#nomcurners

[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.  ”

[ofvcnguard]

( DANCE ) leaning in closer while they are slow dancing with mine. for sinevan <3

It's effortless, this waltz. One-two step, three-four spin, together, apart, and repeat, repeat. It's a fast tempo, and she knows how to put on a show; Sinistra is used to upstaging every partner no matter the tune, but with Evan--with Evan, they are compliments. Born of royalty, born gods, they have been gilded and gold since youth. It wasn't enough to take the American elite by storm, no, she needed this new stage, too. At first, it rubbed her raw, being forced to share the spotlight she has fought for, killed for; it has been hers since a childhood full of ribbons and gowns. But it was his, too, and now she is on his stage. It stopped bothering her somewhere between one party and the next; Sinistra never quite cared enough to figure out the minutiae. All she cares for is power, and what is Evan Rosier if not power personified?

She’s used to this, she is: Sinistra pulls attention, draws the eye. Red lips like the devil and a gown to match, she knows she is stunning. Half those who look at her wish they were her, the other half wish they were him. All of them envy her, and she revels in it, the American princess gilded and glorious. Nothing else matters but this. Nothing else matters but her. The rest is all a means to an end. But they don't know that; none of them do. No, to them, she is heartbreak in heels, is sin wrapped up in a gown; if she laughs a simpering little laugh and moves with grace they will see her as a housecat instead of a lioness. There is power in this, too.

“I think they’re staring at us, fiance.” There’s feral amusement in her tone, though her mask stays firmly in place, pure elegance, pure besotted bride-to-be. It’s a relief that there is no need to falsify her tone, that at least one mask can slip around him. It’s a relief that she doesn’t have to dull her blades or dull her words, that she can put a voice to her bloodlust and have someone understand. They'd chafed at the match at first—still did at times—but now she thinks their parents might regret this choice of theirs. Forced together, they are deadly and they are learning to use this weapon, too. This isn’t love, this will never be love, but Sinistra has never wanted sweet kisses and sweet nothings. She wants power, craves it, and sure, she could grasp ahold of it alone, but together they are unstoppable.

The waltz ends and a slower tune begins, but their steps do not falter. Sinistra can fake intimacy as easily as she can fake anything else, and after all, who could fault her for pulling her betrothed closer, for leaning in so they share breath? It's another form of manipulation, this latest act; Sinistra knows how to lie to a crowd, but has long since given up lying to him. He reads the hunger in her gaze and knows it is not for him. She reads the hunger in his and knows the same. This night will end in blood instead of bedsheets and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Would Sinistra be enjoying herself quite so much if they didn't have a purpose here tonight? It doesn't matter to her, certainly not enough to dwell on it, and the question is out of her mind as quickly as it came. There is little that she does that isn't self-serving, that isn't to further her own goals, and the pretty words and false laughs are nothing more than moves in a well-choreographed dance. But Sinistra craves power and cares little whether that comes in the form of fear or adoration, and oh, isn't it fun to make these vapid fools believe she's one of them? Manipulation should lay heavy in the stomach, bitter on the tongue, but guilt has never dared approach her. She is a cat chasing mice. This is a game, too.

A swell in the haunting tune brings them closer together, and Sinistra tilts her head towards him, the perfect picture of a perfect pureblood bride. "He just left, down the hall behind you. That mudblood with the grating voice went with him." There's something warm in her expression, but it isn't affection, it's hunger. The smile does not slip from her face; for all intents and purposes, they look lost in each other. But Sin's razor-edged focus is matched by so few but him, and she feels the energy thrum between them: The thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of the kill. One step, two step, and the song begins to wind its way towards its close. Sinistra pulls back enough to meet his gaze. When it's just the two of them, she doesn't hide the madness in her smile. "The Dark Lord won't mind a little collateral, will he?"

[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]

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?  ”

[ofvcnguard]

❛ i love how i can just look at you and be happy . ❜ oC GFS

The echo of their laughter fades and their eyes meet. Devna’s smile could rival the sun, yet she is certain it pales in comparison to the happy gleam in Iliana’s eyes. It blows her mind every time, that Iliana can just say things like this, that she can find the good in Devna when she knows she is still a monster. She tries not to read into it, she promises she does, but then their eyes will meet and Devna is caught in her orbit. She tries not to read into it, but sometimes she is so in love that she can convince herself Iliana loves her back. Is there any point in telling her the feeling's mutual, when it can be read so clearly from the way she glows when Iliana's near? Vampires are creatures of the dark, she knows this. She knows she is unworthy to stand in Iliana's sun. 

( a thousand years could pass, and she would still remember the wonder she felt every time iliana looked at her and didn't shy away. a thousand years could pass, and every look of fear or hatred would still be tempered by the knowledge that someone had once looked at her as if she was something good. )

It will take her almost another century before she can accept that she is still worthy of love. It will take a chance meeting on a rainy day in cold, dark London town to convince her that she can have this. That she can have a life. Devna had never dreamed that she could have a friend who cares for her despite the monster--who perhaps loves her more for that inhuman part of her--until she stumbled upon it, until she fell into it like quicksand, like love. It is only looking back at it that she realizes she has had this unconditional love before. It is only looking back at it that she can feel the full weight of her greatest act of destruction. Devna has fought in a dozen wars, has killed in the name of the greater good, has wiped out entire camps of terrible men in one fell swoop. But those were all carried out in the name of a greater good; what she did to Iliana was nothing more than a reminder that no good deed will make her human again. No good deed could unmake the monster.

But tonight she is shrouded in a joy that is already so rare. What she doesn’t know is this: There will come a day when the thought of Iliana brings nothing but pain. What she won’t even consider is this: She will be the sole reason Iliana leaves her life one day.

There is a full moon and a sky full of stars, and that core part of her that will always cling to optimism and hope wonders if all of her immortal life has been leading to this. Iliana looks radiant, like a goddess kissed by that eerie light of a night sky. Despite it all, Devna still clings to the gods of her mother, and in this moment she feels their presence acutely. She looks at Iliana and it feels like grace, like salvation. And it's quiet, this love she feels. It is not all fierce emotions, not all shades of red. Instead it is the gilt-gold shine of black hair in the moonlight, it is the feeling of coming in from the cold and curling up in front of a warm fire. It is comfort and peace and a million other things Devna will never feel like she deserves, yet it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because when she looks at her, everything else fades away.

Fireflies spark to life in the warm summer night around them, and Devna feels bold and daring and untouchable. Alone and so far removed from all the reasons why this peace inside her can never last, she can almost pretend like she's allowed to have this. So far removed, she can almost convince herself that Iliana could love her back. I love you, she wants to say. I want nothing more than to make you happy for the rest of your days. Devna realizes, as neither of them looks away, that she will do anything to protect this woman before her. One day, Iliana will become her greatest sin, her greatest regret, but tonight her mind is calm and quiet. Some part of her knows that there is nothing she could say in this moment that would make Iliana stop looking at her like she's worthy, like she's worth even a fraction of Iliana’s warmth.

Maybe that is why she feels bold enough to say, "I don't even have to look at you to be happy. Just the thought of you is enough."

[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.

[rcnaissancewrites]

1 or 36 or 3 for nerds :SCREAMS: wont choose

the first time he kissed her, his lips met the crown of her head.

he tried to guard her from the horrors that followed them in this crime, but they found her still. cuts covered their bodies, shards of glass clung to broken skin. she had fallen on top of him in the madness and his arms held her close until the danger passed. relief flooded his veins like warm blood when she turned her wide eyes to him, full of shock and excitement and a range between. he smirked, reflecting her own emotions easily, and he tangled his fingers in her damp hair. his lips did not meet her own, but instead found the top of her head, a gentle and careful gesture that he hadn't expected himself to make.

the second time he kissed her, his lips met the curve of her spine.

rain soaked them through, a storm neither anticipated. laughter filled his apartment as they shed their dripping clothes, piece by piece, flirting through their nakedness. she grinned at him as she removed her shirt and he felt his heart stop. he returned the favor eagerly. he sat on the edge of his bed, eyes following her body like a religion, as she moved closer and closer until she was standing between his legs. her eyes peering down at him, daring and nervous, encouraged his hands to touch her. they roamed her body but it was not enough. his lips trailed over her chilled skin but it was not enough. he turned her so her back was facing him, and finally his lips pressed to the curve of her spine, from the base to the peak and back again.

the third time her kissed her, his lips met her forehead.

they were interrupted, to his deep and intense frustration. but no was not an option in this life. they dressed and left, mourning the covering of each sliver of skin. the rest of the evening was spent teasing, taunting, feigning confusion at her matched irritation. whatever could you be annoyed at, he asked her, why are you so upset? she shoved him, rolled her eyes, pretended that he was imagining things. he laughed at her, despite dire circumstances. he weaved an arm around her waist once they were alone, and pressed his lips to her forehead, a smile forming against her blush. she pushed him away, a glare in her eyes, but he only grinned wider. 

she was his and he was hers - what a dangerous game they played.