(I think? This is how this works?) Bingo : MSA lewis and arthur, chronic pain or crying into chest :oc
So first off… It’s… been a Really long time since I got my Bad Things Happen Bingo card, andthe prompts… and I would understand if you folks had stopped expecting fillsfor your prompts but– I actually am here and going to do it! But before I getto the actual prompt fill.. I decided that I would prelude each of my fillswith an explanation of why I selectedthat particular trope to play with on my card.
So first up!
Let’s talk about the Crying into Chest Trope, for @badthingshappenbingo
So, honestly, I don’t have all that much to say about thisone, but it’s one of my favourite comfort tropes. And also a pretty good onewhen it comes to pain. Because this is one of the ones that you can twist.
Okay, now what does that mean. I mean, well. Because you canhave it used the regular way. Between friends and family, truly in comfort. Andthen you can have it in a darker way, because not everyone who offers comfortoffers it for a good reason. Manipulation, or when characters are hurt, andstill hurting. Open wounds and pressing into them, masked with comfort in thissituation.
But yeah. Mostly I snatched this one because it has many,many shades to play around with and just because it’s comfort. Doesn’t meanthat it will always be straight comfort… now, that said. Here’s the fill:
“Y-You–“ His eyes narrow at the blond, flame hairflickering slightly. “You really– you haven’t paid attention at al! Damn You!!”his hair flares, the mechanic screaming at him. Lightning flashing, staticraising in the air, prickling over his bones and suit. His own hands curl, aroaring in his skull as he looms. Raising up off the ground, higher and morethreatening over the blond who glares,challenging up at him. “You expect me– You– You–“
In the magenta light of his flames he can see a shine, thefaintest glimmer at the edge of Arthur’s eyes. But that hardly matters, as hetilts his skull back, looking down on him.
“You’re clearly not yourself! The Arthur I know…” hepauses, watching Arthur grit his teeth, mismatched hands curling. The littlewhirr of gears and parts, the click of metal connecting. And he glares straightback down at him. “Then again– That you would never push me off a cliffeither– but I was wrong!” and it allrushes back, smothering and engulfing, that roar in his ears becoming a howl offlames. Arthur barely has a chance to let out a gasp as his hand snapsforwards.
A fistful of that white shirt, he hoists the mechanic up,eyes glaring, burning into those wide, wide amber ones.
“You! You have no idea! None!” he snarls, dragging himforwards, smoke wafting up faintly from the fisted material. Ignoring the littlewhimper, the shine of those unshed tears. The heat is nothing to him, nothingas he sneers. “The hell– hell that you putme through, when you murdered me!”
It flashes, that moment. The cave, the fall, the pain, red,red, no, they can’t– He closes hiseyes, for a moment his grip slackening. Before it tightens again and he swingsArthur around. Tossing him to the wall. Ignoring his cry of pain, only shakinghis head and letting out a small sigh. Really, now, he raises his head.
“But we can put all that behind us… right– Mi Ratoncito”
He floats forwards, fire slowly simmering down as he lands,and Arthur looks up at him. Trembling, shirt singed and oh– his eyes shadeover, and he kneels down, ignoring that flinch and whimper as his hand reachesforwards to trace it, a frown crossing his face as he flickers back to normal.
Lewis– human Lewis…
“Oh look at what you made me do Ratoncito–“ he sighs,shaking his head. “Well, we’ll just have to get you a new one, and you know notto–“
“GET AWAY FROM ME!” He jerks back, feeling the slap but that’snot what stings. “Y-you’re not Lewis! You–You’re nothing– nothing but–“ Arthur hiccups stumbling back, wet trailsstaining his cheeks. Quickly drying in the next flare of magenta flame. A whooshas again his form is engulfed.
The fire burns around them.
And he casts his shadow down on the mechanic glaring.Challenging him right back. Arthur grits his teeth, glares up through tears andshakes his head.
“You’re a monster!”
“You’re right…” he muses, for a moment raising one blackgloved and white plated hand up. “A monster– The monster you made me!” he points and Arthur runs. Now that won’t do. With asnap of his fingers his mansion reacts to his will. This whole building, theplace they stand is his. He laughs asArthur’s put on a treadmill. “You can run and run Kingsmen– But you can’tescape judgement!” he sneers, floating over, and catching him.
The paintings around them shift, glaring as his beats pickup the haunting melody. He tilts Arthur’s chin up, those tears shining in thereflected magenta light.
“You can run and run!” he repeats, curling him close. Graspon the blond tight, able to feel tears beginning to stain his nice finemidnight purple suit. “But I refuseto let you go!” Not until judgement was cast. And truly–
It has been so, so lonely here all alone aside the deadbeats.
