prodigal.

       independent, selective multimuse - dc, marvel, house md, leverage, ocs.        by shenme.

                 Old Fred Nietzsche said, “Whoever fights monsters should see                  to it that in the process he does not become a monster.” But                  the thing the Neech didn’t know is that the only  kind of people                  who want to fight monsters… were monsters to begin with.

@prodgl​ liked for a starter.

          Even  if  the  hacker  hadn’t  been  standing  right  next  to  her  (  before  she  gave  him  the  shove  he  needed  off  the  building  ),  she  would  have  heard  his  scream  through  the  earpiece  loud  and  clear.  Now  that  the  con  was  over,  or  at  least,  now  that  she  had  STOLEN  what  they  needed  and  it  was  down  to  Sophie  and  Nate  to  finish  things  off,  Parker  punched  his  shoulder,  grinning.  ❛  C’mon,  that  wasn’t  SO  bad,  was  it?  ❜

      calamity crashes, her heart palpitates – all semblance of reasoning ceases to exist. if inquired upon, sullied facade, the dollops of mascara that streaks down along her countenance speaks for itself : rain, thunder thuds, lightning strikes within the city sphere and she, all within a state of isolation. there is no tenderness that lingers in remy’s disposition and as if she is a sail on a stormy august fair, her sheets crumble, as if she is to fall at the inquiry bestowed upon her. she had been a fool to expect tenderness, she had been a fool to expect unadulterated kindness from remy. she had been selfish, and she knows all too well of her sins – thus, if remy dares to inquire further addison will blame her words, her actions on the many glasses of martinis she swallowed to drum up the semblance of liquid courage.

       ❝     i uh — i… i don’t know. but uh…    ❞      addison measures her words with caution. within her drunken stupor, she could only behold her through glassy eyes. there is a dull ache that gnaws at her – what do they have ?  she doesn’t dare to venture, she doesn’t dare to linger for she fears her heart falling, falling, and then breaking once again. her lips unfurl, words come tumbling from her lips before she could only shake her head in defeat. white flag raised, she is a a loss for words.    ❝    you know what never mind. sorry i came over so late.    ❞

    too harsh? perhaps. but she’d learnt it’s the only way to deliver truth to a stubborn sick mind. this lesson’s best viewed drunk, the high counters the pain, and remy wishes that she was a fraction as intoxicated as addison was in this moment. as intoxicated as they were intoxicating. but see, when her chest pounds hard enough, and when the chemicals in her brain latches on to a feeling that surges through her veins, remy does gain a boon of dionysus’ that might not come in his river of wine and insensibility. impulse catches in her throat, and remy dares continue her challenge. pride stands in the way of accepting defeat: no one lies with remy hadley so often to tell a tale of indifference. a tale of apathy and disaffection. so, she tries again.  “ no, tell me. i need to know. i want to hear it from you. ”

lazy limbs outstretched across the softness beneath them. the present is effervescent : it is surreal, as if the cliched lightness prescribed upon the fairy tale worlds / it is vivacious, akin to the beating of her once hollowed heart. her heart, it beats again in spite of the frigidity, in spite of the frostbitten edges along her valves from the last wintertide she endured in seattle. it was as if she was drowning in snow, asphyxiated from the volume that obstruct her airway, that fills up her lungs until she could not breathe. immobilized, terrorized – her heart, she was certain it could not beat like that again.

until she had tasted divinity. until she had tenderly traced the sculpted features beneath her fingertips. remy is the kindle of warmth in the long, arduous, and treacherous path she endured. in her vivacious eyes she witnessed the spark of life that she thought she had lost since the downfall of her marriage. 

& so she stares, before the crispness of the air gnaws along her exposed flesh. cushioning her head against her elbow, she simply smiles at remy before speaking her inquiry,  ❛ what are your thoughts on christmas because — i already ordered the tree, the ornaments, and the decorations. don’t want you to freak out, cause i’m pretty sure they’re all coming on the same day. ❜

@prxdigaldaughter // look im just gonna throw this here & you can respond whenever 

thoughts circle her mind, as if the remnants of the mother’s desperation for her daughter’s speedy recovery was akin to a ghost that haunts her. her mind barely attentive to her surroundings, she almost feels apologetic for her blatant absence.   “ that mother in the waiting room. i delivered her daughter’s child five hours ago and her daughter’s still in surgery with derek. ” she notes, almost anxiously at the thought as she swallows the lump that gathered in her throat. 

“ you have allergies? ”  addison deflects once more. classic. 

there’s a mischievous glean in addison’s eyes, her hands extend outward reaching for remy’s whilst she stands on her heels.  slowly, she spins herself into the other’s embrace, gingerly placing her hand on her own neck.  “ dance with me? ”  cue love don’t cost a thing playing in the background – someone’s been watching tiktok dances lately… a lot of them, actually. 

@prxdigaldaughter​ 

@prodgl​​ said   →   “ i’d stay if i could, i promise. ” - shay!

MORNING AFTER:  ACCEPTING.

𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈,   but there’s still something else in her expression as she watches shay move and feels the shift of the mattress…  something she doesn’t wanna try to name right now.  lauren’s never been the sort to let herself get attached,  and it’s more than a little uncharacteristic for her to be feeling anything like the strange sense that she’s missing something now that she’s the bed’s sole occupant,  but here she is.  still,  she does her best to brush it off and cover with a stretch as gaze tracks the paramedic’s movements,   “hey,  hazards of the job,  right?  you never know when you’ll be needed,”

  there’s  no dignity to be spared amongst friends. tiptoeing through a minefield   of shed  garments, shay  stays  determinedly  in  her  state of  undress  as she   checks on  her  pinging  phone. she’s  impossibly  warm  anyway  and  there’s   salve in the open air now that she’s strayed from the radiating heat of her bed.   her  gaze  doesn’t part  from the phone when lauren speaks,  and  neither  did   her own response warrant attention away from the furious typing.

     “hey, your tight ass should be  right  behind  mine  if  i’m called in on       my day off. it’s either nine eleven all over again or godzilla’s decided       to land on american waters.”

  brows knot in tepid annoyance,  the  screen  glares back at leslie in mockery.

     “it’s not the station. we’ve got a shipment coming in for the bar and the       other two bozos are too busy slacking off to come haul it with me.”

  be there in forty. only then does she spare lauren her gaze: the doctor had an   incomparable charm about her, one that kept shay  by  her  side  even  as the   world grew  incomprehensibly  complex  around  them.  a  decade of comfort   culminating to unthinkable benefits. shay beams.

@prodgl​ liked for a starter.

                    there were certain things her father had always said - ‘once you know all the cons, you’ll never be a sucker’ and ‘a thief has to run out of town as fast as he can, but a good con man can leave whenever he wants’. she’d grown up knowing that, grown up on the grift with him, and though he’d been arrested, she hadn’t; she’d stepped into the family business, his advice always in the back of her mind. though she didn’t know everything, she liked to think she’d learnt not to be a sucker…which meant she noticed when someone seemed to have the same target as her. of course, sarah knew she could be wrong, could be getting mixed up in something far more complex than she thought…but she’d take her chances. “can i ask you something?” 

   a thousand thoughts  fly  by but there’s none of them were quite as clear as the     grifter’s voice perched  in  her head: focus, parker, cherio! and no  stabbing! she    never welcomed attention, and  even  less so when it came to conversation-- it    went  against  every instinct of  a  thief. quick and light is how she survived, but     survival now  was  no longer  a solo act and to be a team player, she needed to     act. good god woman, ask google or something! the thief masks an eyeroll with    a sticker smile, one she had  been  working  on  closely  with  the  grifter. social     convention was strange, why  did  anyone have  to  bare their  teeth  to  appear     approachable?  no  one  was supposed to talk to her, they said. no one talks to     waitresses! parker smooths out her apron.