet instantly I'm drawn into the gleam is sparking beneath his beautiful long eyelashes . What's wrong with my heart ! why is hammering wildly inside my chest as it's admiring his first love ! The way he's looking at me as I'm the center of his universe has triggered a memory.

And I can feel the pain throbs and pulses in my skull . I fear what's coming next but I bet it's the last episode of the drama "chasing lost memories" .

The spell is broken and memories are hitting me like thunder. I feel as I'm thrown in the deep ocean. My body is too vulnerable to fight the strong waves of emotions are scolding me . The box cracked open playing scenarios I spent dead nights to remember. How dare the universe snatch away my euphoria !

Tears are falling dramatically on my iced cheeks like waterfalls. My soul is being dressed by sentiments like the skyline wearing a rainbow after a rainy day .

It's him . He's the last piece of the puzzle . My heartbeats is drumming in my ears a proof that I guessed right .

He's getting closer and I swear he's like a crystalsnow walking under the snowfall on the song of my heartbeats. It's hard to notice tears since are being mixed with the raindrops . But he reads me like an open book though my pages were quite blank but not anymore. The spirit of LOVE filled the void without missing a gap .

His long fingers are brushing my cheeks softly as I'm kinda of a treasured piece is afraid of breaking. I close my eyes leaning in his familiar addictive touch like a drug flies into my veins. We don't have to say too much or not at all since our eyes are busy falling into deep conversation ends up recalling the lost feelings were flowing through the galaxies back to moon looking for home .

I still captivated how ethereal his priceless features are like every little small detail has been perfectly sculpted. The man appeal screams majesty.

I'm about to engrave the last detail of his majestic features somewhere deep inside my heart that is churning every atom dancing in excitement urging to move . I feel his delicate heart shaped lips embracing mine. A new birth of me . I can feel my wings spreading wildly ready to fly sky high . Adrenaline is flushing through my body as he kisses me passionately, like he's thirsty and I'm the last droplet of water on the earth . Every inch of all of me is busy admiring all of him . Im melting under his kisses like jellies. Call me crazy but i swear to God who gifted me this pearl that I can decipher a smile glints his hungry lips . And suddenly my heart turns into a garden of roses and the petals course throughout my druggie veins .

After what seemed to be called a bless from heaven my lips tingles a little bit ,the sensation of his holly lips pressed against mine stay for few minutes. But no doubt I feel immortal when he kisses me . Even the stars won't beat how does it feel to be kissed by Kim Taehyung . Yes he's the guy that was hidden beneath the untold memories. Desperately looking for a miracle to get my memory back .

At 4 o'clock my tear came under the snowfall wearing a fascinating gorgeous smile couldn't be compared how Venus shines nor how the moon lights up the infinitely sky .

I intertwine our fingers together. The sight of how our hands fit together is enough to make me turn into a delectable shade of pink and I feel my heart leaps inside my spring chest .

We're going home . Kim Taehyung was the missing piece I was looking for and I found him .

I'm calling the universe °•°watch me love him cherish him every single day with every single breathe I take°•° .

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sebbytrash · 6 years

Text

Take A Sad Song

Summary - After a particularly difficult mission, you unwind by playing your guitar only for Steve to overhear you playing a certain song.

Characters - Steve x Reader

Warnings - Swearing, tension, mention of a mission, kissing, Un Beta’d

A/N - This is a rewrite of a fic from my other blog here to tide you guys over whilst I write the next few parts of Through His Eyes. Feedback loved and appreciated

Gunpowder and fear. The smell clung to you like it came from you, stinging your nose and adding to the deep, throbbing pain pushing against your eyeslids. The mission had been brutal, what you had marked down as easy intel gathering turned into a rescue mission, almost taking the life of a 4 year old girl with it. God, the things she seen, poor kid's childhood just got obliterated. Sometimes the cost is just too high.

"You good back there?" Steve's voice is a low rumble, exhaustion bleeding in a little. He’s driving the car, less obvious than a jet he insisted. Less comfortable too, as it turns out. "Yeah, Steve. M'good." He glances over his shoulder for confirmation, his eyes lingering on yours a little longer than necessary and your heart trips over itself under his gaze, clumsy little thing, before you break away and tuck your chin down to stare at the floor. Steve flips on the radio, allowing the car to fill with the sounds of music and occasional static and you're grateful for the distraction, maybe you all are. Sam's slumped in the front seat, already dozing but his fingers tap against his thigh to the beat. Steve strums his against the steering wheel, singing along at the chorus, low and deep but there and it coils around your stomach and works up to your lungs and it just stays. The rest of the drive is relatively quiet, stopping only once for a bathroom break and snacks, Steve seems more anxious than normal to get back to the Compound; to get back home. By the time Steve rolls the car through the gates, your whole body has started to ache. Not that you were injured, just the ache that comes with exercise; split decision leaps and dives. "I'm gonna go clean up and hit the hay. It's been a long one." You tell them as you trudge up the stairs in the garage, desperate to rid yourself of that smell. They both grunt in your direction which you take as an acknowledgement. The shower helps, really helps, the hot water loosening your tight muscles and washing away the dirt and grime of the day. You belatedly realise that this might have the opposite effect on your muscles tomorrow but in this moment you don't care, turning the water as hot as you can stand it. The shower is probably longer than you need, minutes spent under the spray as though you might cleanse you thoughts too, your memories. Once your dry and wearing lounge pants, you quickly grab a drink from the kitchen and drape across your bed, test the edge of your consciousness with a few long blinks. The effort to close tells you your head is still a little too on and you're not quite ready to sleep. Tilting your head back over the edge of the bed your eyes land on your guitar. Ah, yes. Playing always helps you relax. You lean further and grab it, righting yourself and pulling it onto your lap, your fingers automatically settle over the strings, each callus on your finger resting in it's all too familiar position. You test it out a little, strumming notes haphazardly until you find a rhythm. A deep sense of calm settles over you, into you, until its bone deep and spreading. It isn't until you start singing along that you realise what song your playing. Hey Jude, don't make it bad Take a sad song and make it better Remember to let her into your heart Then you can start to make it better "You know, might be time I followed that advice." Steve's voice echoes from your doorway, halting your playing since you almost fall off the bed in fright, "Sorry sweetheart, didn't mean to scare you." "Shit. Uh- it's okay Steve. I was just um..." You turn to him, considering all the reasons and deciding that your playing must be louder than you realise,, "I can stop." "Please don't..." His voice is low, a half-whisper at most, sweeping across you and directly into your heart. You'd never heard him sound so...open, vulnerable, well maybe not vulnerable because Steve Rogers was never that but as close to it as you've ever heard. It halted you a little, the moment tinged with sadness but also of something more, something different that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Your fingers move again, falling naturally into the rhythm of the song and filling the room with the sad, slow lullaby of missed chances and slow heartbeats. His eyes close and his head tips back against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely across his chest, showcasing the thick sturdiness of them in a way that was all too distracting.

This was Steve, standing there looking like the weight of the world was resting on those tantalising shoulders, and you suppose in some ways it was- repeatedly- but still, this was the Steve you knew, so full to the brim of need to protect, so weighed down with it that it astounded you he still nurtured one ounce of doubt on himself. That he still inherently believed he wasn’t as wholly good as Bucky, or Sam, or you.

Hey Jude, don't be afraid You were made to go out and get her The minute you let her under your skin Then you begin to make it better

There’s a knot in your stomach as you sing those words, afraid of the unintentional implication now that Steve’s here and listening. Afraid your want and hope will bleed into the song and he’ll know. His eyes open and land on yours, look directly into your soul and yet and entirely unreadable. They strip you back, layer by layer, till the marrow is exposed and you can’t look away, eyes caught in the current that has your heart pushing up into your throat. Maybe he can hear your heartbeat in your voice.

You close your eyes in an attempt to shelter yourself from him, from the overwhelming pull that only serves to split you in two every time you linger too long and your heart starts to hope. Your guitar makes a sound of protest as Steve’s fingers press down over yours, silencing the music and snapping your eyes open to find him much closer, hovering just inches away from your face. His chest is eye level, the full firmness of it just right there, heaving up and down with each breath and doing nothing at all to calm you. The air in your room is suddenly weighted and pressing down on you, every single atom loaded with a feeling that's threatening your resolve.

“Why did you play that?” Steve’s voice scrapes low and deep, and maybe just a bit thready.

“I, uh, it’s-” You stumble a little over your words, trying to pull an answer or a reason that doesn't strip you bare, “It speaks to me.”

He nods like he heard something else and moves his hand to your shoulder, hooking over and slipping up, taking up residence on the side of your neck. His thumb hooks under our jaw sending jolts of heat down your spine, each movement is slow and deliberate like he’s giving you time to stop him, like he doesn't know you wouldn't know how. He tips forward, brings his lips to yours but not quite, his breath tickling over your face and his fingers working into the hair at the snape of your neck.

Then it happens, his lips touch yours in the barest of touches, skin against skin and nothing else. A soft sigh escapes before you can swallow it but it’s everything Steve needs, his lips press harder and more deliberately, your mouth slanting against his as your brain fires off a few hail marys as you fight to process. He smells amazing, like goodness and home and just so Steve. His lips pull a little on your bottom lip, opening your lips and allowing his tongue to brush with yours, soft but insistent. The guitar is discarded on the bed and your fingers land on his chest and spread out, enjoying that fullness, the firm expanse of muscle warm and more than you thought it would be, and you’d thought..a lot. He kisses your thorough, like he has every intention of rewriting your brain cells to just Steve and nothing else.

Finally, you part, heads braced together as you take in deep, shuddering breaths and it lights you up to see him so affected by you.

“Damn...Y/N.” Steve says, sounding to utterly wrecked, “Shit. That was-” His eyes close, slow and tight, then they’re on you again, dark and settled .

“I know.” You whisper back, swallowing a couple of times as you try to ground yourself. Nothing came close, no thought or dream or hope came close to how that felt.

“Think it’s time to stop fighting this, yeah?” He says, a little firmer this time, his other hand clasping over your against his chest. The gesture not unnoticed, the gentle pressure of his hand saying what he isn’t, you hook your thumb over his and squeeze in answer.

“Yeah. Yes, I’d, uh, I’d like that.”

His answering smile turns your spine to liquid. Slippery bastard.

#kale writes #take a sad song #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #marvel fanfic

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soulinaearthsuit · 5 years

Text

All the light we cannot see

Some of my fav passages ♡

At dusk they pour from the sky. They blow across the ramparts, turn cartwheels over rooftops, flutter into the ravines between houses. Entire streets swirl with them, flashing white against the cobbles. Urgent message to the inhabitants of this town, they say. Depart immediately to open country. The tide climbs. The moon hangs small and yellow and gibbous. On the rooftops of beachfront hotels to the east, and in the gardens behind them, a half-dozen American artillery units drop incendiary rounds into the mouths of mortars _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Open your eyes, concludes the man, and see what you can with them before they close forever _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

What do we call visible light? We call it color. But the electromagnetic spectrum runs to zero in one direction and infinity in the other, so really, children, mathematically, all of light is invisible.

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What is blindness? Where there should be a wall, her hands find nothing. Where there should be nothing, a table leg gouges her shin. Cars growl in the streets; leaves whisper in the sky; blood rustles through her inner ears. In the stairwell, in the kitchen, even beside her bed, grown-up voices speak of despair.

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Marie-Laure listens to honeybees mine the flowers and tries to imagine their journeys as Etienne described them: each worker following a rivulet of odor, looking for ultraviolet patterns in the flowers, filling baskets on her hind legs with pollen grains, then navigating, drunk and heavy, all the way home.

How do they know what parts to play, those little bees _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She holds out a hand, and sparrows land one by one on her arms, and she tucks each one into her coat. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On the rue de la Crosse, the Hotel of Bees becomes almost weightless for a moment, lifted in a spiral of flame, before it begins to rain in pieces back to the earth.

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Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever.

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To shut your eyes is to guess nothing of blindness. Beneath your world of skies and faces and buildings exists a rawer and older world, a place where surface planes disintegrate and sounds ribbon in shoals through the air. Marie-Laure can sit in an attic high above the street and hear lilies rustling in marshes two miles away. She hears Americans scurry across farm fields, directing their huge cannons at the smoke of Saint-Malo; she hears families sniffling around hurricane lamps in cellars, crows hopping from pile to pile, flies landing on corpses in ditches; she hears the tamarinds shiver and the jays shriek and the dune grass burn; she feels the great granite fist, sunk deep into the earth’s crust, on which Saint-Malo sits, and the ocean teething at it from all four sides, and the outer islands holding steady against the swirling tides; she hears cows drink from stone troughs and dolphins rise through the green water of the Channel; she hears the bones of dead whales stir five leagues below, their marrow offering a century of food for cities of creatures who will live their whole lives and never once see a photon sent from the sun. She hears her snails in the grotto drag their bodies over the rocks.

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But God is only a white cold eye, a quarter-moon poised above the smoke, blinking, blinking, as the city is gradually pounded to dust.

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We all come into existence as a single cell, smaller than a speck of dust. Much smaller. Divide. Multiply. Add and subtract. Matter changes hands, atoms flow in and out, molecules pivot, proteins stitch together, mitochondria send out their oxidative dictates; we begin as a microscopic electrical swarm. The lungs the brain the heart. Forty weeks later, six trillion cells get crushed in the vise of our mother’s birth canal and we howl. Then the world starts in on us.

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“I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads.

It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

All your life you wait, and then it finally comes, and are you ready?

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Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever.

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That great shuttles of souls might fly about, faded but audible if you listen closely enough? They flow above the chimneys, ride the sidewalks, slip through your jacket and shirt and breastbone and lungs, and pass out through the other side, the air a library and the record of every life lived, every sentence spoken, every word transmitted still reverberating within it.

We rise again in the grass. In the flowers. In songs.

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“I am only alive because I have not yet died.”

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#bookish #booklover #books #bookworm #quotes #anthony doerr

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thekillerqueen1945-blog · 5 years

Text

I AM THE FUTURE YOU

CHAPTER 1

The Genesis

To think about the unthinkable we need to transcend the reality. To understand the future, we are obliged to understand the past. I am going to show all your flaws, failures, uprisings and falls. I am the one, that saw it all. Still, I am not the creator; I am not the creation, merely the reflection of the creation-you and the world around you. The way you reflect this creation is the direct reflection of your inner world which resides in one's soul. It is something old and beautiful within you that yearns for knowledge, but it is still young enough to love another body of the mortal.

Every story, every tale has its origin, it is its personal Genesis. Therefore does yours and so do mine. Both stories are connected, both are merged. To understand one you need to know the other. That is the key. I will confess the story of the essential core of my being, by retelling your story of humanity. This way by painting the story of you, the fragile, mortal humans of Earth, I will reveal mine. You falling creatures that think of yourselves above everything else. You believe of yourselves as the masters of ground you live on. You have forgotten how small and insignificant you genuinely are in the vast of the Universe and its many inhabitants. There are many more creations than a bubble you live in. Some above, some below, some small like a pocket, some, even bigger than your limited brains can comprehend. I would need an endless number of pages and an infinite amount of hours to write about every single universe, for they are infinite, and as they are, so am I. I know that by now you are eager, like a sponge that absorbs the water, to collect all the features I have about those universes. Humanity is a bit like a sponge; development consumes the existence. Mankind tends to blend all the experience, but not to develop its spiritual value and intellectual reality but to bust false ego and show of the doubtful virtue. Then, slowly but firmly like the sponge saturated with dust, it leaves stains wherever thou go, but unlike the sponge that leaves pinches on food and drink, humanity neglects behind its wars, death and ruin. You weren't always like that, weren't you?

Science says that it all begins with cells, atoms and subatomic particles. You know that story or should I assume hypothesis, right. The Big Bang Theory, the creation of the first cell, Darwin's theory of evolution and all such. It goes something like this:

The time beings. The universe goes to superfast "inflation" from the size of an atom to the size of an orange or grapefruit in 10-43 seconds. Could you imagine a world shaped like a grapefruit or like an orange? It indeed was like that, although I did not know how the orange or the grapefruit looked like at the very moment. But that orange was in great nothingness or in some vast black space. It was more like a sandwich, and other universes were tranquil below and above, old and huge, while yours was like a little seed planted and ready to eventually grow in a big old oak tree.

Before anything happened, there was nothing. Then Nothing spoke: "Who am I ?"

From the question, that reecho the nothingness, three powerful entities were created. Infinity, Time and Death – all the reflections of Nothing were born or should I say re-born. They were eager to answer the question that Nothing claimed. “You are a horizontal line between what is expected to be said and what is told," spoke Infinity quietly.

" You are a light glimpse between the two infinities." contradicted Time

"You are both wrong. Nothing is between the end and the beginning." cold voice of the youngest of all charged emptiness with its sound of Death.

Nothing listened to each of them and then spoke “Infinity is between what is meant to be said and what is said. Time is a little glimpse between eternities. And Death, death is a force between the end and the new beginning. How then, I can be what you all are !?"

The three entities were at the lack of words, speechless at the moment of time. And in that breathless conversation, Silence was born. It is not known how long Silence was wrapped around them, it does not know when the game occurs, in the past present or the future. But one thing is for sure, I know that I am a part of the event, and so is each one of you. There is likely a problem hereabouts in the time and place that your little, weak mortal brains cannot comprehend.

Silence finally broke with the warm and loud voice, that ecocide through all the praise it.

“ Nothing is everywhere. Nothing is everyone.”

“I do not understand what you mean Voice.”

“What I am saying is that Everything is Nothing and Nothing is Everything. All of us is everything” spoke the Voice calmly.

“Who are you ?" asked Nothing by slightly confused voice.

“I am the Creator. Everything, like you, is as well" answered the Voice.

“Everything…” whispered Nothing and went into soundlessness again.

At the same moment when Nothing whispered, life begins, and the story started to unravel.

What if I say that your universe is just the particle trickle of the dew on the edge of the yeard in the world within the creation inside the universe. Contemplate it or not the revelation is clear like that. You are very, very small, but you are still the piece of the Creator, part of Infinity, and part of everything.

The Big bang is, by the scientists of your civilisation, the origin of your universe, and your fragment. But the real birth was far more before. My siblings and I watched above you, change within you under the vigilant eyes of parents Time, Infinity and Death. Offcourse that we did not just stand here and watched you, we had intervened in your life when necessary, but all history was just too dull at the end. We talk, we ask questions, and we try to answer them. We are not the all-knowing and all-powerful, after all.

We did not speak at the beginning.

Our infinite conversation started with the wise words of Father Time.

“ Humans are travellers on the cosmic journey, the stardust dancing in the whirlpool of the infinity. Life is normal. They just stopped for the moment to love, to encounter each other, to share. It is a precious moment, a little timeless stand in the eternity."

Now you can see how the actual version of the creation happened, it consists of many parts, and it is one of the ingredients of all religious forms and scientific beliefs.

“People are just boring, weak waves of peace of the Stardust, why did you mention them Father?" questioned curious Life.

"Because we are all underbelly connected. We are all one." was the reply.

"Although we are all one, some of us are more honoured than the other. For example, human beings love Life and hate you Death." Life considerately mocked Death.

"Did you ever wonder why?" asked Death, slowly getting closer.

"No, but..." Life was abruptly interrupted by the Death " Because you are a beautiful lie, and I am the uninvadable ugly truth."

"Nevertheless " obviously intimidated by the Death, " I wonder how this insignificant humanity was created, how their world came to be? " asked Life.

At that moment I find an excuse to speak myself.

" I know, I know exactly what happened. I can describe the story if nobody minds." I hinted enthusiastically.

" All right, my dear. Reveal us the story and soothe down" soft and gently continue the Time.

" So, the first moment that ever happened was something like the Big Bang, the voice of the dark matter that caused everything " I began my story of Genesis.

"So what happened next ?" required Life rolling its eyes.

“Next thing that happened, after the Big Bang, stands at around 10-32 seconds. Post expansion and the universe is the boiling, hot soup.”

Of course, it is not made of tomato of vegetables, since the plants were created billions of years after. I smile shyly " It was a soup of electrons and additional scraps."

I have maintained the story by not minding the Life”s random remarks

“Scientists would love to sip the soup, I mean they spent an entire lifetime following tiny atoms and cells by the heart of the scope, but basically they are missing the bigger picture. “ Life bonded now more into the story.

“Correct, that big picture is the one I am trying to paint. Although contrary to popular belief, I am a pitiful artist. " I replied smiling widely, “ Now we are going to the last part of the very first time of the creation. The importance of this situationcontinues in a reduction of the temperature, that caused the quark[1] taste to milk. That was how the first noble moment of the universe was designed.”

“ The first birthday of the universe.

Happy Birthday to you.

Happy Birthday, Dear Universe.

Happy Birthday to you” responded Life joyfully.

“After that initial, first bit, the universe started to celebrate anniversary less often ending with its birthday every couple of billions of years. Regardless of it all, I count, notice and always recorded every moment in time, every moment of each of the infinite number of the universes. You may think of me as a colossal nerd, OCD person or a creeper, but believe me, I am more powerful than you could ever grasp. You should fear me, dread me and I consider that you already do." I spoke, more to humanity than to family.

" But as I told you before, the more you know about yourself, the more you will know about me."

"Yea, yeah. You are so scary; I think I faint" performed Life.

After the first celebration in honour of the universe, we will jump on the moment that was tiny but yet important. That was the 3rd minute of the creation. The temperature was still high108 ° C, and everything was boiling. It was too stuffy for electrons and protons to form fragments. Therefore they blocked light from glowing.

I recall the flash with melancholy

" If you are truly curious about this, and I know that some of you are, you can examine some specialists or sages; they will probably reply to you in such manner that you will be confused and lost in version. Although I know that many, if not all of those ones are faulty."

I went through questions of why and how that is followed. " What happened next, after the universe became the superhot mist?”

“The Mist! Such an exciting and mysterious word, even for the soul as old as me. Mist are everywhere around as in the air, in songs, poems, books, as below us and above as well.”

I replied and immediately started to recall memories. “ It is a state in between reality and fiction, a realm between light and dark, a kingdom between life and death. It is around even when you can't see it.”

“Humans fear of mist, they don't realise that it is necessary to remind themselves that all of the life is not what happens in front of the noses or their sights. They do not perceive that hope they clasp on in the darkest of ties, hides in the mist. The life opportunities are brought by a bit of the spray of the uncertainty. People do not see that they have to walk through the foggy haze to change and whether the change is good or bad is not defined by itself but by a person and its choices wise and stupid ones. Listen to my advice, and do not let agony, regret, fear or depression to make you blind to the fact that every new day and every new moment carries whit in the abundance of opportunities to move your life in the direction right for you, in the mist you live paths. Most of the forms live in a cloudy fog. It's like a vivid book, and you like the character swiftly set in it, but you do not question the mist around it. You know that something important is going on, but you just can't figure out the scheme. You don't know what part is supposed to play or what the story is actually about. You just stand there like a puppet waiting for a puppeteer, lost in the mist of your own confusing thoughts within the more significant vapour. " Death spoke its gruff monologue.

“ Do not let your life to be like that, don't just eat, sleep, procreate in that marathon by no finish line, whit no cheering, whit no witnesses, just a no-end line within you … " Infinity stopped to catch a breath or two and then finished, "Find the purpose for your travelling, find the meaning in your experiences. Trust me. Beyond the cloud always lies simplicity, just as there is the light in the clarity.”

“The proper order of the Things are often a complex mystery, is it not? Infinity gave us quite a lot to consider at and reflect about, right?" I was thinking loudly, “While you think and reflect on complexity; I will continue my tale.”

It was 300 000 years after the creation of time in your worldly measurements. The temperature fell down; electrons are finally connected with protons and neutrons in fragment structure, mostly hydrogen and helium. Since light can finally shine, the sightseeing scene was more vivid, at that moment.

“ It is striking how the light cast the dark abyss, is it not?” was my question for mostly myself again. “ However, as long as there is a light, there shall be darkness in coexistence.”

Darkness is always before the light, steadily waiting to come, no matter how fast light shall travel. Many do not see the lasting bond between this couple.

“How would anyone classify the light if did not saw darkness first?” I was asking a question again, and again, “ And how would anyone know what the secrecy of knowledge is if it did not dare to shine?”

If you ponder about this on the individual level, your mind begins to experience itself as never did before. All the uniqueness about it is survival on the fragile line between light and shadow, the Sun and the Moon, night and dawn. Each force is consist of both flash and cryptic, the question is, how much of which you will let out? While these two forces continue to twist, fight and shape, other significant events took place in the universe, and something rose to exist for the first time.

When the temperature was around -200° C, and after 1 billion of earthly years the scene was cold and dry. Gravity made hydrogen and helium gases blend to form the giant vapours that will create future galaxies; smaller clumps of gas collapse to build the first stars.

I continued with this story, rapidly and enthusiastically as the very first time…

"It is exciting how much of time is necessary for the Star to be formed. In the past, people were hugely dependent on stars, its radiant light and scene on the night sky. As time passed, the people appear to forget the importance of cosmic fragments and the appreciation of their beauty has faded. Everybody believes that stars are leaders of the light and solicitudes of darkness while many are blinded to the fact that both are nothing more but the slaves of his or her own desires and fusses, torn continuously between demons and angels, chained for internity in delusion made by themselves in the fear from the truth."

Now it was, apparently, turn for the Time to be wise and speak.

“One part of the truth is that everything starts to exists will eventually stop to exist. Stars arrived, and stars will die. That happened around 15 billion years after the Great beginning. Galaxies group together under the gravity force and the first star casts lapse and eject the heavy elements into time and space. First, dead star fall was magnificent, and remains will eventually settle into the new star, planet and therefore to new creation and/or civilisation. That is how the entire cosmic system, planet Earth and every single piece of the human body o was created from the first carbon waste."

Can you imagine? Your bones and flash, all you can witness around were originated from the dust of dying stars, from the cloud that lives in you like a singular part of life itself. It sounds dramatic and dark, somehow forbidden to comprehend. Life is sprouting from the earth of the death! It is interesting how one think about both, but distinctly and I wonder when those two went different ways in mind of comprehension. Why many fear death and eventually forget how to live, and at the same time all are born from clouds, ashes and remains. Such a significant disadvantage in life to vanish before real death happens at all.

As I already mentioned life, let me tell you how life on Earth was created.

“All living things possess carbon within them. In light of this, Earth needed to have a vast supply of carbon to supply a rich diversity of life. The carbon was available due to the violent nature of the Erath at the beginning, when volcanoes spewed various elements into the Earth's atmosphere. Since other elements were present as well, many chemical reactions started to take the place which resulted in the creation of various new features and the compounds. One of those created compounds were the building blocks of the protein, small, simple and not diversified. There and then the early sign of life on Earth inhabited the sea and absorbed the organic material created by the reactions of Earth at the time (i.e. the creation of amino acids). The building blocks formed first bioorganisms and also acted as a food source to them. It is the common belief that from this point forward, in the science universe, of course, the evolution took place. There are many other scientific theories of the genesis, on life on Earth, and I won't tell you more, nor I will tell you which one is correct. Your belief is your choice, although, all of them might be incorrect at the end what life is but a constant questioning of basic or advanced settings?”A plant that is incapable of synthesising its own organic carbon-based compounds from inorganic sources, hence, feeds on organic matter produced by, or available in, other bodies. Heterotrophs are the consumers in the food chain, mainly the herbivores, carnivores and omnivores. All mammals, some fungi and most bacteria are heterotrophs. They are not capable of producing their own food. Therefore, they obtain their energy requirements by feeding on organic matter or another organism. One lives on others death, so it was necessary to label and form to each of those two paths in our memory since it seems smart at the moment.An organism is a heterotroph if it obtains its carbon from organic compounds. If it obtains nitrogen from organic compounds but not energy, it is still considered an autotroph (such as carnivorous plants).Organisms that obtain carbon from organic compounds may either be: photoheterotrophs or chemoheterotrophs.

In general, organisms in the evolutionary chain became more involved in their nature, i.e. the first organisms were likely.

“You know how they say life goes from A to D. From the birth to the death. And what is C then? C is the choice. Life is full of choices, many paths you can follow ar even make new ones. Decisions are significant and essential as for example will the war happen or not, or minor and everyday as will you continue to read this book or not. " interpreted Life in the manner of a Zen master.

Besides this scientific and objectively accurate view of the genesis of the life on the Erath, there is religious view as well. And there the God exists, maybe even more Gods or some kind of higher power occupied continuously in the manner. In Christianity and Hebrew culture, there is a book in the Old Testament called The book of the Genesis in which is described how God created the Earth life.

Genesis 1:26 “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

2 Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

3 And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.

4 God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.

5 God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.

Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.”

27 So God created mankind in his own image,

in the image of God, he created them;

male and female he created them.

…God saw all that he had made, and it was perfect. And there was an evening, and there was morning—the sixth day. “

“Almost everyone knows this story from the Bible.” Life said acting like the drama queen.

“I mean, we witness Bible being written and it was not so interesting and amazing as humans and you, obviously, make it be."

There are many more stories, myths and legends of the creation of mankind. In Vedas is said that there are 4 yugas as 4 big time laps - Satya Yuga, Treta Yuga, Dvapara Yuga and Kaliyuga. We are now in 4th lap or Kaliyuga. And then when a white incarnation of the Lord destroys the Erath, and its last time lap the cycle will repeat. 4 Yugas create one Divya-Yuga – 4.32 million human years. 71 Divya – yuga creates one Manvantra- 306.32 million human years. 14 Manvantras creates one Kalpa or one day of Brama - 4.32 billion years. 36 000 Kaplas and same amounts of the nights create the life of Brahma- around 311.04 trillion human years. The universe begins within the 1st day of Brahma and ends with last night.

Everything is created by the supreme being- Lord Visnu. This is a simple and very brief summary of Genesis in Vedas.

If you desire to know more about all, take a risk in accepting your modern technology or big old books, little humans.

Think a little bit more. If you try to connect those stories and myths, it all fits just like the puzzle. Of course, you have to distinguish which ones are real and which fake. It makes sense, does it? All facts science proclaimed also could have happened. The Big Bang could be very well the beginning of the first day of Brahma. Interesting, right?

I was finishing the tale “Remember what I said before. Everything that is born will die. So will you, and so will your universe.”

Do not worry about me. I shall exist, till the end of the time.

"Can we just stop with the conversation for now and concentrate on watching humans. You are becoming more boring than them" Life spoke turning its back from one.

"All right, my child" confidently said the Time, knowing it has Infinity to always back him up.

" Do not be so full of your self, Life?" said Infinity, but Life never listened.

Time never stops, never changes or waits for everyone.

It last forever.

It moves in eternity.

It teaches everyone what really matters!

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