#mdrabbles

[patrocluus-writes-blog]

Verbena- pray for me, zeke & arthur

Verbena- pray for me

Arthur’s stomach turned in and in and in, tying itself into a Gordian Knot as he watched the frantic energy bleed off his best friend.  His Zeke.  Moxie - good ol’ Captain Moxie - sensed it, sensed it through the slight tremble of his hand in her fur, the way his breaths shook in and out of him - he wasn’t gasping for air but he felt starved of it anyhow - and pressed into his leg.  Trying to ground him, root him back in the here and now as he watched Zeke almost throw magazine after magazine of special rounds into a bag, each one landing with a dull, metallic thud that made him flinch each time.  

This happened every time Cassie and Zeke went out monster hunting.  They always invited him, but he was always too scared.  Terrified that it might get past them, might tear them up like the other one had him - or worse - and it would come for him.  

Moxie whined, shifting and turning to lick at his cool, clammy, trembling hand.  Zeke stopped then, recognizing her whine as a warning, and fixed Arthur with a careful stare.  

“I’m comin’ back, y’know,” he said, voice sharp, verging on too sharp.

“I know.”  Too quick.  Too shaky.  Too quiet.

A beat.  A beat that stretched out into a long silence as Arthur tried to decode the emotion written in the deep crease between Zeke’s brows, the pressed-thin set of his lips, the depths of his eyes.  He could never fully read the other man, - had never been able to - could only separate his expressions into safe and not safe.  This?  Somewhere in between.  

“Not gonna let that fuckin’ sombitch kill me,” Zeke added.  That was anger, coloring the curses he uttered.

“Come home,” Arthur breathed, between one heartbeat and the next, before Zeke could move away.  I can’t lose you remained unspoken - he couldn’t find the air nor the courage to say it.  

Moxie pressed harder into his legs, enough to nearly buckle his knees, distracting him just long enough that he missed Zeke zipping up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder.  Arthur opened his mouth, trying to find something to say, but nothing came out.  

At least, not until after Zeke had left and the door closed behind him.

“I’ll pray for you.”

[patrocluus-writes-blog]

yarrow {theo/bradley}

Yarrow- cure for a broken heart

It should’ve been easy.  It should’ve been easy to turn and walk away from Theo.  After all, he’d known that they couldn’t be together forever.  Not if Theo wanted to stay human.  Bradley knew he couldn’t watch Theo age and die in front of him, especially after- after- 

Not after his mother.

Father had been right, hadn’t he?  It was stupid to fall for a human, for someone whose life would pass by in the blink of an eye, who’d die too fast for an immortal creature like himself.  A monster like himself.  Theo deserved better, more human.  And Bradley was neither of those things.  He’d killed, he’d maimed, he’d done despicable things to slake the insatiable thirst for blood that ran through his veins now.  He thought back to the moment Theo had seen his fangs - the fear that had flashed in the other male’s eyes - and sighed.  

It was for the best, he told himself.  Theo would move on, he told his aching heart.

But here he was, years later, sitting in a café forgetting about his coffee in favor of staring at the one person he’d never thought he’d see again.  At Theo.  And his heart ached.  Wanted.  It ached for the other man’s arms around him again, like nothing had ever happened.  Like they were undergrads again, laughing and splashing each other at that creek that one cloudy summer day.  

Like they were lovers again.

He sighed, passing a hand over his face as if to dispel the vision of their past, only to reopen his eyes and meet Theo’s.  

Here he was again, months after that meeting in the café.  Months after having to chase Theo down and tell him about what George had done.  How he’d finally stood up to his father after hundreds of years, had told him he’d had enough of the unreachable expectations.  How he’d been disowned and left without a penny to his name.  

He’d eked out a life for himself as an associate professor since then.  A tiny flat.  Threadbare clothes.  He always chuckled when it came to having to pay for groceries - luckily for him, being immortal and sustained by blood meant he’d never really had to eat to live.  He survived.

But now he had Theo again.

And his heart had stopped aching.

[sithladymeg]

Part of the Song Ficlet Challenge[x]: Mavin Edition[x]

Song #2 - Dat Ik Je Mis, by Maaike Outober (Dutch)

Literal translation of the title is “that I miss you”, but the full lyrics int he song is translated to “can’t help that I miss you”. The song was written for the death of her parents, but it’s interpreted as a vast array of possible relationships. It’s remembering all the things they shared, and talking about all the ways they still haunt her and asking them to leave her alone.

“je kust me, je sust me, omhelst me, gerust me (…) je redt me en verstoort me, gelooft me, berooft me, verstikt en verdooft me (…) laat me los, ik moet nu alleen (…) maar al denk ik soms dat het zo beter is, kan ik het niet helpen dat ik je mis” (translation, by me, probably didn’t do it justice) “you kiss me, you soothe me, hug me, comfort me (…) you save and disturb me, believe me, rob me, choke me and numb me (…) let me go, now I must alone (…) even though I think it’s better like this, I can’t help that I sometimes miss you”

A/N: This one was a pretty sad and angsty, I can imagine Gavin being left behind after Michael got shot during a heist in FAHC!AU, where Gavin could do nothing but watch from the cameras as he did surveillance. Just sitting on a balcony in one of the hide-outs.  Or Gavin sitting in a café in the Netherlands, having fled the country because of a heist gone bad, or because he doesn’t think he’s worth it. And he truly believed that this is for the better, Michael can go on without him this way, and the UK holds to many memories. This song comes on the radio, he doesn’t particularly understand it, but the emotions resonate with him, and he just sits there crying in an unfamiliar café missing the familiarity of Michael.

Even with his hands wrapped around the almost scalding mug of coffee, Gavin still felt cold. Even with the scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, Gavin still felt cold. Even with the heaters and the hearth in the cafe emitting warmth, Gavin still felt cold. It was the kind of cold that sunk through your skin and into your bones. The kind of cold that could only be removed by the heat and flames of massive explosions. The kind of cold that could only be removed by the heat of pure jersey anger, curses and screams. The kinds of cold that could only be removed by the soft words whispered on late nights, the promises and admissions of love.

Gavin stood abruptly, shoving the chair back and letting the mug of coffee tumble to the floor. As if shoving a chair would shove the thoughts away, as if the memories would tumble to the floor alongside the mug of coffee. Gavin scoffed, and shoved his way past the waiter, not hearing the angry yells that followed them out. The voices missed the comforting twangs of Jersey, the deep timbre of Texas, the gentlemanly charm of Georgia, the wit of NYC, and the monotone Alabama dead-pan.

Gavin wanted to scream, to shout and to shake his fists at the sky. He’d left Los Santos behind for a reason, he wanted them to let him go, he didn’t want them permeating his every thought, becoming his whole life, he didn’t want to keep seeing them everywhere. He’s moved to a completely different continent for christ’s sake! Amsterdam was nothing like Los Santos, but the city still reminded him of them. He kept looking for them. He expected to see Ryan perusing every single book-store, museum and landmark he came to. He expected to see Ray in every single game store, playing games on every single TV and console he saw. He expected to see Geoff drinking at every bar and liquor store. He expected to see Jack driving in every car, motorcycle or fancy vehicle. And he expected to Mich-. He expected to see him in man that caught his eye, in every domestic moment he witnessed he remembered moments between them, in every kiss shared by couples on the train and in the park he saw themselves.

He wanted it to stop. He needed them to let him go. He needed to let them go. He wanted the visions of their dead bodies riddled with bullets and wounds to stop being etched into his eyelids, vividly appearing anytime he closed his eyes. He wanted their voices to stop echoing in his head. He wanted them to protect him from his bad dreams. He wanted them to stop being his bad dreams. 

“laa-a-at me los! ik moet nu-u, alleen.” (“le-e-et me go! I must go on, alone.”)

[sithladymeg]

Part of the Song Ficlet Challenge[x]: Mavin Edition[x]

Song #1 - Intoxicated, by The Cab

“You make me feel like I’m intoxicated (..) I think you’re from another world (..) no, I don’t just want a pretty face, I want to wake up next to your each day”

Michael and Gavin in almost any AU; like literally this song is for them getting drunk and rambling on about each other and their love. Michael just good-naturedly grumbling how sometimes he think Gavin’s from another world when he uses British slang and because he’s so “weird”, and the opportunity to say something like this “if I wanted just a pretty face to wake up next to, I wouldn’t have picked you, you moron.”

It’s a party at Geoff’s place after another successful milestone, Gavin has been throwing back the bevs in celebration all evening; and Michael hasn’t particularly restrained himself from the drinks either, but he’s only just borderline of tipsy.

Michael’s sitting on the sofa talking with Geoff about one of the newer projects while sipping his beer when he spots Gavin from the corner of his eye. Gavin’s dancing with Ray to some song by a band called Taxi or something along those lines. They’re moving haphazardly to the beat, limbs flailing and voices singing loudly off-key. Gavin must have noticed Michael watching, because he starts coming towards Michael. Limbs still flailing and still yelling along to the song.

“With you, we could be the only ones here! cause I, think you’re from another world!”

Michael scoffs, “if there’s anybody at this party who’s from another world, it’s your British ass.”

“Oi,” Gavin squawked indignantly, before smirking “yeah, my face is so pretty, it’s outside of normal parameters.”

Michael just raised his eyebrow and turned away from Gavin, back to his conversation with Geoff, strategically ignoring the Brit’s attempts at dragging him into the flailing that Gavin somehow classified as dancing. Michael resisted, his mind not nearly drunk enough to warrant flail- dancing.

Gavin eventually realised that his tugs were futile, and that thee stubborn Jersey boy was not going to be joining him on the dance-floor. So Gavin did what any normal being would do and flopped onto Michael’s lap. Gavin just lay there for a minute while Michael kept talking to Geoff until-

“Michael, you made me dru-u-nk!” Gavin accused with a whine, crossing his arms and resembling the petulant child he kept insisting he wasn’t.

Taking a loot at his watch, Michael replied “I’m pretty sure that’s the bevs Gav.” before scooping the lightweight Brit (both literally and figuratively) up in his arm. He was met with only a soft grumble as Gavin moved slightly to get comfortable. The soft and sleepy expression on Gavin’s face immediately giving him a peaceful look, and as Michael walked out of the party, he realised getting intoxicated on Gavin Free and waking up with a hangover next to him didn’t sound like an all too bad idea.