#gavswords

[wolfboywarmachine]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

if u love me u’ll read my dragon age shmoop 

[wolfboywarmachine]

untitled krem/cole, lavellan/bull/dorian wip (mildly nsfw)

“Holy-” Dorian and Bull are both on their feet before Lavellan can finish speaking. It’s not that they think he can’t take care of himself, but the look on his face - pale, shocked, he’s horrified - is enough to have them both immediately rushing towards him. “What happened?” Dorian questions first, once they’ve confirmed he’s not actually about to fall over (he’s been gathered in Bull’s arms nonetheless). “Cole,” Lavellan says fervently, looking just as baffled as Dorian feels. It’s not life-threatening, Dorian’s fairly sure. Nobody is in danger. He can’t help but imagine what in the world could have happened, though. Is Cole- what, is he leaving? He left? “Cole...what?” Bull’s always been good at keeping things on track in a crisis. Not that this is a crisis, but something is clearly wrong, and Dorian’s not exactly helping figure things out himself. “Cole,” Lavellan says, still looking almost frightened, “and Krem.” Krem? What does Krem have to - “Holy shit.” Krem’s inclusion is apparently startling enough that Bull’s nearly dropped Lavellan to the ground, and he makes an indignant noise of protest. “Cole and Krem were what?” Dorian has to ask. “Fingers.” He waves them frantically in Dorian’s face. “Fingers, Dorian! In the attic!” Fingers? Oh. Oh. That’s normally the first place Dorian’s mind goes. Truth be told he’s rather disappointed in himself. In his defense, though, Cole and Krem are both very firmly non-sexual beings in Dorian’s mind, and he’s not happy with the images this is conjuring up. Cole and Krem. Cole and Krem. Cole and Krem doing that. Maker, but Dorian isn’t happy about this. He supposes he should be. He does like Cole quite a lot, and Krem’s a fine young man after all. But the idea of them doing… that… If Dorian’s having difficulty with this, he can’t imagine what Bull must be thinking. He looks like he’s staring death itself right in the face.

The door opens. It’s the very people being discussed, because the Maker has no mercy for awkward conversations, clearly. Krem’s fidgeting with the front of his pants, like they’d needed to make things any clearer. Is he grinning? He is. The bastard. There’s a high-pitched murmuring sound, and it takes Dorian a moment to place it as coming from Bull. Dorian’s heard a lot of noises from him, but never anything quite like that. “Cole?” he asks finally, disparagingly. “It had to be Cole?” “It usually does,” Cole says cryptically, staring at his shoes. Bull gives him a look. “I’m talking to you about this later,” he says. “That’s a whole different thing, right there.”

“He didn’t know anything,” Krem says, shit-eating grin still firmly in place. “So I had to teach him a few things about how to please a lady. Or a gentleman, as the case might be. Skills are still applicable.” Lavellan, for his part, is hiding his face firmly in Bull’s shoulder. He’s normally open about sex to the point where it’d be a problem if both his partners weren’t exhibitionists. And, yes, it’s Cole and Krem, and that’s horrifying, but still. They’re adults, aren’t they? They must be. And if they were consenting, then that’s - Dorian makes the mistake of looking back at Cole, who’s intently watching a spider weave a web, looking concerned for it. Maker, no, they’re right. Cole’s an infant. “Ugh,” Lavellan says eloquently. Dorian concurs. “Well,” Dorian says, after a long silence. “We...shouldn’t talk about this right now. We’ll, ah, come find you two crazy kids later. Please don’t be doing what you were doing. I mean, if you have to, just find a room with a door that locks. Please.” He wraps his arm around Bull’s bicep and pulls him out of the room, Lavellan in tow. He’s shocked enough to still be pliable, otherwise Dorian would have no hope of attempting to lead him anywhere without informing him first. Once they’re down the hall a ways he stops, almost knocked over when Bull automatically continues forward. (Bull catches him. He always does.) “What the fuck,” Lavellan whines, still hiding his face. “I can’t believe I saw that. What could I have possibly done to deserve something this bad?” “You have an undead horror show crawling up your tiny arse every opportunity it gets,” Dorian points out. “Shouldn’t that be worse?” “No.” “Fair point.” Bull makes another low, devastated noise. “So,” Dorian says finally, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re possibly going to do about this, but I doubt it’ll be fun for anyone involved.” “I do,” Lavellan says ominously. “I’m going to kill them both. And then maybe myself.” (Bull’s hand tightens around Lavellan’s shoulders.) “No, you’re not.” “No,” he says agreeably, “I’m not.” Dorian sighs, one of those long, drawn-out sighs of why in the Maker’s name does this kind of thing keep happening to me. “They’re just...having fun,” he points out, knowing even as he says it that it’s useless. “It’s not like..” “Like what, Dorian?” Lavellan’s getting increasingly hysterical. “Like Krem wasn't seducing my-my-Cole?” “You're not actually his father, darling,” Dorian reminds, getting a near-lethal glare for his trouble. “I might as well be,” Lavellan mumbles. “You're, what? Three, four years older than him?” Bull adds. Lavellan rests his forehead against the wall with a dull thump. “I hate you both,” he says.

[wolfboywarmachine]

i’m recovering i really really am

but i remember your thighs around my waist your hand locked in mine your smile like a reassurance: “someday, we will be happy”. i spend my days ignoring painful truths like “i don’t know who i am anymore” and “every day is getting a little bit harder” and “i’m so, so scared i’m never going to love anyone the way i loved you”. and it’s been months now and i was doing well but august was supposed to be sunburns and root beer floats and walking fast through every crowd but our hands never leaving each other--lazy days in your bed and kisses good morning and your family accepting me in a way my own never has and perhaps never will. public transport and minty kisses and feeling braver than i ever had before because i had you, and i didn’t have anything left to be afraid of. 

and now winter’s on its way, and december was supposed to be  art museums and tea that we let get cold because we kept getting distracted by other, better things, like my lips on your collarbone; falling asleep holding you and feeling loved, loved, loved. 

it wasn’t perfect, i know that now. there’s enough distance for me to realize that i was too much, too afraid, too small for you. that i was not meant for your world of drunk driving and praying to die young - 

but for a time, i only saw the beautiful parts, and i loved you; god, i loved you and now all i have is the resonating ache in my chest one only gets when missing something that was never theirs to begin with.

[wolfboywarmachine]

hellixir wip below the cut !!! i’d rly appreciate feedback if anyone has the time <3

“No T.K.” That’s the first thing he says. The words sound totally alien coming from him, showing clearly the way he’s not used to saying them. He says T.K. so that Julian can hear the period after each letter instead of the teekay that Julian’s used to. It’s just another reminder of what he is, who he is. He’s one of them. Julian should have figured the pretty new boy would turn out to be a fucking fascist.

“No T.K.” he repeats, because he’s clearly figured out that Julian wasn’t listening. “Got it?”

“I’ll try,” Julian says flatly. “No promises.”

“That’s-God, fine,” and he’s- what the fuck, he’s taking his shirt off.

“Dude,” Julian says, incredulous. Does he know? How the fuck would he know? Is this his way of- of balancing things, somehow, like it’s okay if Julian has his TK because he’ll be distracted by abs?

Josh gives him a look, the same kind of look Cess gets when she says Julian is being a boy. “I don’t exactly have the most belongings right now,” he says slowly, like Julian’s a child. “I’m not going to ruin anything just cause you’re being a douche.”

“I’m being a douche? You’re a fucking Reaver and I’m being a douche?”

“I told you, I’m not anymore, you’re- oh, fuck you,” and before Julian can finish processing Josh tackles him. Full-blown, slams him into the ground tackles him.

“Jesus fuck!” Julian says as soon as he recovers from having the wind knocked out of him, grabbing Josh’s arm just before he gets punched in the face. Fuck “no T.K.” Josh may be a healer but Julian isn’t as lucky, and like hell he’s going to class with a black eye from fucking Foley the Reaver. Once he’s gotten his bearings it’s no contest. Josh is a close match for him physically, but when Julian’s using his powers he’s got them flipped over with Josh’s wrists pinned to the ground immediately.

“What happened to no T.K.?”

“Fuck you,” Julian says, then repeats “fuck you,” in case Josh didn’t get the point the first time. “My powers are part of me, asshole, I can’t just turn them off.” He leans in close and hopes it comes across as intimidating rather than gay.

Josh’s face isn’t angry anymore, though. Or, rather, it is, but it’s also bright fucking red in a way it hadn’t been a minute ago. Julian doesn’t know why he’s -

Wait. No way, no fucking way.

Julian shifts his weight back, just enough so his hips are hovering right over Josh’s, whose face is getting redder by the second.

Julian presses down.

He’s just in contact long enough to confirm his theory. He’s not sure what his plan had been, but he reacts purely on instinct, scrambling back with a cry of “Holy shit!” like he’s been burned.

Josh props himself up on his elbows. He’s almost purple now. It looks like he’s about to speak, so Julian stumbles to his feet and then bolts.

Holy Mary Mother of God, what the hell was that?

He gets back to the room he shares with Brian and collapses against the door.

[wolfboywarmachine]

“it's 11:30 pm and i'm having the sexuality crisis i thought i had bypassed. it's not that i don't like girls, it's that they're soft and i understand them and they're lovely but they don't make my stomach hurt, don't make me WANT. i WANT boys. i was so in love with her. i think a part of me still is. i think a part of me always will be. i hope the words "i love you" crawl out of her mouth like a snake and wrap around her throat. i hope she chokes. she hurt me. she absolutely devastated me. and i was in love with her. but also i was in love with someone loving me. i've been wanted before. maybe even WANTed, but never loved like that. i don't know if i will ever be loved like that. she made me feel special and beautiful and important in all the ways nobody else ever could, like she knew how ugly i was deep down and she chose to look and she chose to stay anyways. she saw all my worst parts and she held me and she loved me til they all died away. my heart is a forest fire and i am purging away the dead grass. i thought i was going to marry that girl. i want something desperate and ugly, i want something tragically beautiful and full of gore. i want to feel loved and then i want someone to make me sad besides myself. i want a beautiful boy with sharp hips and cold hands who won't ever leave me, who won't ever decide i am not worth loving anymore. i can still feel all the places on my body she used to touch, feel her hands on my hips, her mouth on my chest, see her looking up at me like i'm something holy. i have never been holy. i have been wanted, but it was never that feeling of devotion reverence adoration. she wanted me because she loved me. she didn't want me because she wanted to possess me. i think that's why she ended up having so much of me. and then why she gave it back. and i WANTed her because i loved her. i loved her before i ever WANTed her. but i was too much and not enough, too soft and girly but not feminine enough, too difficult and angry but not masculine enough. my wide hips and long eyelashes could not convince her to stay. i want a boy and i want a tragic love story. i want to be broken in prettier ways, i want to be put together by someone other than myself. i am tired of picking up my own pieces. i want someone wrecked in the same ways as i am, someone i don't need to be terrified of losing to coke and ecstasy. someone who cares about me enough to not touch those, someone who does things not because i told them to but because they want me to be happy. she listened to what i told her, but she never did what i asked. this wasn't supposed to be a story about her. she's not a ghost but she's still haunting me, in my kitchen, on my couch, sitting in the sunbeams on my bedroom floor. she fit here, she fit with me. i've never felt so comfortable with anyone in my life. i want someone who understands me and doesn't walk away this time. i want someone to see my ugly parts and still want to stay.”

[wolfboywarmachine]

emo poetry

maybe the sadness isn't that you've moved on, it's the places on my hips where your fingers were the fact that you loved me and now you don't. the fact that i still feel it heavy and black and suffocating in my chest, crawling up when i think i'm free. it's simple arithmetic: you loved me and you don't. you wanted me and you don't. i'm supposed to be okay, i'm learning to be okay but you were everything and now you're nothing. and we were different but you made me feel safe and happy and loved. and i went to sleep every night feeling secure in the knowledge i had finally learned how to make another person happy instead of just myself. i went to sleep certain that in two years i would be safe in your arms and we would be happy. and instead it hits me like a flood, late at night when everyone's sleeping, coming over me in waves that now, i don't have anyone. i am a lost boy. i am alone. i am very very very very very very very very very alone. i feel like a ghost. (should i take my phone? no, nobody's going to worry.) (should i say what i'm doing today? no, nobody's going to listen.) nobody's going to listen. nobody's going to listen.

so maybe it's not that i'm still in love with you. maybe it's that i love you like you're a splinter, like you've worked your way in deep, and sometimes i forget you're there, but it hurts when i move a certain way and i can't get you out if i tried.

i was a stupid boy, a sentimental boy just a boy, and it wasn't enough. for you to want. for you to keep. it's a special kind of ironic, a special kind of fucked up. you loved me and it ruined me. you made me feel things i didn't know i had the capacity to feel, and now everything is so much less than that. and i feel empty. and my chest is an echo chamber. and you loved me, and now you don't.