#ask meme: reply

[onceweptarchive]

“ i could have lost you today! do you know what that would have done to me? ” elilan :unwell:

HE WAS USED TO BEING CONSTANT. Her rock, his mother had always called him, firm and unmoving. And if he was the rock, there was no doubt Caelan was the river around it. Unrelenting, turbulent. He had never been one to keep score, yet as the other speaks he can’t help but run through the tally in his mind. How many times had Caelan barely made it? How many missions gone awry? How many stays at Mungo’s? And how many times had he paused to consider what it all meant? Somehow, somewhere along the way he’d chosen someone that was more ghost than man; someone he couldn’t trust to stay alive, or even to want to. Somehow, Elijah had let himself believe that if he cared for him well enough (if he cared hard enough) Caelan might learn to care for himself. He knew better than that, yet each reminder left its own bruise. He knew better than that, yet there was no part of him that would ever be ready to stop trying.

He doesn’t have to think of an answer to Caelan’s question, frantic and selfish and fearful. He knows the answer. He knows what it would mean because he’s had ample time to consider it; a loss so great he couldn’t bear the thought of it once, and now one that seemed inevitable with each passing day. He has familiarized himself with the answer. It would be an undoing, but it was one of his own choosing.  “  I know.  ”  It’s honest, calm in the face of panic; a rock cutting against the current. He rises and Caelan is there to steady him before he can falter. Elijah reaches out to him, fingertips curling around the back of his neck, pulling him into an embrace. They keep each other standing.  “  I know exactly.  ”

[onceweptarchive]

( STAR ) staring at mine instead of the stares while stargazing. (also oc besties don’t look at me)

THEY LIE WITH THEIR HANDS AT THEIR SIDES, breathing in the crisp night air. She is pointing at some constellation or other, rambling on about the meaning behind the name, and he gets the sense that they’ve done this a thousand times before. Only now he’s focusing on the way her lips move against each syllable, the way her nose still scrunches up like that when she pauses in thought. They were younger the last time they came here, all skinned knees and dirtied faces. It was a simpler time, when fingers intertwined of their own accord and they truly believed nothing could ever break them apart. 

Things are the same as they always have been and yet somehow different, Aleksi realizes this as he fights the urge to speak a secret into the night air. This had always been a place they could trust to hold their worries, their joys, their hopes; the breeze was the same one that once carried their mother’s shouts across it, only now there is no one to tell them when to leave. So they don’t. All of this had been theirs once upon a time and it still was, even if their worries were too dangerous to speak out loud. Even if their hopes were.

The truth is, he’d never taken much interest in stargazing at all.

A noise of surprise draws him back to present as Gia shoves him with the heel of her palm. You’re not even paying attention! He lets his head drop into the grass, and she props herself up on one elbow to stare down at him.   “   I‘m paying attention, I swear.   ”  He’s always paying attention to her. As if in demonstration, Aleksi furrows his brows the way a student would, every detail of Gia’s face clear even in the growing darkness. She’s shaking her head, but her face is questioning beneath the humor. He breathes, he shuts his eyes against it.

“   Tell me the story again.   ”

[onceweptarchive]

( FLOWER ) putting a flower in mine’s hair for helnik

DELICATE FLOWER BLOSSOMS from fingertips that are far more accustomed to violence. He'd been reared in destruction, in the ways of bringing people to heel. There was no innate talent behind it, no real purpose. But that he could craft something like this, too, gave him a moment’s pause. It had been a whim rather than any real intention driving the movement, the twirl of a lazy finger under the cover of the last few hours of darkness the night could offer. It was fitting enough anyway——he hadn’t been sure he had the words for a note.

Careful not to crush the newly formed thing, Matthias twirls the flower in his fingers, examining it with that idleness that he’d grown accustomed to. His free arm is folded behind him, propping up his head in space of a pillow. There is no excuse for the quiet ease that has settled over him these past weeks, the lull that has been born out of the routine they shared. A fugitive, a traitor, a man on borrowed time. Any comforts afforded to him here have been false ones, this place liminal at best.

And yet still, she is a soft thing. Still, she breathes beside him, expecting many more days to come. A part of Matthias knows he had to keep this from her even as the guilt tugs at him; Nina wouldn’t like the veil of peace, the false security. It’s a selfish thing, to want these last moments to be easy ones. Had she known he would be gone come morning, he wouldn’t have had this time to himself. This time to steep in the peace that Nina could bring, this time to think, to come to the conclusion that if nothing else he must come back to her. They have this tender thing between them, theirs alone to nurture and be nurtured by. If only he’d let himself choose it. 

It feels like an eternity passes as he lies there, sleepless, running through the plan in his mind, but he knows it is time to go when the pale fingers of first light creep in through the curtains. There is urgency in this, but now a part of Matthias struggles to find it; there is a part of him still waiting to hear her stir, waiting for her to curl into him, waiting for an excuse to call this off. When he goes, he leaves no trace, no note or parting word, save for that flower that he’d turned over and over in his fingertips, tucked softly in her hair.

He would come back to her, that he had decided. And there would be time for the rest.

[onceweptarchive]

‘is it my fault?’ for finnibros :((

“  You’ll have to be more specific.  ”  Words slur,  more so tumbling out of his mouth than anything as he casts a glance at his brother,  attempting to focus.  He thinks of all the possible meanings,  he starts at the beginning.  “  D’you mean the part where our father was an abusive bastard?  ”  Despite the weight of the situation his words are light,  almost humorous,  and there’s a smile on his lips.  He shakes his head.  “  Don’ see how that was your fault.  ”  A pause.

“  Or  -  or maybe the part where ma’ died?  ”  The far off look in his eyes betrays his mental state entirely,  but his eyebrows raise as he presents the question,  as if trying to convince him that he’s functioning normally.  “  No,  couldn’t be that either if I’m remembering right.  ”  The words are slippery.  He’d never speak so plainly sober,  still can’t speak plainly drunk.  Can’t say murdered,  can’t think about it without reliving it.  “  The part where we were kids?  Helpless and scared shitless to fuckin’ breathe in his direction?  The part where we were alone or where you saved us  -  ”  He pushes himself off the back fo the sofa,  sitting up as if it’ll help him get his point across.  “  You saved us.  ”

Rory continues down the list of possibilities that cross his mind,  continues to speak though he should be quiet.  Continues to speak though he knows that it’s selfish,  though he can see the look written across Finn’s features even if he pretends he can’t.  “  Can’t mean the expulsion  -  that one was me.  Couldn’t be the arrests,  or the drinking,  or the fighting,  or fucking up everything I put my damn hands on  -  ”  if he wasn’t so far gone it would be sobering to speak these words out loud.  Admissions of his own guilt,  acknowledgement of the countless times where Finn saved him,  knowledge that he would save him again.  It’s a misguided attempt at reminding his brother where the blame really lies.  Not with him at all but elsewhere,  always elsewhere.  “  D’you remember our first job?  ”  A disaster thanks to him.

Rory laughs and it sounds like an attempt to shake it off.  He throws his hands up and plops back into the sofa,  clearly having come up short.  The world is spinning,  spinning,  spinning.  He takes another swig of the bottle in his hand.  He closes his eyes.  When he opens them again,  his brows are furrowed.

“  You saved us.  You know?  ”

[onceweptarchive]

“ i’m  never  letting  go .   ” (for mcmeadowes)

      ──     “    it was an accident!    ”    explosive laughter interrupts the protest, and dorcas finds herself struggling to keep up that affronted look. she manages long enough, feeling very pleased with herself when the smile breaks out on marlene’s face as well. the crime in question was a spilled drink — her own, of course, sloshed into marlene’s lap thanks to doe’s wild gesticulations. she forgets what the story is now, probably one they’ve shared a hundred times or more, in these very seats at this very bar. but that drink has long since been replaced by another, and another, and dorcas is filled with a merriment that makes everything seem simple. because it always had been, between them. 

she looks up to speak again, but for what must be the first time in history words fail her. even now she knows she will look back on this moment in the years to follow, through the span of the war and the hurt that it brings. she will remember this very second: looking at marlene in a dimly lit pub and being hit with the realization that she is completely and utterly in love, that she feels completely and utterly seen. but in the moment, in the face of that knowledge, she can only offer a breathy laugh as she swoops in for a another sip of beer. it’s a sobering thought that hits her all at once, a bit exhilarating. a bit terrifying.    “    grudges are bad for the complexion, you know.    ”    a light shake of her head, a hint of mirth remaining there as she wags a cautionary finger.    “    we can’t have you ending up like an old crone.  ” 

[onceweptarchive]

❛ I’m fine with my spite ❜ or ❛ I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve ❜ for enemies

❛  I’m fine with my spite  ❜

PEOPLE OFTEN SPOKE OF HER PRIDE, all encompassing. She wears the legacy like a shroud; it is impossible to see through, she is impossible to touch. And yet there is a parting of the veil for the briefest moment, a flicker of something they both see. His lips hover mere inches above her own and for the first time Bellatrix finds herself wondering what he might do. He dons the look of a victor, and when at last he speaks its with every bit of vitriol he can conjure, words laced with venom; her lips curl at the edges in response. There is a boastful, preening sort of humor written all over her face. They’ve met their match in one another.

She has never felt a burning like this, a hatred so hot it has forged itself into something as dangerous as affection. The idea is haunting, spells forfeit, and it’s clear that neither of them will be the first to give in. She hasn’t lost the humor in her face, that permanent sneer is ever present as she pushes herself off the desk, invades the last bit of space that separates them. Blood red lips part in the form of his name, though it is little more than a murmur against his ear.  “  Spite,  ”  fingertips come to rest on his neck, teasing the possibility of it all. And in an instant she pushes past him towards the door, which she holds open in a wordless suggestion. It is time for him to leave. 

“  There was never anything else.  ”

[onceweptarchive]

kisses for oc bodyguard :urlyloveme: a kiss on the jawline OR a kiss on the shoulder blade

SHE KEEPS HER DISTANCE AT FIRST, watching with reserved interest from the doorway. Emir’s actions are practiced, fluid as they always are and she is content in this moment of observation. Fingers move to work on the buttons of his shirt, and if he knows she’s there he doesn’t bother to say it. Something unspoken has grown between them, made up of fleeting glances and small touches. It has sparked a curiosity in her, steady as a current, pulling her closer and closer each time. They are a test, the first few steps she takes towards him. And then they are a dare, a defiance of her own will.

Figure appears in the mirror beside him and it’s as if he’s noticed her for the first time; it’s useless for him to pretend, Carmen has woken to his footsteps in the hallway on more than one occasion, seen the way he snaps to attention at the tiniest of sounds. Yet still he stands a stiffer than before, fingers pausing in their work. Gaze locks onto his in the reflection of the mirror, steady there until he raises his eyes to meet hers. There is a question there, which he seems to answer by resuming the task at hand. When at last the final button is undone, Carmen tugs the fabric down his arms, breath catching as bandages come into view.

White cloth is stark against his skin, and even in the dim light the crease in her brows is evident. To him it is just another scar, no different she’s sure than the faded one that mars his shoulder. She directs her attention to it, something from his past, not quite as fresh. The shirt lies forgotten on the floor and before she can stop herself a finger tip ghosts around this faded line——searching, curious, suddenly eager to know this part of him too. Her lips follow, brushing over the spot as she speaks. Who gave it to you, she thinks of asking. Yet something else leaves her lips.  “  Do you ever consider putting this all behind you?  ”  Carmen is close to him now, close enough to see the way he tenses as her fingertip continues to trail down the curve of his arm. She wants an after for him, something beyond this endless accumulation of scars that he has committed himself to. Something more than a half life.  “  Aren’t you tired?  ”

[onceweptarchive]

❛ I can’t dare to dream about you anymore ❜ for adrienne :hitthewoah:

IT’S DANGEROUS, MEETING HER LIKE THIS.   But desperation had driven him to her door, a selfish need that had him knocking in the dead of night. He stood as if glued there by some unseen weight, unsure of whether Vivienne or Loren would greet him. An excuse was ready made, though loosened tie and disheveled hair told a story that he dare not speak. How could he explain this away? How could he pretend it was anything but what it truly was?

Door opens just enough to reveal her to him, confusion writ across perfect features in the darkened hallway, and any semblance of pretense fades. A weight had been lifted momentarily, only to immediately tighten around his heart at her reaction to his words.   “   I had to see you.   ”

He isn’t sure what he expected to find. Certainly there is no relief in this, no understanding on her features of this entirely stupid act. He speaks in hushed tones, standing only steps away from where his best friend sleeps, words that have been eating him alive for days spilling out between them. This is too impossible an equation. Even for them, even for love.   “   Tell me you haven’t thought of us,   ”   it’s a request, eyes searching.   “   Tell me you don’t think of me still, and I swear I’ll go.   ”   Adrien wants to believe himself capable of that. Wants to believe he can stop driving himself mad with longing.

I can’t dare to dream of you anymore.

He watches words fall from parted lips, watches the way she shrinks further behind the door as if behind a shield. I understand, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He couldn’t possibly. He wants to turn and leave, but this proves to be another promise he can’t keep. Vivienne sees it, he knows that by the shake of her head, disappointment clear in her eyes. The door closes with a soft click and he reaches out too late, fingertips brushing the wood as head hangs heavy on his shoulders.

The words remain unspoken even as he turns to leave, but Adrien can't help but hope she knows. He can’t dream of anything else.