Warm Enough ⋆₊˚ ࿔⋆

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the wind in the desert is not quiet. it howls through bone and ruin. it sings of forgotten blood and shattered names. paul has stopped pretending to sleep. the wind keeps him company. so do the ghosts.

he walks the edge of the ridge, cloak dragging behind him like the shadow of a future he no longer wants. fremen eyes watch from the rocks, but they do not follow. they know he walks into something only he can name. he finds feyd there, as he knew he would — standing where the sand meets stone, where the cold creeps up through the soles of their boots like warning. the last harkonnen. the beautiful knife. the mirror with a smirk.

"you’re late," feyd says, though neither of them agreed to meet. paul looks at him, and it feels like looking into the center of a storm.

"or maybe you were early."

feyd snorts, fingers flexing at his sides, like he’s itching for a blade but knows better than to draw.

"maybe we were always here."

──

their first fight ends in silence. not because it isn’t violent. it is. it’s everything. a storm of movement and breathless calculation. sand kicked up in flurries. blades kissing too close to skin. but it ends not with blood, not yet. it ends when feyd’s knife is pressed to paul’s neck, and paul’s hand is buried in feyd's hair, tugging his head back with just enough control to make it dangerous. they’re breathing hard. they’re too close.

"this isn’t how you kill a messiah," paul whispers.

"this isn’t how you fight one," feyd answers, and neither of them move. the blade doesn’t cut. the hand doesn’t release.

──

at night, they fall into the sand like it’s the only place they belong. the fremen sleep in a circle behind them, pretending not to notice. or maybe pretending not to care.

"you think this ends with one of us dead," feyd says, staring up at the stars that don’t blink. "but i think it already ended, long before we met."

paul turns his head. "how poetic of you."

"fuck you."

pause.

"you ever wish you'd never been born into this?"

paul doesn’t answer for a long time.

"every day."

"yeah. me too."

they lie in silence. it stretches between them like a wound.

──

there is blood, eventually. of course there is. you don’t put two blades this close without drawing something red. but it’s not a deathblow. not yet.

feyd bites his lip until it splits, staring down at paul after another fight that ended in stalemate and bruises. "you want me to kill you, don’t you?"

paul says nothing.

feyd drops the knife. it thuds against the sand like a heartbeat. he steps closer. waits for resistance. it doesn’t come.

"you want to see if i’ll be the one to do it. take the crown off your head. end the prophecy. end you."

paul looks up, eyes glowing like he swallowed the sun.

"i want to see if you can stand to look at me and still be human."

feyd flinches.

──

when they kiss, it’s not soft. it’s not gentle. it’s not sweet. it’s a warning. they bite. they bleed. they hold each other like dying men who’ve forgotten how to pray. paul tastes like dust and fear and something ancient. feyd tastes like fury, like burning, like something broken pretending it never was.

they do not speak after. they lie in the silence.

paul’s head rests on feyd’s shoulder. feyd’s fingers twitch against paul’s ribs, like he’s not sure if he wants to hold him or crack him open.

──

"i dreamed of a future where we killed each other," paul says one morning, voice quiet, like confession.

feyd lights a smoke, eyes hooded. "sounds like a happy ending."

"i died with your name in my mouth."

feyd freezes.

he exhales, slow. "was i the one who killed you?"

paul doesn’t answer.

and in that silence, feyd closes the space between them again. not like a lover. like an ending. like a war that forgets it was ever made of men.

a/n: eww i hate this. something about tumblr just makes my writing like twenty times worse. it doesn't help that i'm having the worst hangover of my life while i wrote this..

THIS ACTION WILL HAVE CONSEQUENCES

request literally anything you want fanfiction wise. i'll attempt to write for any fandom, ships, and characters.

masterlist ⤸

dms + asks are ALWAYS open. PLEASE ask anything you want. i crave human interaction.

life is like... strange.. or something...

wip !! :D

girl where do u watch movies

um. online

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the tower isn’t what it used to be. no more clean metal shine. no more stark’s weird robot jazz echoing off the walls. now there’s throw blankets that don’t match, mismatched mugs in the kitchen sink, and half a pizza box abandoned on the coffee table under a forgotten tablet glowing faint blue. the new avengers are spread across the sectional like dropped laundry. yelena belova was upside down with her legs hanging off the top, scrolling on her phone like the fate of the universe depends on it. john walker's asleep with one arm tossed over his eyes, pretending not to be listening. and you, you’re tucked in next to bucky barnes cause it’s always been that way.

his arm’s around your waist, the metal one, heavy and cool through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. your legs are half across his lap. there’s a blanket barely clinging to both of you. you lean in slowly, kissing the corner of his mouth first, he hums something. so you do it again, softer. your lips trail across the edge of his jaw, warm and lazy. and he finally looks at you, real slow, real tired.

“you tryin’ to distract me?” he says, voice rough with sleep or maybe something else.

“from what?” you whisper. “yelena's tiktok rabbit hole? pretty sure the world’ll keep turning.”

he chuckles, breath fogging warm against your temple. “you’re gonna get us kicked off the couch.”

“then we’ll take the beanbag. better view of the stars anyway.”

there’s a long pause, no one talking, just the low thrum of the tower’s power system and distant sirens down in the city, muffled by double pane glass and altitude. bucky doesn’t say much when he’s tired. doesn’t need to. his hand settles over yours, thumb dragging lazy circles over your skin.

your powers flicker under your skin when you’re this close. heat like static behind your ribs. reality bends easier around you when he touches you. he doesn’t flinch anymore when it happens. the way light bends a little around your fingertips. how your shadow twitches half a second slower than your body.

“you’re glowing again,” he mumbles.

“can’t help it.” you grin against his throat. “you make me all… photonic.”

“that a scientific term?”

“yup. real cutting edge. avengers approved.”

he turns toward you fully then, presses a slow kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips. it’s nothing hurried. like sunday mornings. like breath.

near you, yelena mutters, “jesus. get a room.”

you don’t look away. neither does bucky. just smirks against your mouth.

a/n: i actually hate this so much! but forgive me for i was puking my brains out yesterday when i wrote this.

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you meet chloe in cairo. it’s too hot, the streets are too loud, and she talks too much. not to you, at first. you’re just the extra set of hands for a quick recovery job that’s gone sideways more times than it should’ve. you’re supposed to stay quiet, keep your head down, and do what you’re told. chloe doesn’t like people who take up space she didn’t give them. but she notices you.

the first time she actually looks at you— really looks — is after you talk a local dealer down from six thousand to two and a half for a map fragment she’s been trying to get for weeks.

she blinks. “well, i’ll be damned.”

you shrug, lips quirking. “he likes pretty faces.”

“so do i,” she says, and then walks off like she didn’t just throw a grenade and smile at the explosion.

it’s messy with her. always is.

the job stretches on longer than anyone wants to admit. more flights, more trains, more guns. more nights where neither of you sleep, and not just because of the danger. there’s this... buzz, you trade dry remarks, silent glances. she gives you that grin when you’ve got blood on your cheek and your chest is heaving and you both almost died, again.

she doesn’t touch you. not yet. but she wants to. and you feel it. that simmer just under the skin, waiting.

──

she kisses you in istanbul.

you’re in a crumbling hotel room with no lock on the door and only one working lamp. you’re bandaging her arm, a shallow graze, but it looks worse than it is. and she won’t stop fidgeting.

“hold still,” you mutter.

“you’re enjoying this, admit it.”

“you bleed too much.”

she laughs, but it dies off quick. her eyes are on you now, and they’re soft in a way you’ve never seen from her. like she’s thinking about letting you see something she’s spent years hiding under ten layers of sarcasm and steel. then: “come here.” she doesn’t say please. chloe doesn’t beg.

but you go to her anyway.

the kiss is rough. urgent. like she’s afraid if she waits, she’ll talk herself out of it. and maybe she would’ve. but you’re here now. and her hands are on your hips, pulling you in, grounding you both in this flickering, half lit room that smells like dust and gunpowder and something sweeter that neither of you will name.

you don’t sleep that night.

after that, it’s not easier. not with her. she still picks fights for fun, still flirts with danger like it owes her money. but she holds your gaze a second longer. hands linger when they don’t have to.

she lets you see her scared. once. maybe twice.

and when it’s all over, when the artifact’s in a box, the buyer paid off, the trail cold, she stands next to you on a rooftop in athens and says, “i don’t do the whole happily ever after thing.”

you nod. laughing at the comment. “me neither.”

she looks at you. quiet for a long while.

“but... yknow.. i could try.” she says, voice low. you slide your hand into hers. no fairy tale. just this. just her.

my resident evil oc

𝄞

selina was born in 1976 through a experiment orchestrated by mother miranda. using alcina dimitrescu as a vessel, miranda sought to create a hybrid, a perfect blend of dimitrescu’s vampiric abilities and the mold. however, selina was born more human than expected, her monstrous traits dormant. believing the experiment to be a failure, miranda allowed alcina to dispose of the child.

but alcina, still having some humanity, couldn’t bring herself to kill selina. instead, she left the child in a romanian village, where selina was eventually taken by umbrella researchers working under miranda’s orders. she was named selina there. for years, selina was subjected to experimental exposure to the mold in an attempt to “awaken” her latent abilities. however, a sympathetic umbrella scientist, dr. emilia kravchenko, smuggled her out of the facility and fled to raccoon city, where selina was raised under a false identity of lisa kravchenko.

lisa's early years was a patchwork of strange occurrences:

gnawing sensations, scents too sharp, sounds too loud, a hunger she couldn’t name. there were nights she woke in a cold sweat, the image of a tall, spectral woman burned behind her eyelids. her adoptive mother, dr. kravchenko, kept her sedated, dulled the edges with little white pills, and told her it was all in her head.

but lisa wasn’t stupid. as she grew older, she grew more suspicious. the gaps in her past felt deliberate, her mother’s reassurances too practiced. then came the night she snapped— tore into a classmate’s flesh like an animal, left them barely breathing. the fear in kravchenko’s eyes told lisa everything.

kravchenko sent her off to an orphanage and she got adopted by another family after a couple months. starting under a new name of lana falkner. her adoptive father, dr. isaac falkner, was a senior umbrella researcher, and her mother, sophia, was a whistleblower who attempted to expose umbrella’s crimes. after sophia’s mysterious disappearance, lana was left under Isaac’s care. though not directly experimented on, she was exposed to umbrella’s t-virus research and its bioweapon development, leading to deep emotional scars and heightened survival instincts. after another incident of biting off one of her friends fingers, she ran again.

she went from town to town, looking to find peace. she thought maybe the badge would do it, that being on the right side of the law would keep her from slipping into whatever she really was. so she joined the raccoon city police department, hoping it would make her feel human.

it didn’t.

me after getting my appendix removed: omg. stigmata.

Hes so funny BUT PLEASE FREE HIM

Charles: is there a leakage?

Pit: a leakage of what?

Charles: I have the seat full of water, full of water!

Pit: ahhhhh.... It must be the water.

Charles: lets add that to the words of wisdom