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arklay · 2 years

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diana + total control <3

36. total control + diana.

words: 6.6k warnings: narcissistic behaviour, past cheating, somewhat graphic violent thoughts, insecurity, body image, chronic illness, mention of omnicide, indoctrination, flogging (for the quote at the end, not the actual fic) [read on ao3]

All he wanted was to go to bed, to finally do his routine properly for the first time in a good while then get some rest. He didn’t even have to sleep – though a few hours would be nice, even if he didn’t need as much as humans anymore – he just needed to get away from all the incessant nagging and have some time to himself.

Wesker had been working non-stop as of late, spending almost all of his time in the lab he usually shared with Diana, or in his office, and he had finally run out of steam. The last few days seemed to exhaust him, and that old friend was almost unrecognisable after so many years of vigour. But he couldn’t stay another night in his office, reminders of all the things he wished to perfect only enticing him to give up rest entirely, even if that meant he had to sit through reading another one of these imbecile’s reports.

Navigating through the facility with ease, even with fatigue threatening to dull his senses, he broke his stride when the shrill clicking of heels sounded in the next corridor. It seemed to reach behind Wesker’s eyes and make his brain bash against his skull, much like the way it used to with his migraines. But it wasn’t so much the noise as it was the cause of them, and he almost turned around to head back to his office, not wanting to deal with that annoyance at the moment.

That is, until he realised she was heading away from his destination, footsteps growing distant with each passing second, and the relief he felt from that was absurd. He rounded the corner and reached the door she had been in front of, swiping his keycard and entering the code to his room as if on autopilot; the slow hiss as it slid open was almost comforting, the promise of peace and quiet so close within reach.

But once he caught sight of Diana already in bed with her back to the door, his stomach twisted into a knot. He hadn’t seen her since she had made those unfounded claims against him the day prior, meaning he’d fumbled to give himself the last two doses of his medication, but the thought of looking for her hadn’t even crossed his mind, far too busy with more important matters than the ridiculous train of thought she had surmised.

He would have thought she was already asleep considering the way she was lying perfectly still with the covers up to her shoulders, the lights out and the scent of her moisturiser lingering in the air, but the moment he began taking off his coat, he noticed how her heart rate increased.

Then she took a deep breath.

“I think we need some time apart.”

Wesker paused in the middle of hanging up his coat when her quiet words reached him, wrapping themselves around every one of his muscles and pulling them taut. He could only look down at his hand balled into a fist around material as he slowly nodded in response, even though she couldn’t see it. He almost thought he could hear the blood rushing through his arteries and up to his head, making him feel like he was burning from the inside out.

The simple statement echoed in his mind, the words overlapping and varying in volume, taunting him at every turn alongside his own thoughts. Mocking him.

…time apart. She’s leaving. She won’t come back. Not coming back. Like Jelena. We need some time apart. It’s always been like this, me against them. We need some time apart.

But Diana didn’t stop there.

“I can’t be here at the moment. I’m going to stay with Alex for a while.” The slight waver in her voice was betraying the composure he knew she was desperately trying to keep, and he shouldn’t have felt guilty for it. He had nothing to feel guilty for.

“How long?” The words felt heavy leaving his throat, and Wesker swallowed in a futile attempt to try and fight off the lump that had taken up residence there.

The small sniffle he heard made him glance back over at Diana; she shifted beneath the covers, one of her hands coming up to her face, and he could only assume that she was rubbing her nose. Whatever anger he may have felt towards her for causing this mess, for hurting him with her accusations, it seemed to be fighting a losing battle against his love for her. Why a small sound such as that could tug at his heart, he would never understand. No one else could elicit such a reaction from him.

“I don’t know.” It was barely audible, only a whisper, and yet he heard it clear as day, as though she had spoken the words directly into his ear.

Diana pulled the covers closer around herself then stilled once more, only listening to the way his heart was pounding in his chest. Or was that hers? She couldn’t tell, but it made her feel sick to her stomach. It was foolish of her to think that he’d understand her decision, but she had hoped he’d calmed down enough from yesterday to at least see it from her perspective.

Perhaps he had simply left her alone with her thoughts for too long.

His footsteps as he made his way further into their room seemed deafening in her ears, and she wasn’t prepared for the panic that set in behind her sternum when she heard him round the bed. She had no reason to panic around him; she never had before, but the moment she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, she took another long inhale through her nose.

Wesker slowly crouched down in front of her, one hand reaching up to pull his sunglasses off while the other settled on the bed by her hip, but Diana only rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling, avoiding him as best she could. The heavy sigh he let out at that had her eyes stinging and she wanted to hate him for it. She wished she could hate him.

Her name barely left his lips before Diana muttered, “I can’t look at you right now.”

“I apologise for raising my voice.”

It sounded so rehearsed. So hollow. Or maybe she was too upset to even notice how his tone had changed. But she knew for a fact that he wasn’t sorry for how he’d spoken to her. She knew. If they had a chance to redo that argument, it would all play out the exact same way as it had. She was sure of it.

Diana turned her head and looked him in the eyes. Those gorgeous scarlet eyes. “Raising your voice?” Her own mutated ones darted between his, searching for something, anything. “You roared at me, Albert. That wasn’t…” She averted her gaze when her voice cracked, and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “That was more than yelling. I have never heard such anger in your voice directed at me.”

“You have never questioned my loyalty to you before,” Wesker stated matter-of-factly, and her gaze landed on his face once more. Was he seriously trying to justify it?

She scoffed and shook her head. “So that makes it okay for you to speak to me that way?”

He tilted his head to the side and simply stared at her, one of his brows raised and the corner of his lips pulled upward ever so slightly. She could have punched him for that. This wasn’t like the times where they would laugh off what they both considered inane bickering; he had hurt her. And he hadn’t even bothered to check on her afterwards. Diana knew it was wrong to be as upset as she was when she had caused him to react in such a way, and he had every right to be furious with her for her line of questioning, but she still couldn’t believe the manner in which he had spoken to her.

Turning her head away from him again, she focused on the ceiling once more, preferring the simplicity of it as opposed to whatever look was strewn about his face. Why did he have to come to bed tonight?

The stinging in her eyes and how constricted her throat felt only served to make her feel more pathetic. She wasn’t going to cry over this. That was the last thing she wished to do.

Diana’s hands hesitantly came up to gather some of her hair and she began playing with the ends, a habit Wesker was well-acquainted with whenever she was trying to distract herself from whatever she was feeling. But he didn’t know what to do this time around. It was tough enough dealing with her emotions when he wasn’t trying to keep his temper under control, and the way she was acting like she hadn’t hurt him with her asinine remarks wasn’t helping matters.

A moment passed of neither of them speaking up, and Wesker knew there was little he could do to coax some kind of response from her when she was like this. Instead, he busied himself with unclasping his watch, the one she had bought him on their last anniversary, and he carefully set it aside before he worked on removing his gloves.

“You…” He lifted his head to look over at her due to the tremble in her voice, and he watched as she hurriedly blinked a few times, trying to fight off oncoming tears. “You humiliated me.”

Diana didn’t need to see his face to know what kind of reaction that had caused, judging by the way his hands paused in her peripheral vision, and she could have sworn she heard his jaw clench, teeth grinding together. However, the one thing she was certain of was that he was staring directly at her; she could feel his eyes practically boring a hole into the side of her head. If there had been a flash of that vivid red, she couldn’t tell, and honestly, she didn’t care. Yelling at her like that in their lab, where any passersby could have heard him – and she had no doubt some of the researchers had with the looks she had gotten last night – hurt her more than what he had even said to her.

Wesker rose from his position next to her and picked up his things, walking away from the bed, and there was no doubt in her mind that he needed to get away from her lest he say something nasty.

Diana only watched as he tossed his watch and gloves on the counter in the small kitchen in their room as he passed by it, and she chewed on her lip in an attempt to prevent a shaky breath from leaving her. The way his shoulders were tensed up to his ears and how he rubbed at his eyes as he made his way to the bathroom actually made her feel a bit sick. Why did she have to say anything in the first place?

The moment he was out of sight, she finally let out a deep breath, looking up to try and stop the tears that were welling up in her eyes again. The sound of him beginning to mutter to himself caught her attention, but he turned the shower on before she could make sense of what he was saying, the running water drowning out whatever thoughts he was angry enough that he felt the need to verbalise. The notion that she had ruined everything between them crossed her mind, that their marriage was irreparable after claims such as this, but she refused to believe it.

Time. She simply needed time away.

She rolled onto her side, returning to the position she had been lying in before he had walked over. The photo from their wedding – well, technically, their vow renewal ceremony – that was sitting on her nightstand drew her gaze, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to look away, even though it was only making her feel worse. The miniature versions of the two of them seemed almost unrecognisable. Ten years shouldn’t have felt like a lifetime ago.

Diana didn’t know when she had tucked her knees up to her chest, but staring at that old picture of them only made her tighten her arms around her legs. They stood close, bodies pressed together while they were hand-in-hand, his other arm wrapped around her waist in a possessive gesture, but it was the indistinct smiles on both of their faces, and her loving gaze while his was obscured by his glasses, that really made her chest hurt. Why weren’t they like that anymore? What changed?

Are you done? Wesker had asked far too harshly after she made a few comments about his whereabouts or why he never came to bed anymore, implying he was occupying himself with someone else. She couldn’t even remember what she had said next, something about how it was probably Excella, or maybe even Jill, considering she was around the same age Diana had been when she had met him, but it had set him off. How dare you accuse me of this!

The venom in his voice had rendered her immobile, and she had no time to regain herself and respond before the yelling started. Most of what he had said went in one ear and out the other; she was far too stunned by his reaction for it to sink in. The promises of devotion to her, the reiteration that in over ten years his mind had never wandered, the preaching of how no one on the planet could ever compare to her; none of it seemed to matter with the questions he bellowed.

Would you like to compare me to that poor excuse of an ex-husband in another way? Do you have a plan to kill me next? Diana had only felt betrayed in that moment, negating his reverent monologue. How could he yell something so personal, something she had told him in confidence, for anyone to hear? The way he had tugged on her arm following that, pulling her close to look down into her eyes – luminescence never subsiding – didn’t make her feel nearly as small as what he had spat next. When did you become so insecure?

He had a point. He didn’t have to yell at her, or say it like that, but he had a point. When did she fall back into this behaviour? It had been decades since she needed reassurance from anyone. But this wasn’t for admiration or for her work and abilities to be recognised, it was… different. She had never questioned this before, even when that bastard had slept around for months before she had found out. She had never felt undesirable.

Diana hadn’t heard the water stop, too lost in thought to even notice, but the sound of Wesker’s feet padding across the floor seemed to pull her back to the present. Her breath caught in her throat when the mattress dipped behind her under his weight, and the small tap of his glasses when he placed them down on the nightstand made her heart feel like it was going to break its way out from under her rib cage.

She heard him shift to lie down, getting more comfortable, and her vision clouded once more. He didn’t even lean over to press a kiss into her hair or wrap an arm around her waist. Like most nights these days. Though that was a rather foolish thing to wish for at the minute.

Then he finally spoke up. “When are you leaving?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, but it was too late, a tear had already escaped and rolled down her cheek, catching behind the angle of her jaw.

“Tomorrow,” Diana replied, then she cleared her throat as quietly as she could to rid the rasp in her voice. “I spoke with Alex this morning and she could use some help around the island.”

Wesker glared at the door to their room opposite the bed, trying to focus on anything other than the way the knife twisted in his heart. The fact that she had spoken to Alex about taking some time away before ever discussing it with him made him… not angry per se, but it almost felt like a betrayal in and of itself.

He couldn’t believe her. After everything they had been through together, everything he had done for her, he couldn’t understand where she got this foolish idea in her head that he was cheating on her with that irritant. It went against everything he had ever said to her, every way he had worshipped her. Surely he hadn’t done something without his knowledge to make her feel this way.

Rolling onto his back, Wesker ran his hands down his face. He shouldn’t have yelled at her. Why did he yell at her? They have always spoken about their issues, explained how one of them had upset the other, then they’d apologise and move on. Why did he yell? What had he even said to her? All he could remember was red. Everything had been red.

“Diana.”

Silence.

The thumping of her heart was overwhelming his senses, and for a moment he thought she might actually be scared of him. She had never been scared of him. The pit in his stomach only grew at that, and he clawed through the mess that were his memories to try and remember what had even happened. He couldn’t lose her because of this nonsense. He couldn’t lose her.

Wesker moved over to her side of the bed, suddenly feeling the need to hold her, and he pressed his chest to her back and wrapped an arm around her waist. But the way she tensed up against him felt like a punch in the gut. She used to love being held like this, craved it even, and he couldn’t imagine her not wanting his comfort. Perhaps it had simply been too long since he’d done it.

“Talk to me, dear,” he whispered near her ear, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up on end. Then Diana felt the press of his lips behind her ear, then to the side of her neck, then at her nape. “I’m sorry.”

He needed to stop whispering that in between his fleeting kisses across her shoulders and back, because she wasn’t that far off from kicking him right where she could guarantee it would hurt. He should be glad she hadn’t elbowed him and perhaps cracked a rib or two the moment he had moved closer towards her.

“Stop it,” Diana finally muttered.

Wesker immediately paused in leaving a trail of kisses down her spine and propped himself up on one forearm, his other hand reaching for her cheek as he hovered over her. She turned in his arms, rolling onto her back to look up at him, but that was all she did, golden eyes scanning over his features.

Diana’s heart sank once she saw the pained expression on his face; what she had caused. She wished she could swallow her pride and apologise to him for being so selfish, doubting his loyalty to her because of her own issues. She believed she deserved it then if the hand on her cheek decided to travel lower to close around her throat. He could easily snap it in one fluid motion, or perhaps he would like to crush her trachea instead, just to watch her struggle as her body realised it was being deprived of oxygen.

His hand moved higher instead, fingertips gently brushing her hair away from her face, then Wesker leaned in and rested his forehead against hers, taking her by surprise; she had no doubt her eyes had gone comically wide at that.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips, his hot breath warming her skin, before he leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I haven’t said it enough, but I do, I love you.”

Diana almost rolled her eyes at that. The last thing she needed was for him to pity her and shower her in affection. Her hand came between them before she pushed on his chest, making him pull back, and she took note of the look of… desperation in his eyes and the way his brows were knit together. His thought process suddenly dawned on her then.

“I’m not leaving you, Al, I just need time to think,” she said while holding his gaze, one of her hands hesitating at her side as she itched to reach up and cup his cheek, but she refrained from doing so. “So please, stop doing… this.”

Wesker visibly relaxed above her, his features softening and the tension in his shoulders seeming to melt away, but his eyes remained locked on hers. She felt awfully exposed beneath him like this, and the way he was shifting to lie more comfortably against her, his warm body pressing against her side with one of his knees settling between her own, it didn’t help at all. Diana cursed the way her gaze drifted down to his lips.

He wasn’t getting a kiss tonight.

She wished he wasn’t even lying this close to her, but something within her wanted to cling to him and revel in his warmth, savouring every touch as though that was somehow a measure of her worth.

He opened his mouth to speak but Diana already knew what he was going to say, and she cut him off, “I don’t want to talk about it until I get back.”

“We always talk.” He searched her eyes as he slowly traced a line down the side of her neck then across the length of one of her sharp collarbones. “Help me understand why this is any different.”

“Because it’s not about you,” Diana snapped, and the way his eyes widened slightly only mirrored the shock she felt at herself for how the words had unintentionally left her lips. “It’s…” She looked away from him then, but once she felt his hand find her own beneath the covers, his fingers lacing with hers, she sighed. “You haven’t done anything to make me question your fidelity.”

“I obviously have, dear, or you would not have accused me of doing such a thing.” Wesker squeezed her hand, brushing his thumb over the back of it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Diana only muttered in response.

“Okay,” he whispered, then pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “But I must know if you’re having doubts about us.”

Diana slowly met his gaze and it really hit her then how much she had hurt him with all of this nonsense. Why the looks he’d given her or the yelling hadn’t, she had no idea, perhaps because she was far too preoccupied with her damaged pride to really consider how her accusation must have made him feel.

She scratched the tail end of one of her brows then let out a short exhale through her nose in way of a weak chuckle.

“I think we are spending too much time working in the lab, together, and it’s making us… at each other’s throats for no reason.” Wesker wanted to interrupt her and tell her that he’d never thought that way, that whenever they disagreed on a method he valued her input, even if her questioning irritated him at times. “We’ve been bickering too much over little things; could use a reset, I suppose. But no. I need to figure this”—she gestured vaguely at the side of her head—“out.”

“And I cannot help?” Wesker raised a curious brow, accompanied by the slight tilt of his head as his eyes slowly wandered over her face.

Diana pushed him away from her side with ease then, something she would have struggled pathetically to do before she transcended humanity. She pointed towards his side of the bed in some attempt to establish some distance between them, only until she sorted out whatever this insecurity was that had her turning their time apart from one another into some notion that he thought her abhorrent or something of the like, but that arrogant smirk on his face was testing her something fierce.

“On my own,” she added to her past statement, rather dramatically at that, a treacherous smile threatening to pull on her lips. He only chuckled in response, sending a knowing glance her way, and she did actually kick him then.

“So,” Alex began as she walked over to the large leather couch with a cup of tea in each hand, “what did my dear brother do this time?”

The term of endearment said in such a mocking tone drew a chuckle from Diana, and she watched as the uncanny resemblance of her husband placed the two teacups down on the table before she sat beside her, crossing one leg over the other.

It was odd to Diana, finding out that Spencer had stolen hundreds of children from families all across the globe, and yet the idea that Albert and Alex were twins could never quite leave her mind. They looked too similar for that not to be the case, they had the same birthday – though that could have also been a lie – and he had never questioned their relations. Surely tests would have revealed to him that they weren’t biologically related. They have to be.

The question she had asked, on the other hand, was not something Diana wished to think too much on at the moment. “It’s nothing, just a small spat is all.”

Alex hummed, though she knew for a fact that the younger woman was lying. Usually she was quite good at that, but the way she failed to hide the corners of her lips pulling into a frown and how she turned her head away to look off into the distance deceived her none. What really fascinated Alex was that she could’ve sworn she had seen her eyes start to water.

“Diana?” She lightly tapped her foot against Diana’s shin, and the other woman looked down at her lap for a second before turning back to her.

“We’re fine.” The small, forced smile she sent Alex’s way did little to convince her, and Alex almost laughed in response. “Simply taking some time apart, too much arguing with work.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed at that and she tilted her head to the side. “You two do not argue.”

“Yes, well, we don’t yell either,” Diana countered, far more harshly than she had meant to.

Touchy, Alex thought to herself. However, the statement did take her by surprise. She had never seen them fight, or even disagree much for that matter, though she knew when they had misunderstandings they were resolved through discussion, not something as childish as yelling at one another. What have you done, brother?

Diana absent-mindedly waved a hand in a dismissive gesture before scoffing. “It doesn’t help how much I was reflecting on the trip over here.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” The blonde tried to keep her tone plain, but she couldn’t help the hint of curiosity that shone through her words.

Perhaps she hadn’t checked in with Albert enough if his mental state was affecting his relationship this much. He had always struggled to form long-lasting bonds, save for a few exceptions, and Alex quite liked the little viper – she had once joked he better treat her well or she might just have to steal her for herself – so it would be quite a shame if this fell apart, and she had no idea what that would do to him. Although she knew it wouldn’t be a pretty sight, judging by how hard only a few months dalliance had hit him.

Thirteen years down the drain, she mused. Their long gazes and sweet smiles that she often called “disgusting” were more tolerable than whatever this was.

“I don’t know what’s happened to him,” Diana whispered, voice trembling like Alex had never heard before.

She paused in reaching out to pick up her cup of tea and simply stared at Diana. She was looking down at her lap, toying with the hem of her skirt. Trying to keep herself preoccupied so as to not cry, Alex supposed. Then she caught sight of the tear rolling down her cheek and that made her sigh, a bit too loudly.

“Do not cry, I have never seen you cry.” Her words were stiff, almost mechanical, and it made Diana laugh as her hands came up to roughly wipe at her cheeks.

The sound of Alex shifting next to her reached her before she felt hands settle on either side of her face, lifting her head so that she was looking up at her. Alex’s thumbs brushed over Diana’s cheeks, only once, while cold blue eyes wandered over her face, seeming to inspect her as she tried to calm her heart.

Alex nodded with a slight smile. “That’s better.” She dropped her hands when she was satisfied that Diana wasn’t going to make some display and start sobbing – though that was unlikely – then she sat back. “Now, what do you mean?”

Diana took a deep breath, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t know when the plans changed.”

That was peculiar. Alex was under the impression they had begun working on Uroboros to bring about a new age, to create a new world order much like that decrepit old man had intended, where there would be no place for the foolish masses, but she was quite curious by what these original plans must have been.

She didn’t have to wait long because Diana only continued, “In the beginning, it was never about this… wish to remake the world, it was…” She trailed off with this look of utter disgust on her face, like she had trod on something and it had stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

“What was it?”

“To stabilise the mutant strain within him and you, for starters, but whatever happened to our goal of immortality? Though, I suppose he already had that, and I was weighing him down more than anything…” Diana looked down at her lap again, chewing on her bottom lip before she shook her head. “We were to be gods in our own right, having these abilities that others could only dream of.” A weak chuckle spilled from her lips then. “We used to laugh at those who weren’t as smart as us, they were like a source of entertainment at times”—the small smile faded from her lips—“but now it only seems like he is intent on driving some… mass extinction event.”

Alex’s jaw suddenly clenched at that, accompanied by a sharp inhale, however, that only made it as far as the bubble at the base of her throat, her body not ready for such a sudden reaction. Swallowing did nothing to facilitate its journey, only aggravating the irritation, and the air came right back out in the form of a rather violent cough.

Diana’s head snapped to look over at Alex before her eyes darted around the room, looking for her bag as the woman next to her dissolved into another one of her coughing fits. Then she remembered she usually kept what she needed on her at all times. When Diana moved closer to reach for her blazer pocket, Alex held up a hand to warn her off and did it herself, roughly pulling her inhaler out with her other hand before she took a few puffs, breathing slowly and putting her hand on the armrest to steady herself.

“This damned illness…” she muttered to herself, but she had no doubt Diana heard her with those now heightened senses of hers. It was getting worse, but she had work to do, and she wasn’t going to spend her days lying around doing nothing. Rest only made her feel worse.

Diana reached over towards the table and picked up Alex’s cup of tea, hoping it may ease her throat some. She carefully handed it to her, and Alex gave her a small smile with a slight nod of her head, patting her hand once she’d taken the cup from her. Diana had no idea what else to do besides that, and she simply sat there, wondering if she should continue with their previous topic, or simply drink her tea and abandon it completely.

Alex watched Diana as she took another sip, taking in the sight of the object of her brother’s affection. Obsession is more accurate, she thought to herself. She was a rather clueless thing when it came to assisting others, but Alex appreciated the gesture, nonetheless.

Her eyes wandered over her then; the golden eyes that were once blue weren’t nearly as jarring to her as her sinewy arms for some reason, despite those vertical slit pupils. They weren’t necessarily muscular, simply defined more than anything, but her veins seemed far more prominent than she remembered. It was an odd sight; Diana never really had much tone, her arms used to look quite similar to her own thin ones actually, so this was perhaps a sight that would take some time for her to get used to.

It still amused her that Diana had injected herself with Uroboros on a whim, almost giving poor Albert a heart attack; the dosage was far more than her slight body could handle, and yet here she was, sitting right in front of Alex. She supposed it was only fair though, seeing as he had done the same thing to her ten years ago. Made for each other, those two.

That made her mind drift back to what Diana had said before. They were all working towards that same goal, the greatest power man could ever wish to achieve: immortality. However, she was unaware of this unnecessarily destructive behaviour Diana had spouted. It seemed like pure nonsense, but she supposed she couldn’t write it off completely. He had always been quite extreme in his methods, sure, though he knew you must control those who are lesser than you, use fear to your advantage; that is the most powerful motivator, after all, but omnicide… That was rather imaginative of him.

“It is a foolish plan,” Alex said, and Diana’s head snapped to look at her. “Albert is going to get himself killed.”

Diana let out an exhale in place of a laugh, nodding in agreement as she settled back against the couch. “He has been making many errors.” She rested her head on the top of the backrest. “He’s so… full of hatred, become so obsessed with this ideal, that he’s not—”

Alex’s eyes narrowed at the way she cut herself off. She wanted to hear this train of thought though. “What?”

He's not thinking clearly. He’s only digging himself into an early grave, and he wants to take everyone down with him. But she didn’t dare say that.

“He’s being reckless more often, and I don’t care much for it,” Diana said in a low voice, as though she didn’t really want anyone to hear what she was saying. “And this plan. I don’t understand his motive, I suppose. Perhaps Spencer still has total control over him, even after death.”

“Have you said this to him?” Alex asked as she sat up straight, quickly placing her cup of tea back down onto the coaster.

“Gods, no. We fought over an accusation I made regarding us, not work—”

“Good. You will not mention this, Diana.” Alex cut her off, and the moment Diana opened her mouth to speak once more, she beat her to it. “No, this is an unreasonable train of thought. ‘Of his own volition…he turned and shunned the world,’ just as the world did to us when we vanished as children. How do you think he would feel if he knew you were questioning his actions as simply an extension of that idiot?”

Diana’s eyes went wide at that. “That’s not what I—”

“Is it not?” Alex asked, her voice a touch louder than before and her tone resolute as she tilted her head to the side. Her piercing gaze cut right through Diana, but she didn’t avert her own eyes. “We are taking advantage of the resources he supplied us, continuing his research for our own purposes. If you believe that we were ever loyal—”

“Alex, that is not what I’m saying!” Diana abruptly stood up and clasped her hands behind her head as she began to pace.

The frustration in her voice was more at herself rather than Alex; she had always had trouble articulating what she was feeling and after the last few days, nothing seemed to be making much sense anymore. She shouldn’t have said anything at all.

The plan was almost in its final stage anyway, there was no point in worrying about such things, especially not when she knew she wouldn’t be able to convince Albert otherwise; it would only come off as though she was “against” him. But she was concerned. Even though it wouldn’t change their rate of survival when she had already adapted, and he would as well, it was simply that she wasn’t sure if this was something he really wanted, or if it was Spencer’s influence on him that was driving him to do this.

“Diana.” Alex’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts and Diana turned around to look at her once more, only to be met with a tired looking smile. “This world needs changing, surely you can see that.” She stood up from the couch and walked over to where Diana was standing by the windows. “And although I must admit, there are better methods, Albert is not in the wrong.”

Diana sighed, looking out at the elevator in the centre of the Monument, before she nodded. There was no use in fighting over this. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am. But perhaps you need some rest, yes?” Alex’s eyes wandered over Diana’s face for a moment, taking in how distressed she looked. The topic of whatever she and Albert had argued over was still intriguing to her, but now was not the time. “Come, I will show you to your room.”

She began walking towards the door, turning her head to look back at Diana as a cue for her to follow, and that’s exactly what she did once she retrieved her bag, their cups of tea forgotten and left for someone else to clean up. Alex opened the door and held it open for her before locking it behind them.

“How long will you be staying?” she asked as they began walking down the stairs, the sound of both of their heels resounding off the high walls and seemingly endless ceiling of the Monument.

“I’m not sure yet.” Diana gave her a small smile, but it was only met with a raised brow and narrowed eyes, though the expression passed almost as soon as it appeared as Alex shook her head once.

“Well, no matter. It will be nice to have you around. I would like your opinion on the trials with the new batch of guinea pigs,” Alex said, the smile on her lips rather wicked, and the glint in her eyes shouldn’t have intrigued Diana.

‘The animal wrests the whip from its master and whips itself in order to become master, not knowing that this is only a fantasy produced by a new knot in the master’s whiplash.’ — Franz Kafka

#i am SO sorry it's long... this prompt has been collecting dust in my inbox for ages but i figured out how to relate it to this old fight...#setting: late 2008. months before the events of 5 // quotes used are both from kafka's blue octavo notebooks but yes... the prompt name is #ironic <3 diana is very much not in control right now besties and she's having a no good bad time lmao there are a lot of reasons their #fight happened which i could talk about for a while but i think i mentioned a little bit of what causes it in a few asks a bit back #also alex is probably so out of character idk who knows i have never written her before. i mean this whole thing is just. not how i wanted #it but it's fine it's okay. like it's close but i just was having trouble with my wording a bit with this one. also narcissistic behaviour #i mean it's from all of them in this but i just wanted to warn on top of that with manipulation tactics in a sense idk i'm not sure though #also it's so weird referring to him as albert lmao but i couldn't use his surname when it's both of the weskids soooo #oc: diana #pair: ewskers #writing.#asks.#steelport

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morvaris-archive · 2 years

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crave + aleksandr 👀

; NO PRINCE, NO KING, NO GOD

characters: aleksandr (oc), candy (oc)

word count: 6522 🤡

warnings: oof mentions of blood, death, also of burning and scientific experiments (all of this is described but not overly explicit), negative self-talk, a lot of negative thoughts in general, thoughts of self-harm, but he doesn't harm himself physically in any way. please, let me know if i missed anything.

also note: some lines (a few) are in russian, because sasha's first language is russian, and so is the person's speaking to him. the translation is under the fic, and i know it might ruin the experience, but it's more real for him this way.

He is in a trap he could never escape– it threatens to close on him, but it never really snaps shut, and the anticipation, the fear of it finally doing so when he least expects it is so much worse than the sharp pain shooting through his body; the concrete walls are closing in on him, the smell of chemicals in the air is so strong he can taste it on his tongue.

Sasha’s sitting in the pool of his own blood; the edges of his lab coat are torn, the pieces of it are drowning in the red liquid that covers not only the floor, but the walls as well. It seeps through the cracks, clinging to his back, his legs, his face.

The green of his eyes is lifeless, dull. He grips a scalpel in his hand without realising that the blade is digging into his hand, breaking skin, tearing him. Open and raw. The blood from the newly made wound drips down, and he paints the whole place red one more time.

Sasha has no one to blame for ending up like this other than himself. The thought causes him to swallow a lump in his throat, and it feels like he’s chewing on glass. Failure after failure, and the progress has gone nowhere since day one, but there's no resentment, no anger and sadness as strong as it was in his early days. Instead, he feels dreadfully empty.

Empty and rotting on the inside, the living corpse with the single purpose in his life that he can't achieve, can’t even grasp. It would be a funny joke, if it would’ve been about anyone else. He's nothing, and he will always be nothing, even in death.

And why did he think death would change everything? After all, it’s not the turning point everyone thinks it is– it’s bleak, and it feels like falling and freezing mid air, never reaching the ground. Being stuck is just another kind of torture.

He wants to fall finally, to see the ground getting closer and closer, to feel his breath stutter as he nears the end. To feel something change. But he is stagnating, has been for over fifty years now, and it became a struggle to pretend otherwise, for putting up an act gets old at some point even in one’s long, long life. It’s not a routine if it makes him terrified of what he’ll see next time he looks in the mirror.

Something clatters on the ground as he tries to stand up, but his foot slips on the blood, his and the dead man's on the operating table, and he falls down again. Collapsing onto the many tools that were supposed to help him reach his success, to achieve something he craved for so long, but now they lay on the dirty floor with him. The lab that once felt like haven, now reeks of failure.

Defeated, all Sasha can do is watch and be watched and judged by his many, many mistakes in the face of the vampire laying in front of him. His legs are still strapped, but one of the hands hangs free, claws glinting, covered in Sasha’s vitae. His mouth is open, teeth bared in a silent threat even after the final death has taken him, but it’s not what has Sasha’s attention. It’s his eyes.

Open wide, staring, full of hatred.

There was a fire in him, and as Aleksandr was planning to use him as his playground, the man managed to strike, to catch him off guard because he got too cocky. It has never been a problem before. They've never put up a real fight for he could bend their minds however he wanted. But it seems that he fell victim to his own delusions– his own mind deceived itself, twisting the reality to fit Sasha’s desires. And now he paid the price, but it’s not the physical way that matters.

The wounds will heal as soon as he gets some blood in his system. He doesn't feel pain, however, he feels nothing, and he lets out a helpless snort. It echoes in the hollow room, bouncing from one wall to another. The snort quickly turns into a quiet broken laugh, which erupts into a fit of laughter as the void expands within him, consuming his still heart.

He laughs and he laughs until his vision is clouded by tears, and he feels his cheeks getting wet. Sasha can’t help it– the irony isn’t lost on him. The man, who thought himself a king, has fallen to his knees in front of those he considered were lesser than him. He's no king, he’s no Prince, he’s just dirt under someone's shoe. Nothing has changed, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.

Ты просто трус, Саша.*

What?

The voice strikes him like an electric shock, and the pain he wasn’t feeling before hits him in a sudden crashing wave. His muscles and sinews tense, the lab becomes a mix of red and white with black clouding the edges of his vision. Maybe it’s his delusions, or frenzy creeping in, but he can hear a frantic heartbeat in his ears. The pang of fear makes his hands shake, he needs to get away, away, away.

“Я не..” His protest is weak, voice laced with terror, and Sasha isn’t even sure if he really said it out loud, but it doesn’t matter, because it does nothing to soothe his mind– it only makes his attempts to calm down fail, makes everything much more real.

Ты был готов бежать, как только он вырвался.**

Gritting his teeth, he throws his head back, banging it against a wall hard. In an attempt to wish everything away, Sasha raises his hands to his face to rub his eyes until he sees white spots behind his eyelids, but he halts his movement mid way once he sees the blood on them. His blood, when it was supposed to be other's. He wasn't supposed to bleed anymore, he has the power in his hands to make sure of it.

Or so he thought. Foolishly.

Ты был готов бежать, когда твоя попытка убить Кэнди провалилась.***

Candy.

He snaps his eyes away from his hands, pulls his mind away from falling into a trap as he hears their name. It’s familiar, and he uses this familiarity as an anchor to snap out of the paralysing fear. Sasha grips on to their name, trying to claw his way out as the remainder of his consciousness clings into it, frantically.

He needs them near, needs to hear their voice, grounding him, bringing him back to reality, assuring him that the last six years were real, and he didn’t make it all up to hide from his past. Patting the pockets of the lab coat weakly, he ends up with yet another disappointment as he finds nothing.

With his throat tight, he lifts his eyes, trying to locate the phone, but the hiss slips past his lips when he is blinded by the bright lights of the lab. They force him to keep his head low and bowed, suppressing the fight that ignites in his system.

Sasha slumps further, shielding himself from the main source of irritation. He tries again, just barely raising his head to look over the room again, ignoring the broken glass and the dead kindred. It’s hard to find a single thing, when everything spirals so fast, but he manages to spy it laying on the other side of the room.

Encouraged by the barely there hope, Sasha jolts upright too fast, causing his head to spin and almost falling again in the process. His legs are wobbly, and his knuckles are pale as his grip on the table he used to get up tightens. Slowly, moving one feet in front of another, he stumbles towards his destination.

Ты умер трусом - трусом и остался.****

But once he stood up, he quickly realised his mistake. His condition becomes so much worse; the dull headache erupts, and his head is just about ready to explode– the buzz in his ears, the dull ache where the vein in his temple throbs almost makes him scream, and maybe he does yelp for mercy, but it gets stuck in his throat as he chokes on his own blood.

The hunger overwhelms him completely, and for a moment Sasha is convinced everything is lost, and the Beast will take over when the black in his eyes turns red. He is starving, and it’s spreading through his body like an infection, making his veins itch. Getting under his skin, twisting his guts, brutal shocks rattle his brain to scratch it away, to hurt, to open his skin wide until it’s all gone.

Forcing these thoughts away becomes harder and harder by the second, but he drags his weak body forward, to the only lifeline he has at the moment. Sasha tries to reason with himself to not give up– Candy will help him, they won’t leave him like this. Right?

When he finally reaches the table, his body has become so heavy that his limbs feel like useless blocks of ice, and he must’ve bitten his tongue at some point, because the taste on it is strong and coppery. Sasha can barely fight the hunger as his mind surrenders piece by piece.

He grips the phone tight, vision going dark as he barely manages to dial Candy’s number from memory. The ringing echoes in his ears loudly like klaxons wailing in his skull, and it’s downright agonising– the sharpness of it sets every nerve in his body on fire, makes his skin crawl, and he is half-prompted to hang up just to stop this, but his thoughts are pleading.

Pick up, pick up, pick up.

Then, finally. “Who the fu–”

“Candy.” Sasha’s voice is broken, choked in his throat. It’s nothing more than a pitiful croak in the thunderstorm that is taking place in his head, and he has never felt so small, so weak. Pathetic. But he doesn’t care how he sounds to them right now– there’s not a second of silence in his head, and it’s like sirens going off and off. One after another.

Sasha hears them moving on the other end of the line, Candy’s tone quickly changes from one of annoyance to one of urgency. It’s sharp, heavy with concern and concealed emotion. “Sasha? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I–” Sasha stops mid-word, hypnotised by the splatter of scarlett on the surface of the table. There’s blood, and it’s not his. The hunger roars, screaming at him to take, to have that blood on his tongue, to lick it away with all the dirt and glass. To swallow it, and hurt and hurt and hurt. It pains him physically to draw his focus away, gritting his teeth with so much force they might shatter. “I am at the hospital. Can–”

They don’t let him finish, and he thinks he can make out the sound of them putting their jacket on. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Sasha can’t understand half of the words they are saying as all of them blur together, but he still focuses on the sound of their voice, firm and secure with a slight edge of anxiety to it. He lets it pull him in, and it’s gentler than the other sounds, not as deafening. He wants to say something to urge them to keep them talking, but they beat him to it. “Do you need me to stay on the phone while I’m on my way?”

“Yes,” Sasha breathes the single word out even before Candy finishes their sentence. The weight drops from his body as Candy doesn’t mention how pleading his own voice is, almost on the verge of begging, how vulnerable. They simply continue to talk, bringing him to the current and keeping him there as best as they can.

“Yeah, okay.” Candy doesn’t wait too long to say something else, probably sensing how easy it is for Sasha to lose the fragile control he has. He’s pushing everything back even if it threatens to send him spiralling again, even if surrender would be so much easier. “Just stay where you are, I’m already in the car.”

He doesn’t know if he replies when everything goes fuzzy again. Sasha hears them at the edges of his consciousness, talking about something– nothing and everything. They call out his name occasionally, to ground him by saying something familiar, something fundamentally his.

The world around him sways, – or maybe it’s him sinking to the floor again – his knees hit something sharp, causing his teeth to close on his lip, tearing the skin. The feeling makes him wince and take a sharp intake of air, which burns through his lungs.

But why is he even breathing? He doesn’t need to, but the shallow breaths he lets out only prove that fact that he doesn’t want to admit to himself– he is scared. So, so scared. He presses the hand on to his chest hard, almost feeling the bone shift and crack, but he doesn’t care. He needs to stop breathing– he shouldn’t be scared anymore.

Blood trickles down his face and neck, under his collar, on the floor, and with each breath he takes it gets into his nose and mouth. Sasha feels like he’s about to collapse completely, face down on the floor, and it takes all of his remaining willpower to stay somewhat upright on his knees.

As he waits for the Beast to take him, all he can do is wrap his arms around himself. Everything around him goes dark; Candy’s voice is drowned by the cacophony in his head.

He isn’t scared, no.

He is terrified.

He doesn’t remember much from there. Which is petrifying on its own– feeling the control sleep between his fingers, trying to latch onto it, but failing again and again and again. Sasha can only sit still as he’s losing the only thing he was sure of before with calm acceptance.

The lab was clouded by the fog of pain and exhaustion, the strong metallic taste in the air keeps his mind afloat even when he wants to succumb to sweet nothingness. Cruelly keeping him half-awake, half-unconscious, it repeated the events of the day like a movie for him to watch until he’s sick of it. And he is, but it still doesn’t stop. It never does.

At some point it got too tiring to fight for control over his mind. Desperately clawing on to the whatever is left of his humanity with bleeding fingers and broken nails became too much too soon. As he let go, his vision that was hazy around the edges was now completely black; the sounds that had been tortuously loud for so long seemed to dim after another minute passed.

Surrender didn’t feel as harrowing as he thought it would, instead, it felt like he was floating in the endless freezing space. No stars around, no light– only cold and darkness. Falling into the arms of the beast was mind-numbing: he couldn’t think, he couldn’t stop. Sasha was ready to be eaten alive by his own mind, but – fortunately or unfortunately – it never happened.

He was taken by the collar and pulled back to reality, cruelly and fast, too fast, please leave me be, please, when Candy entered the lab like a tempest. The veil over his eyes lifted, and he saw them reaching out without sparing the dead vampire a single glance. They put themself between him and the embodiment of his failure, blocking his view completely. Candy was saying something to him – or was it him who was talking? – but he was still submerged in the nightmare that was way too palpable; he wanted to listen, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Next spark of consciousness rattled his brain when he felt the insipid blood breaching his lips; he opened his mouth for it at first like a man starved, but as soon as he swallowed the first drop of it, the nausea overtook him– it tasted like cardboard and chalk. Bile burned in the back of his throat, and he almost spat it all out, but Candy persisted. They brought the blood pack to his lips again, forcing him to drink it no matter how much he wanted to kick and push it away.

Sasha heard Candy’s reassuring but commanding voice, there was no anger in it, no malice or censure, but it was an order, and in the end he obeyed. As he always did, he was beaten into obedience long before they came into his life. Gripping their wrist tight, he drank and drank until the pack was empty.

After the blood made it through his body, everything became sharp again. The cold bite of metal, the excruciating feeling of his bones getting in place, the itch from his flesh knitting itself back slowly; wound after wound, his skin healed. His mind, however, was still slippery; the supernova of sounds and thoughts made him press the heels of his palms to his ears in hopes of everything finally being quiet.

The storm died down slightly as Candy’s fingers ran across his jaw, down to his arms, checking for any remaining injuries. It was the only truly solid thing he remembers. Their hold was supportive, secure as they threw one of his arms across their shoulders, helping him stand and keeping him upright.

The ride home was a hurricane of blue and orange lights, and it almost made another wave of long forgotten memories to surface– the deep destructive orange of flames, the blue of the sky that was painted grey by the suffocating smoke. The heat, the scars, the grinding bones and burning flesh would make him tople in anxiety if not for his body feeling so heavy, so numb.

In search of an anchor, Sasha found the blue of Candy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, their eyes were bright, too bright, too blue, but it wasn’t the same deep cobalt that made his fight or flight instinct act up again. Rather the light colour of the sky after a summer rain, cool and refreshing.

He watched the lights dance across their eyes, closing his own peacefully.

When Sasha awakens fully it’s to someone else’s hands on him, leading him somewhere. It makes his wake less than gentle– it’s as if a bucket of freezing cold water is dumped on him. The million questions invade his brain; where is he? With whom? And where are they taking him?

He’s like a panicked animal, ready to fight and claw, scrape the walls to get away, to escape, to run. Sasha knows there’s no other way to do so other than engaging in a fight, physical one. The powers of his blood are worthless at the moment, and using them will leave him in a worse state than his opponent. With that in mind, the muscles in his body tense as he readies himself to strike, and if he manages to attack at the right time, to catch them off guard–

“If you punch me now, we’ll both fall down the stairs, and I won’t drag your ass up them again.” The person’s voice is unimpressed, and when Sasha lifts his head he’s met with the glare Candy’s throwing his way. They raise an eyebrow at him, and despite the hardness in their eyes, he instantly feels better. Though he doubts he knows what better feels like at the moment. “One time is more than enough.”

With a groan, Sasha tiredly moves his legs along with theirs as they support him, but they at least listen to him now, and he can take a step without falling like a ragdoll. Even if it was the case, Candy’s arm around his waist is strong, and they would catch him if he stumbles.

He opens his mouth to say something, but it’s too dry, and all that he can manage is a coughing fit. Patiently, Candy stops to let him find his footing again. When speaking doesn’t feel like a challenge anymore, he wets his lips before trying again, completely ignoring the way Candy’s thumb is stroking soothing circles through his clothes. “You know, laying down anywhere sounds pretty good right now.”

Candy snorts at that, and Sasha looks away with a small tired smile. He tilts his head to the side, and it gives him the chance to finally look around. His previous panic was pointless as it turns out, because he actually knows this place– they are near his apartment door. Sasha immediately relaxes, the feeling of familiarity eases the nerves. They are home, he is safe. Or as safe as he can be at least.

When they reach the door, Candy rests him against a wall carefully, hovering their hands over him for a second more, just to make sure he won’t fall again. Sasha scowls, jaw set stubbornly.

He hates this helplessness and the ache of despair that makes his stomach twist. He loathes how pitiful he must look right now. He despises how he still longs for them to support him, to take him in his arms. Their embrace is lighter than the one of the Beast inside him.

When he glances at them, he sees no pity, only the furrow of their brow– are they concerned? Or as confused as he is? Sasha isn’t sure.

Candy banishes the expression of their face as quickly as it came, and they distract themself by looking around for the keys. Their movements are slow, methodical, like they always are– they know for sure where the keys are and which one opens the lock. Once they get them out, Candy spares him one last look before they open the door in a smooth motion.

Once it’s done, they make sure he sees them approaching him, outstretching their arms to wrap them around his lean body again. He just nods absentmindedly; the uncertainty ties a knot in his stomach, he doesn’t know how to feel about how careful they are with him– they are never this deliberate, but they also don’t treat him like he’s fragile.

The apartment is silent, the air is cool against Sasha’s damp skin. It’s dark inside, the dimmed light that is coming from the kitchen does nothing to illuminate the room. Because of that, both of them almost trip on the shoes that are tossed around near the entrance.

Sasha’s lips quirk up as he realises they were in a hurry to reach him. He knew they would.

“Home, sweet home.” He croaks, trying his best to appear flippant as if he wasn’t curled in a ball on the dirty floor just an hour ago. He knows they see right through him – it’s not hard to do so right now with how emotionless his voice is – but they still chuckle as they kneel in front of him to take his shoes off.

“Just don’t get blood everywhere again.” Candy bites back as they always do, and it’s not entirely mean-spirited– there’s a spark of amusement in their eyes, but their muscles are tense, movements rigid.

He barks out a quiet laugh at that, but it’s different from the fit of laughter that took hold of him earlier, when he was in the clutches of his own mind– it’s gentler, more genuine, and it helps to keep him in the moment. This talk brings a sense of normality, and he revels in it, throwing his head back, exposing his throat. “Wow, Candy, what a way to greet someone home.”

“Well excuse me for not professing my undying love for you the second I dragged you here all bloodied.” Candy retorts without missing a beat. Both of them know this game, and right now Sasha is grateful that they are here with him for he can almost pretend that the previous accident has never happened. “I'll do better next time.”

“You better.” He agrees with a grin, earning a light smack on the leg.

Candy stands up, helping Sasha to his feet. He leans into them harder than necessary, but they don’t complain, so he stays like that. When they guide him to the bathroom, Sasha avoids his reflection in the mirror; the sharp, pale colours of the room help him with that as they sear his eyes. He doesn’t want to see a ghostly look in his eyes, the ashy skin.

He’s grateful when Candy ushers him to sit on a bathtub edge, interrupting his trail of thoughts. They gently reach to his neck to take off the jewellery that sits around it– a small silver feather on a thin chain. Sasha doesn't protest when they do; in a way it feels like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. Everything around him holds some sort of connection to his past, and he just wants to be in a vacuum with nothing else around.

Candy’s hand on his arm brings him back. As they pass a critical once-over his roughed up figure, their mouth turns downwards. Sasha’s not injured anymore, but he looks like hell– all bloodied with clothes torn.

After another moment of silent examination passes, they finally speak. “Take your clothes off.”

Now, he could just silently obey, and do as they asked, but it wouldn’t really be him, would it? Sasha might be beat up, but he didn’t have a personality switch; he absolutely can’t let the opportunity like this slide; so he glances at them, his lips twitching. “You just want to see me naked, don’t you?”

“Relax, pretty boy. You can barely stand.” Candy rolls their eyes, the slightest smirk graces their lips, but they don’t linger on it too long. Always moving, always fidgeting when nervous, they settle on drawing him a bath.

“Yeah well,” Sasha shrugs, grinning sharply. This close, their shoulders are brushing slightly, and they don’t move as he chases them some more; they just glance at him out of the corner of their eyes, gaze strangely unreadable. “I don’t need to stand to show you a good time.”

Candy actually laughs at that. A short, harsh and rasping sound from low in their throat. Whatever heavy thoughts were plaguing them before, seem to have gone away. “If your definition of a good time doesn’t involve you taking a shower any time soon then I’ll pass.”

“You are breaking my heart, I’ll have you know.”

“You’ll live.”

The banter dies down as they shut the water off; eerie silence settles over the room with single droplets of water interrupting it occasionally, but it’s anything but silent in his brain. Loud, running thoughts are bouncing off the walls of his skull, and they haven’t stopped ever since he brought the man down to the basement.

Weighted down by his thoughts, Sasha doesn’t notice when Candy starts to remove his shirt. He goes to help them, but his fingers are so numb it’s hard to undo even a single button, but he still persists, gritting his teeth. At some point he wants to just take it off over his head, but Candy insists they unbutton it, saying something along the lines of you’ll whine about that shirt being ruined tomorrow, you and I both know it.

When the clothes are taken care of, Sasha gets into the bathtub with the water just about reaching his waist. It's pleasantly warm, but to his freezing body it seems hot, suffocatingly so. The heat makes his chest raise rapidly, and he makes a mistake of glancing down.

The water turns pale red – more pink than scarlett – from the blood. It bubbles to the surface, small waves carry around the streamers of blood. The light overhead flickers, and for a moment he is in the lab again, staring in the black abyss of the man’s dead endless eyes.

Sasha tenses, curling forward into himself, trying to run away from it all. Instead, it all comes rushing down onto him again– the dimly lit space with more than two shadows around, the shattered glass and dreams, the large sharp claws tearing his skin, the feeling of him taking deep gurgling breath, feeling his own blood going down his throat.

“...okay?”

There’s a voice echoing around him, and Sasha raises his head violently, looking like a deer in the headlights, pupils blown and gaze slightly manic. For a moment he sees the dead body on a stretcher, but now it’s him who’s lying there. Lifeless, rotting.

The words - or is it a scream? A shout? - get strangled in his throat, and all that leaves his lips is a choked cry. He blinks the vision away, and he sees Candy with a washcloth in their hand.

Their eyes are warry, with a spark of urgency to them, but they make no attempt to get closer. They sit back on their heels, simply watching him, a faint furrow between their brows as they lower their hands slowly as if afraid to spook him.

He wonders what they see. How does he look to them now? Weak? Pathetic? Unable to take a beating?

When Candy speaks next, their voice is soft, but they still keep their distance, and he’s more than grateful even if he curses himself for reacting in such a way. Sasha doesn’t know what he would do if they touched him now without any warning. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know. “Yes. Fuck, I–”

There’s something pleading in his voice, and he isn’t even sure what he wanted to say– maybe an apology or maybe an excuse. But his eyes express everything his mouth can’t; he seeks, begs for understanding, and Candy is merciful for they grant it to him.

They lift a hand in the air, signalling him that he doesn’t need to explain himself. “Don’t. Just– Can I touch you? I want to wash the blood away.”

Sasha nods slowly, letting out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. Candy makes a low approving sound in the back of their throat as they get closer again. Their movements are slow so he would be aware of everything they are doing, but he doesn’t feel alarmed. Not this time.

Gently, Candy brings the washcloth to his skin. He still flinches at first, but soon after his body starts to melt under their touch. Taking a shaky breath, he relaxes, the tension in his limbs slowly leaves, vanishing into the dark, scarlett water.

As their fingers trace over his body, they leave a trail of comfort, solace. Sasha lets himself close his eyes, lets himself simply be in the moment, focusing on the feeling of soft fabric of the washcloth, on their smooth skin against his.

He’s weightless when they take his hands in theirs to clean the dried blood and skin behind his nails; it’s not uncomfortable, but it’s unfamiliar– they’ve been close before, they’ve seen each other’s naked bodies, but this is the intimacy they have never shared earlier.

And how much he enjoys it is even more unexpected.

He cracks his eyes open when he hears the shower being turned on; his hair getting heavier when Candy wets it carefully. The water lingers on his eyelashes, slowly falling and trickling down his cheeks. They take some shampoo in their hands and massage his scalp, untangling the knots in his hair, wary of pulling on it too harshly.

The sheer gentleness of their touch, their smell, their presence make him finally feel secure. It’s a dangerous feeling for he has taught himself to be ready for an attack, for a knife in his back, so he would always have an advantage.

He doesn’t want them to let go, but all good things end eventually no matter how much he wishes otherwise. As they rinse the remaining shampoo and clean his body one final time, Sasha can feel them leaving his side. He wants to stop them, but he just slamps back, twisting his hands together.

As Candy gets up, they silently offer him a helping hand. He accepts just as silently, gripping their hand and using it to stand up. They can handle his weight easily enough, and the world is momentarily spinning when Candy hauls him to his feet.

The floor is icy against his feet, a puddle of water forming underneath him. Candy turns to take some fresh towels, placing one over his shoulders. Another one they use for drying his hair. Sasha leans into their touch, tilting his head forward and clasping the towel in his hands tightly.

They step back, passing an examining look over him. Satisfied with what they see, they nod, mostly to themself, as they say. “I’ll go get some clothes for you. Dry yourself off a bit.”

The peaceful silence that covered him like a comforter evaporates the second Candy exits the bathroom. The blood comes rushing in his ears, thoughts cloud his mind like a swarm of deadly insects, stinging him again and again. Sasha grasps the bathroom edge so hard it might crack under pressure.

He looks down, shaking his head with a tight-lipped smile crossing his face. It wasn’t just a delusion in the clutches of the Beast, it wasn’t the strike of adrenaline in the face of a threat of hunger overtaking him. Sasha truly was scared. He still is.

Frozen in place, Sasha remembers the voice that was speaking to him through the veil of frenzy. He tears his gaze off the floor and turns to find his reflection. The mirror is slightly foggy when he looks in it, his shape is distorted, shadowy almost, but he can still see his eyes glistening in the bright room, and for just a second he stares in the eyes that are not his own.

Taunting, cruel eyes stare at him across the pyre, screaming at him a single word– coward.

No. Sasha's not a coward anymore, he's not the person he was, not the person he had to be before to survive. He fought, he killed to earn the place he has now, and he will have much more. And he will burn everyone who stands in his way, watching their flesh peel off their bones, slowly and agonisingly.

He did so once, he could easily do so again.

He might not be a Prince, but he has never wanted to be one. He might now have the power of a King, but it doesn’t matter– Sasha doesn’t need it, he’ll have so much more with time. Why settle for something so insignificant, when he'll be able to achieve the might that will rival the Gods’.

He won’t be at the feet of those at power again, never again. His sire has paid the price and so will the Camarilla– he will make them all bow to him, every single one of them; his face will be the last thing they see before they die at his hands. Before they see what he has become.

Submerged deep in his thought, Sasha doesn’t hear Candy enter the room at first; he sees their silhouette in the mirror next to his, tall and dark, they stand there and they fit. The puzzle in his head clicks.

He can share his future triumph– he’s not that selfish after all, but not with everyone, no; he’s worked too hard to just throw it to the world. But Sasha will offer it to Candy, and if they agree to work with him, then it will be their victory. Both of them went through enough, and existing only to survive won’t be their final point, they will feast and feast and then they’ll thrive.

Greed is something that can be shared.

The pile of clothes in their hands reminds Sasha that he didn’t dry himself as they asked, but they don’t question it, simply laying the clothes on the washing machine near him. Giving him some privacy, Candy turns to clean the bathtub from the red still sitting at the bottom, clinging to the white of the room. As they clean it up, it feels like the events of the night are being washed away as well.

Clothes are more than uncomfortable when Sasha finally puts them on. The remaining water on his body makes the fabric cling to him, making him purse his lips. It’s like he’s caged again with how constructive it is. His fingers dig into both the clothing and his skin, his grip is threatening to rip it apart, fibre by fibre. Sasha’s almost set on doing so just to drive away that feeling, when Candy’s hand on his wrist interrupts him, tugging it away.

They are gentle, painfully so– there’s no usual force to their touch, no biting words and taunting jokes as they reprimand him, no harshness in their eyes as they look over him to make sure they’ve cleaned all of the blood from his exhausted and fragile body, to make sure he is alright and safe.

Sasha blinks, swallowing the lump in his throat and looking away the second Candy meets his eyes. There’s something in the way they are looking at him, in the softness of their hand as they lay it on his cheek like they are trying to reassure themself that he is real and he is here, with them. Like they were scared for him.

Candy’s fingers trace the outline of his lip, delicately removing a droplet of water, and Sasha’s grip eases as he leans into their touch eagerly, chasingly. His body relaxes, mind calms; the storm is gone and now they are here to see the sunrise.

Sasha reaches for their waist, hands wrapping around Candy tightly, bringing them to him, needing them as close as possible– under his very skin, into his ribcage, making his dead heart beat. He feels himself drowning in them as he grazes his lips against their pulse point, and he doesn’t want to emerge to take a breath, instead he wants to sink to the bottom of their embrace and stay like this– together.

His world is zero focused on them now, on how they stand in front of him, shielding him. Protecting him. Sasha’s mind is set, clear for the first time tonight– he’ll ask them tomorrow, he will show them everything he’s been doing, they won’t turn on him, he’s sure of it.

Candy reaches for his hair, softly running their fingers through it, tracing the skin on his neck, prompting him to close his eyes and all but stumble into them. They let him fall, but they’ll be there to catch him. Pressing their lips to his temple, they whisper softly without breaking the moment. “I am here, you are safe now.”

Sasha’s nose is cold against them as he nuzzles the skin of their neck, and he tilts his head some more, tucking himself under their chin. He presses into Candy almost desperately, nails digging into them; Don’t leave glows against their skin.

“Thank you.” Whispered in the dark.

TRANSLATION:

*You’re just a coward, Sasha.

**You were ready to run as soon as he broke free.

***You were ready to run when your attempt to kill Candy failed.

****You died a coward, and you remain a coward.

#my poor little meow meow is in a situation #there's so much hidden lore in this besties omg #like why did he freak out the way he did? why is he so scared of going into frenzy? what happened to the sire? why the fire is mentioned so #often?👀👀👀#ANYWAYS DON'T COME ONTO ME AFTER THIS I DON'T MAKE HIM SUFFER FOR NOTHING I PROMISE I PROMISE #nico.fic #my oc: aleksandr #steelport

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druidgroves · 1 year

Note

flora/butch thing!!! i would like 2 know about it

wip title meme :)

she’s so fed up w/ him fr no wonder they break up later

#steelport #asks #my writing #hehe thank u for the ask !! :)#ship: absence makes the heart grow fonder ( flora x butch )

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avallachs · 1 year

Note

for spotify wrapped, 2, 27, and 77 <3

2. only us (miracle of sound)

let it all burn down around us / let the cruel consume the just / let the sin we swim in drown us / let the world shatter into dust / nothing else matters, only us

27. daffodil (florence + the machine)

you practise resurrection every night / raising the dead under the moonlight

77. the parting glass (hozier)

i'll gently rise and i'll softly call / good night and joy be with you all

send me a number 1-101 and i’ll share the song that is that number in my 2022 spotify wrapped (+ i’ll share my favorite lines)

#we don't ship the pairing that only us is about in this house but that doesn't change the fact that it's a BANGER #asks #steelport #friends tag

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aezyrraeshh · 2 years

Note

AAAAA candy/sasha + 4, 5, 13, 29, 36, and 40?

ship asks

4. First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?

NOT GOOD. it was enemies at first more likely.

when they fist met, candy was odered to not only deliver something to the hospital sasha works at, but also to assess the situation, because someone (AHEM, sasha) was being very suspicious there. candy figured out it was him pretty quickly, and it annoyed him to no end, because he thought he had to deal with yet another "camarilla pet", who would only slow down his work.

candy didn't like his attitude from the start, and it was made even worse because sasha is annoyingly antagonistic when he doesn't like someone, and so eventually he pushed their limits too far, and they punched him. hard. while saying something along the lines of "watch your fucking mouth, worm".. to which he did not react well (there is actually one funny fact abt this lmao), and their relationship went downhill for some time from here, which culminated in sasha's attempt at killing candy.

so no, definitely not a love at first sight.

5. Nicknames? Pet names? Any in-jokes?

sasha mostly uses pet names teasingly; he would call them babe while having the most eat-shitting grin on his face, he would call out sweetheart just to see them raise an unimpressed eyebrow. the only pet names that he uses seriously are in russian-- солнце (reads like solntse, it means sunshine basically) is a favourite of his!

candy isn't big on pet names, and they like the sound of his name, so they don't even bother, but they do sometimes call him a pretty boy because of the effect it has on him.

there are a lot of in-jokes, based on their first meeting and people they are surrounded with and have to work with. they have in-jokes about pretty much everyone they don't like 😭

13. What do they do for fun? Do they have a favorite activity or do they like to switch things up?

it pretty much circles to the dates they go on-- they like to ride around the city, they like to go clubbing and watch movies. they recently found their love for dancing (candy still doesn't admit that they enjoy slow dancing with him to some old songs he listens to).

they do like to switch things up from time to time, trying something new. like playing board games.. it was an experience for sure, they get so competitive and if others were to see them they would probably think that sasha and candy are about to kill each other, but they ARE having fun, and they will do it again.

29. How do the handle disasters or emergencies? Minor injuries? Sickness?

Disasters or emergencies.

they don't really get sick, but if sasha was injured or in danger, candy becomes zero-focused on his safety-- they would rash to him, isolating him from danger and they would fight to death to protect him if necessary, they would rip and tear with their claws and teeth. the only thought running in their head in the moment is to protect protect protect. if there's no danger or when it passed, they would take care of him, running a bath and providing blood and holding him if he needs it. they would still be very tense, because they don't want to freak him out, but they are terrified. and their mind turns to a dark place soon, imagining how they would deal with the threat; they won't lose another loved one again, not if they are still alive.

sasha is the more agressive type, if you can believe it. if there's an immediate threat, he will want to kill them first. he would be so so angry, the only thought in his mind is to kill and make them pay in blood. when it is done or if there's no posing threat, he would approach them, his doctor side kicking in, and he would help them as best as he can, while ignoring how his usually still hands are shaking. he would curse under his breath, he would bark at them how they need to be more careful, but his voice is shaky and eyes wide. for the first time in ever, he doesn't think of running and saving himself, his instinct is to shield them, baring his own back to the danger.

Minor injuries?

both of them are way more calm about this. candy wouldn't push sasha to talk, simply helping sasha to have some blood, but they would want to know the details about what happened. sasha, once again, is a doctor so he is even more calm then candy, but he would ask them what happened immediately.

both of them would try to ease the tension with some jokes.

36. What’s their greatest strength as a couple? Their weakness?

Strength.

if i were to name one, it would be their loyalty. after the storm that happened in their relationship and the trust had been rebuild, they would be extremely loyal to each other. having each other's back, supporting each other (read making each other worse) and being there when needed. they know they are each other's greatest allies, and breaking that bond would be hard.

Weakness.

lack of communication-- they don't discuss the problems they face, which results in them fighting then making up and understanding things that could be easily discussed. some of the issues don't resolve in such way, because they are stubborn, which also ends up in fights.

40. Any special memories? Do they have a special place they like to go to?

Any special memories?

sasha's confession-- the first time he said "i love you" is special for both of them, because it revealed a lot about their relationship and how much they trully care. it was the most vulnerable point they've been at, with sasha presenting his heart like this for them to either accept it or break it easily. raw and open, he told them how he felt because he needed them to know, and after candy doesn't run away, after they stay, the fear had faded, and the moment became special for it showed that they can be accepted the way they are.

and candy's confession in return. their "i am yours" showed more than an "i love you" could ever-- it showed their willingness to belong after they've avoided it for their entire unlife, it showed that the risk they took was worth it and he managed to win their trust back, it showed that they offer themself to him and they are not scared even if it burns and hurts. they want him, and he, in turn, wants them. that's greed and love and lust, mixed, and they wouldn't want it in any other way.

Do they have a special place they like to go to?

the hospital's roof! it holds a lot of memories for both of them, and it is peaceful for no one goes there, and feels like a special place only for them.

#ITS HOW TWO SELFISH PRICKS ARE READY TO DIE PROTECTING ANOTHER I AM AAAAAAAAAA #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ELLIOT I AM LOOSING MY ENTIRE MIND #pair: they got the range #♡: asks #steelport

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pinkfey · 1 year

Note

27 and 99!!

#ILY ELLIOT 😚💕#letters #steelport #spotify wrapped

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kirnet · 1 year

Note

HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO YOU !!!!!!!! i hope its an amazing one <3 will take this bday message as a change to say ur a joy to see around the dash and i always love when we get to interact aND your art never ceases to inspire me. MWAH !

Elliot!! Tysm u are the sweetest MWAH! 💕💕💕

#love uou!!!#ask #steelport

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vvanessaives · 2 years

Note

vesper + this was a mistake 👀?

2. this was a mistakecharacters: vesper moxley, fenix hayes words: 4.321 (by talos this can’t be happening) warnings: a really short mention of smoking and drinking. very light mentions of blood and wounds in general and i think that's it

A tired figure roamed the dark, perpetually busy streets of Night City, legs so exhausted they threatened to give out at any given second, but the desire to crush on a soft, comfortable surface was far greater and kept her going, one dragged step at a time. Scenes of widespread criminality and violence alternated each other in the tight alleys of Heywood like an art exhibition and Vesper appeared perfectly adequate for the scenery: deep red and purple in copious amount adorned her face; bruises, cuts and blood being the painters. She painfully made her way home after one of the many boxing matches and yet another unprompted fight after; shirt wrinkled and stained with blood – hers and from other several generous donators – her jacket leisurely held in hand and scraping the dirty floor. Groggily she rubbed her eyes with the thumb, took one last drag from the lit cigarette and then let it fall to the ground as the vision of her apartment finally became clear.

Coming back ‘home’ to an empty, quiet cluster of rooms wasn’t the most thrilling prospect, making her visibly frown as she slipped into the entrance hall, shoulders colliding with the walls. Yet the silent welcome back, murmured by no one but herself, was everything she knew. Until it wasn’t. Merely to switch back to the bitter reality of a lonesome life, again and again, a replay of a continuous, never-ending cycle. Whoever was having fun replaying this same old song on a broken record could, gently, fuck off and let her live on. Maybe they could go bother someone else for once, or maybe fighting loneliness was a stupid war to die in; every time Vesper believed she conquered some ground against this invisible enemy, the opponent laughed off her efforts and beaten her back on the ground, harder than the previous time. Giving up didn’t feel any easier; once she got a taste of the better side of life, adaptation to the old ways hurt worse than defeat.

Miserable thoughts blighted her mind and she slowly dragged herself up the barely lit stairs, hand slithering along the walls trying to find leverage to keep on going. Just one last effort and you’re home, she thought. What’s home anyway when nothing that you love resides in there, not even yourself. The sight of the doorstep didn’t make her heart lighter as she wished to, instead graver dread settled in her chest; the wall was now sustaining most of her weight as she leaned on it and took yet another cigarette out of her back pocket. She lighted it up, took a drag and with face contort by an incomprehensible awful mood, she shot glares at the entrance. Sometimes things just need a little time to get used to, it’s all about adopting a habit. While trying to find a way to convince her own mind she could fight and win this match too, a consideration popped in the mess of thoughts: maybe she could just lay there, on the hard floor. Few steps between her and a real bed to crush on, yet the idea had way more appeal than unlocking the door and let darkness and silence be the only ones to embrace her. The idea so stupid and pathetic, it forced the crack of a smile on her face.

Vesper decided it was time to grow up and fight the oppressing scene, a harder deed than throwing punches for a few eddies, truly. Pushing herself off the wall she grunted, pain shooting from every limb making her scrunch her nose up. Now right in front of the door she pushed her hands against the metallic frame and let her head touch the cold material, an unexpected soothing sensation pervaded her; only to start giving it little, faint, bangs with her forehead. A way to psych her up, just like one would do before jumping on a ring. It’s just a house – she thought – but it feels like a prison.

She unlocked the door and it slid open; genuine surprise was printed all over her face as a weak light came from the room just down the hallway, a vision way different from her expectation. Eyebrows knotted together and reflex sharp; ready to jump at anything expecting her there, she made her way towards the source of the light. God don’t let it be another fucker to punch, she pleaded. Sounds of rummaging reached her ears as she got closer to where the kitchen was located, the possibility of confronting the third – or maybe fifth? Who knows at this point – fight of the night was gradually becoming concrete; she dropped her already mistreated jacket to the floor, ready to act if the situation called for it. Yet reality is unexpectedly far greater–no, surprising than the theories forming in her thoughts. Or maybe it’s just cruel, she had no idea.

The scene made her stop on her tracks in the middle of the room, almost giving the sensation she just entered the wrong house: an unmistakably recognizable figure stands tall delving through cabinets and bags scattered on the counter; the dark blonde-haired man by the name of Fenix she grew to know so well and not at all. No point calling him partner anymore.

She remained there, unmoving, trying to decipher if her eyes were witnessing reality or the hits taken in the past few hours – and weeks – began creating illusions. Gaze narrowed, she dared not to speak, the utterly confused expression displayed on her face spoke far better. Conflicting feelings boiled up on the surface, a merciless battle between relief and a consuming emptiness deliberately gnawing what little respite was there. For a second, she felt all her pain lifted from her shoulders and the second after, a heavier boulder threatened to crush her to the ground.

Vesper was clearly boring holes into his back since the man snapped to the side his head so quickly it almost made him dizzy; that and habit. He was too used to people jumping on his back that developing a sixth-something-sense was a necessity. Cursed habits, and the second you grow one.

A smirk, his signature one, formed on his lips the second he saw her. Happiness, joy, excitement, all legible on his face, the same way a dog reacts when their owner comes back home. If only Vesper could feel that way too, if only she could take the good and throw away the resentment and pain. Fenix turned completely towards her and finally looked over the full picture of the most broken-down state he ever witnessed Vesper in.

“Hey, little fighter. Tell, what happened? That’s more than the usual beating.” He nonchalantly said, returning to his tasks – whatever they were, Vesper couldn’t care less. The question was welcomed with gelid response, the ridiculousness and entitlement were too much to handle for her current slow-working brain.

“What are you doing here.” Hostility, but mostly tiredness, soaked the statement. Three weeks of disappearance, perhaps even more; she couldn’t remember the last time he showed his face in that same house: no words left, no information on where he went, when he’ll come back, nothing at all. He couldn’t spare a simple ‘see you soon’ and yet he dared show his face again and act like he hasn’t been missing for so long.

Fenix turned once again, caught off guard by the resentment not so subtly hiding in her words. “Got home?” he shrugged. Normally, the answer would’ve angered Vesper, but that same emptiness kept dissolving any other emotion; even the relief of realising he’s alive and well, that he’s finally back.

“Where have you been.” Questions that tasted like accusation; throat getting tighter and tighter, shoulders dropped. She desperately tried to draw out an answer from his reticent lips but primarily, a way to absolve him. Say something that will make me forget, thoughts that felt like a prayer; make me forget my anger.

“Y’know, job things. The usual, that’s all.” He trailed off and Vesper mindlessly nodded – not out of understanding but resignation. Prayers never serve well. “C’mon stop just standing there and go sit, you’re looking awful.” Fenix pointed to the black couch and her gaze followed.

A second nod but no words uttered; she made her way to the location pointed by the man as if her body worked on its own. After all, the mirage of rest became reality, and she could feel her tired and beaten bones cry in delight at the prospect. If only her mind wished to cooperate and finally shut off and accept the break she so desperately needed. Vesper sat down gently on the comfortable surface, but the painful grunt was unavoidable, her back hurt worse than before, if even possible. Her legs were unresponsive at this point, propping them up on the small table in front of her didn’t make her feel anything at all; knuckles burned like someone poured alcohol over the gaping wounds, skin scraped away. She clenched and relaxed her hands into fists and her fingers made a cracking sound; that wasn’t exactly her best night for sure. Ignoring the physical pain, Vesper turned her head to intently gaze at the man: his back was a well-known vision with blurry borders, a photograph of a distant memory that she kept hanging on the wall. Fondness mixed to resentment swelled in her chest, the grudge impossible to let go and overpowering the love. He’s never here anyway, he’s never here. Her gaze dropped, the image of his one-time presence created too hard thoughts to process, too much conflict. Her throat stiffened again while the room started to spin.

She let her head rest on the curved back of the couch, eyes tightly closed for a single moment that felt like an eternity until a few taps brought her back to the tough reality; she had to turn once again, slightly and to the best of her capabilities, muscles strained, but just enough to see a glass and a hand holding it for her. She indulged on the familiar sight, maybe all she needed was a tender caress on the cheek. I’ve dreamt of you for weeks now, Vesper thought.

She took the drink and gulped it down without questioning the content. Her throat burned, probably alcohol, and lips stung as well, the open cut didn’t exactly welcome the beverage. Fenix watched her profile as he went to sit next to her, his own glass in hand, and the way her lips curled up and eyes tightened when she let the drink sink. I can’t stop dreaming I’m in love with you, he recalled.

“Will you tell me what happened now?” He sat down, legs parted and arm resting along the back of couch in a comfortable position; then tasted the drink too.

The voice reverberated insufferably in Vesper’s ears, like a hammer crashing against her skull repeatedly; she tried to reply but voice had no intention to follow such desire and came out as a rasp. She coughed trying to ease this obstacle.

“Got myself mixed in some bullshit.” Words scraped her throat to come out. “Some of the Valentinos fuckers from a betting parlor kindly asked me to lose. They had…some gambling scam going on and I unluckily got dragged into it. Well, unluckily for them. I love winning.” An innate reflex made her reach for the left collarbone to check if the letters were still inked there, as if she could feel them. Vittoria. Victory. “They didn’t like that and– well, let’s just say they don’t fuck around with fairness. At least I put on a good fight.” She took another gulp from the glass, the taste disgusting but she kept drinking. “If you had been here, you would’ve known.” Words she desired to utter the second she saw him stand there, in the kitchen, as if nothing happened, as if he wasn’t gone for so long, finally were set free. For the first time that night, she met his gaze; in the dim light, her placid look showed the cracks of the fury hiding behind them. Her eyes were bloodshot, the left one had a dark red pool fill up almost all the space of the cornea: just one of the many reminiscences of the past week’s events.

“What’s going on with the eye?” Fenix deliberately ignored the remark with the callous intent. A troubling sensation weighed down his heart, but he refused to give it a name. Guilt is a dangerous emotion for someone like him.

“Hemorrhage or something like that, doesn’t matter it will heal. Where have you been?” She dismissed the injury, truth her only concern.

“Y’know how it is. Stuff needed to get done.” Again, again and again. She could’ve asked that same question eternally and eternally she would’ve received that evasive answer; Vesper turned quiet. Trying suddenly lost all its meaning. Was it her tired body that made her want to give up? Was her mind that finally decided to let things go and find peace, somehow? Yet something inside of her wanted answers, truth, something that could lessen the agonizing ache that loneliness offered. If she had to suffer then, at least, give a meaning to her pain, a reason.

She roughly pressed her index and thumb on the bridge of her nose, an attempt to stop this beating pain in her head and maybe wake up, realize this has all been a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. “I’m here now, though.” Fenix offered a slim consolation and reached for the back of her neck, the usual spot where to soothingly rub the tense skin, but the gesture only served the opposite effect as she roughly shoved him away, scorching hatred suddenly appearing on her face, lips pressed firmly.

“You’re here now but for how long? Two days and I’m not going to see you again for weeks.” Vesper realized how terrifying her vision was: eyes blood injected, injuries adorning every little piece of skin, nose broken and lips split open, maybe she was even clenching her teeth and showing them off like a dog ready to attack and maybe that’s what she wanted to do. Would shouting grant her some relief? Say everything that has been clawing and tearing her mind until nothing but a sad, dark memory of what they had was left. Fenix abandoned his relaxed pose and slouched forwards, mouth now twisted with displeasure and gaze blank, only the slightest shadow of pain and guilt showing for a split second before his head drops low, looking away.

She looked at him one last time before her eyes glanced back to the glass she was so tightly holding in her hands with a crushing grip, a vision she recalled far too well. Rapidly, a mortifying thought formed as her glare turned softer, features relaxing. Did her mother look at her father the same way? Did she glance at him every waking moment the same way Fenix looked at her now? Did she hate him the same way Fenix was going to hate her? She couldn’t remember what her mother’s eyes looked like but she swore her gaze surely resembled the one she just saw a few moments ago. Her nails started unconsciously and nervously scraping an old small wound along her arm that still was going through the process of healing. From victim you will be made oppressor.

Suddenly everything felt numb once again, the hateful burst that erupted was now curled up on itself and then disappeared; she could’ve said sorry, a pathetic attempt to be better than the ones from the past, yet she stayed quiet. Maybe there’s no way to break the chain. She lowered her gaze, Fenix’s vision too unbearable to sustain any longer; was that disappointment? Hurt? A combination of both? If only she knew what guilt looked like when displayed on his face. Vesper left the glass on the table, holding it any longer made her feel filthy. Was that the fate for all the family? Hands either throwing punches for money or holding a bottle. Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, or some bullshit like that, she thought. The tortured scar now gave up to her rough treatment and reopened, blood starting to surface. Vesper didn’t really care or realize it.

“Can I do something to make you feel better?” Fenix whispered; a peace proposal, a way to fix things. Is it possible to love a fool?

“Yeah, speak.” She mocked, no way to turn back now from the hole of resentment that delved way too deep, escape was impossible. It made no sense at all keep trying, she realized, no point in fighting and clawing her way out. Then why she couldn’t stop? “Maybe stop acting so unreachable all the time. Be here for more than a few days? Am I asking too much?” She agonized while trying to turn and look at him better, bones cracking painfully.

“You know that’s not how…” He trailed off. “I work.” Fenix couldn’t stand to look at her any longer. An unspoken ‘I wish I could offer you something better’ crossed his thoughts but no courage was found to make it surface.

And what about these feelings now? “Right.” She plainly stated. They just don’t matter to you? Vesper preferred to remain quiet, this was a conversation made of irremediably unspoken thoughts. As she felt her head swirl yet again, eyes captured the outline of his body, his face, in an evanescent form: he felt bound only to her memories now, like he was quickly vanishing from that same spot on the couch next to her. She could picture him getting on with life: one day he would never come back and maybe, just maybe, in ten or so years she would briefly meet him walking down the streets, passing through. He wouldn’t recognize her and she would pretend she didn’t see him; they wouldn’t spare a word to one another, not even glance. Just strangers with no past. Eyes suddenly burned and hurt, throat in flame as she could feel the beginning of tears pooling to the side of her eyes show up; she turned, head up high and lips quivering. No way in hell she would let him see her crying.

Vesper recalled the past two years as the best time of her life but never realized how lonely she felt, or maybe she avoided doing so. How could this be the only life she was allowed to experience? How is it possible to know only this scorching and terrible pain every single time? A mother leaving you behind, a partner slowly disappearing from your life until one day he would never show up again. Was everything going to have a set time? An expiration date? Even your own mom didn’t want you. What about the unconditional love of a mother? She didn’t want you. Will this cycle ever end? Who could ever love someone so unloved by her own mother?

“This was a mistake.” She muttered, voice choked; mumbling a few words felt like the greatest fit of the night. Fenix looked back at her finally, confused – or faking obliviousness – he had to ask the dreadful question. What’s the mistake? “You and me.” The reply scoffed, as if that was the clearest answer, no need to ask. A touch of sarcasm coated the words, a pitiful try to not let her broken voice be heard.

Fenix could’ve fought the statement, defend what never felt like a mistake but the best decision of his life, yet he stayed locked in his cage of silence. And if that’s a mistake then let it be it, let me keep on slipping and falling, let me keep on repeating it for eternity. Thoughts only, never a word leaving his mouth. The sickening silence was tormenting Vesper: that’s the only thing she knew by now, loneliness and silence.

“Can’t you at least say fucking something?” She roared and whipped her head to look at him so fast she almost felt her neck breaking, her right leg bouncing up and down at an anxious fast pace; no word of comfort, not one of his stupid jokes, neither a lie. Didn’t she deserve a lie, at least?

He huffed, shoulders falling, pose curled on itself in a restless and troubled manner. He swallowed the lump formed in his throat that wouldn’t allow him to speak.

“At this point I would only repeat myself.” Defeat rampant in his voice; he narrowed his eyes as his fingers went to gently draw circles into the missing ones, now mechanic, as if he could still feel them, feel pain shooting from it. Maybe he’s just the product of the only environment he knew.

The complete resignation clashed against the growing fury, such opposed forces; Vesper couldn’t stand it any second longer.

“That’s really all you have to say? You don’t give a shit about anything don’t you?” Me. That’s what she wished to say, you don’t give a shit about me. She run her hands through her hair trying to calm down; eyes blown wide, the pooling blood in her sclera almost felt more intense. Was it rage? Red is indeed both the colour of love and fury. “Can’t…can’t you…Fuck.” Lips wouldn’t stop quivering and now words felt like a stuttering mess. The shame she would later feel would’ve been tormenting. “Can’t you at least tell me why? Can’t you tell me what I did wrong to deserve this?” An unexpected explosion of strength run through her body and she got up, energy she didn’t imagine to have after the night. “Can’t you speak your damn mind for once? Christ, speak for once!” she almost screamed, body crunched over itself as if she just got shot. Say you love me, say you love me, say you want to stay here – she kept playing repeatedly the phrase. “Say you had enough and just go.”

“Did you had enough?” Fenix offered the same question; he knew his answer and somehow, he hoped she knew too. He scraped as much courage as possible to look at her, make her reply feel more vivid. Striking.

Vesper’s breath was irregular as she nervously paced around, her heart picked a too fast pace. She examined his face and then only replied with a ‘yes’. As soon as the word was uttered, she regretted it wholeheartedly: she wished to alter the statement, drop to her knees and hold his face in her trembling hands, look into his eyes only to repeatedly vow her love. Instead, upon looking over his imperceptible parted lips, a shaky breath passing through, she reiterates. Yes.

“Right.” Fenix simply nods. “Fair.” He claps his hands on his thighs and gets up, an urge to hide himself and his face from any scrutinizing eye. He retreats back to the kitchen, still rummaging through his stuff.

“That’s it? That’s all?” Anger soon retakes control over her mind. “Fair?” He doesn’t offer a reply, silence once again. Terrible, miserable silence. Fury rips away the pain felt a few seconds before from her body, like a merciless monster with claws – or maybe that’s just another form sorrow adopts. She nervously paces around again, unable to form any other thought, and with what’s left of her strength she kicks the small table in front of the couch and curses loudly. The surface jumps like a cat at the sudden contact, items scattering around and glass smashing over the floor. Vesper can’t recall if she broke the furniture or not but she perfectly remembers the cursing part and offering one last cold glance to the back of the man that didn’t even turn at the sound of the commotion. Nothing will ever break you?

Discussion was apparently closed and she stormed away to her bedroom, maybe she should’ve done that the moment she got home. Rest.

The next few hours felt like a haze, mind swirling, thoughts forming and slipping away; she’s not even sure she slept at all. Did she cry? Her check felt damp; maybe that’s blood coming from a reopened wound. Her eyes burn. Tears fault? She thinks that’s the injury, probably. Emptiness settled once again, the only emotion she was sentenced to feel.

She’s still confused by her spinning mind when she crawls her way back to the room that witnessed the fight. Standing on wobbly legs and body completely slumped, she saw him, sitting back in that same place on the couch, like he never truly moved from there. She stayed glued to the wall, no intention to move any closer, almost certainly didn’t have any force to do so too. Eyes half closed she cleared her throat almost without sound.

“Will you stay?” Question weighted hard and felt like it was floating with no direction in the room. “Tomorrow, will I…will you still be here?” Fingers twitched upon hearing her own unstable tone. She couldn’t exactly see him, world kept moving on its pitiless spinning motion, so she closed her eyes and waited.

Fenix didn’t turn, his head lightly tilted, but daring to look at her? No, he had no intention.

“If you ask me directly like that…Then you make it way damn harder to stay.” The sing-song voice unmistakably coming from its owner felt so far away from Fenix, from the one she knew – does she even know him anymore? Smirk was accompanying the not so shocking revelation, just way different from the usual cocky smile. Just a habit. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it. Then an unspoken excuse behind the silence that followed. That’s just the way I am. The so dreaded words repeating themselves endlessly in her mind.

“Right.” She replied, understanding, defeated. And then crawled back to the empty bedroom, tossing aside any hope. That’s just yet another habit.

#ask games #ask #steelport #oc: vesper #oc: fenix #i'm actually very unhappy with this one and thought of not posting it. i think i wrote with too much heart and not enough brain #but yea anyways. there it is <3 #by lore this is their last meeting for...a whole lot and the closest thing to a break up they had since then fenix went missing and came #back months later and vesper was not there anymore and yea just yea #thank you so much elliot !!!! this prompt was so perfect for some pain and suffering jkfdhkdfj MWAH

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calenhads · 2 years

Note

trembling hands + sabina!!!

15. trembling hands + sabina aleksandrov

words: 671 warnings: none

Sabina risked a glance up at the dignitaries across the table from her, eyes flicking anxiously between the strangers and the trembling hands clasped tightly in her lap. Uncle Felix stood to her left, the center of attention as he leaned forward over the table and pointed to a region of the map that she recognized in the recesses of her mind as the uppermost reaches of the Empire. The rain forest cooled that far north, thick undergrowth and smooth trees thinning into rolling fields and sparse groves. Much of the Empire’s grains and produce came from that region, along with the heavy wools Mama was so fond of wrapping them all in when they visited her homeland. The ruling lord was named Marigold, she thought, brow wrinkling as she tried to recall what other facts she knew of the north. Idly, she plucked at the smooth linen of her skirt, noting how the fabric caught on the callus — peeling, slightly — of her middle finger. Yes, his name was Marigold, and his son Jules had waved brightly at Sabina at a dinner party not a year ago. Sabina had been too shy to dance with him, and Kirusha had laughed at her later.

“Halidom has been sending scouts closer and closer to the outskirts in recent months.” Felix’s voice was a warm, low rumble in his chest, just as familiar to Sabina as her own heartbeat. She liked to rest her head on his chest as he spoke, but she was getting too old to do that nowadays. It wasn't very grown-up of her to ask Uncle Felix for bedtime stories just so she could fall asleep. Sabina wished she could be pressed up against his side now, though, wished that she could feel the reverberations of his voice as he went over the reports that she should have been paying attention to. “They’ve been peaceful for years now, they would have to be stupid to pick a fight at our borders,” the dignitary answered with a scoff that had Sabina blinking owlishly in surprise at the blatant disrespect. Felix was always right, and always had been for as long as she had known him. They had never spoken to Mom like that, had they? Thin brows pinched together once more, and a frown tugged stubbornly at her lips. Her hands were shaking again, she noticed, and gripped her skirt to will away the tremors. “Or desperate.” There was no anger in Uncle Felix’s voice, only grim awareness. Sabina straightened in her seat to get a better look at the map. She had been the one to beg her uncle to allow her into the meeting, had made it her birthday wish so that he couldn’t possibly say no to her. After all, she was thirteen years old now, and it was about time she got involved in politics beyond her textbooks. Uncle Felix had paused at that when she asked, and frowned thoughtfully as if he wanted to tell her no but couldn’t figure out exactly how. But Sabina had pushed and pleaded with wide amber eyes and a warning sniffle that told of the tears to come. It was easier to acquiesce. She was a big girl now, she could sit in on a meeting with people she didn’t know and she could hear about rising tensions with their neighbors and she could listen to them drone on with big words she would have to look up in the library later. Felix had decided to trust her with this, and she wouldn’t disappoint him just because it was more than she expected. She wasn't going to be a baby about it. The dignitaries hadn’t even spared her more than a glance when she followed Felix demurely through the open door. She wished they would look at her. She wished they would forget she was ever here. A warm, calloused hand settled on her own, stilling the faint trembling that she hadn’t even realized had started again. Sabina glanced over to Felix at last, and saw only his sharp profile as he continued to discuss local politics with the wool-clad strangers. She turned her hand over to hold his, interlocking their fingers without saying a word. Still not looking over, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Sabina had stopped shaking.

#meaghan talks #my writing #oc: sabina aleksandrov #ask #steelport #ohhhh god i am so out of practice #idk why i made it harder for myself by writing young sabina but i miss her :((#i was going to make this a fun and sexy lady macbeth moment but then i was like. no. i want baby time.

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quickhacked · 2 years

Note

mikhail + drastic!

DRASTIC [x] characters >> mikhail koshechkin (oc), vincent mayer (oc), vitali dobrynin (oc) total >> 4.1k words warnings >> injury mention, medicine mention, mikhail is high on pain medication

‘Come on, buddy. Let’s go.’

Mikhail did not even acknowledge Vincent’s presence, staring wide-eyed at the flashy neon billboards decorating the front of the grocery store. It wasn’t a new sight to him, since they went there every week, often more than once; though the bright colors and moving pictures had him mesmerized, to the point he did not even hear Vincent calling out his name.

‘Take his hand- he won’t follow us otherwise.’ Vitali’s voice was anything but hushed, making no attempt to speak in such a way Mikhail would not be able to hear him; said man still wasn’t listening anyway, eyes glued to a vibrant, animated ad about tampons.

It wasn’t often Mikhail got injured to a degree he needed pain medication; but on those rare occasions it did come down to that, it would not be an exaggeration to say his friends needed to keep him on a leash in order to make sure he wouldn’t cause any problems on accident, or just straight up get himself killed.

His injuries really were not that bad this time. “Just” a stab wound, a light headache and a couple of bruises- nothing he couldn’t handle. But Cato had been the only one around when it had happened; and Cato loved nothing more than to watch Mikhail make a complete and utter fool of himself while high as a fucking kite.

‘You still with us?’ Vincent asked. He had walked closer to Mikhail and gently tugged on the sleeve of his hoodie, standing on his tiptoes in an attempt to try and catch Mikhail’s gaze and get him to look down at him. But Mikhail refused to make eye contact, and quietly spoke in Russian- though it might as well have been gibberish, his words slurred and incomprehensible as they left his lips.

‘What did- What did he say?’ Vincent glanced back at Vitali, who stood patiently in the middle of the parking lot with his car keys still in his hand.

‘No idea,’ he replied, not even bothering to try and understand Mikhail, and he nodded at the store behind him. ‘Davay.’

Vincent gently took Mikhail’s hand and squeezed softly to get his attention. Mikhail blinked- finally, and his eyes stung from the involuntary tears that had welled up because of the lack of it- and allowed Vincent to drag him along toward the entrance of the store.

It hadn’t been his idea to go grocery shopping. Of course not- his head was blissfully empty, and if it had been up to him he would have just sat around Vitali’s office all day and would’ve done fuck all. But they had needed groceries anyway, and Vincent had not liked the idea of leaving Mikhail in Cato’s hands- mainly considering what had happened last time they had done that.

Mikhail did not speak as they started making their way through the store and instead just looked around, still as wide-eyed as before. The interior of the place was as colorful as the billboards and there was so much to see- it made him a little dizzy and he quickly moved closer to Vincent, to slightly lean against him while they walked.

‘You good, Misha?’ Vincent asked, glancing up at him as he squeezed his hand again; he was significantly shorter than his friend and the more Mikhail tried to lean on him, the closer he got pushed toward the shelves on their left.

‘Mhm,’ Mikhail answered, squeezing back. It was an automated response; he wasn’t actually sure if he was “good”, or whatever Vincent had meant.

His head felt a little funny. Every step he took felt like a drop from a high place- and for split seconds he felt like he was falling down, until his foot landed on solid ground again and the feeling immediately disappeared. That was, until he took the next step, and the whole process repeated itself, again, and again, and again-

Mikhail’s eyes landed on some brightly colored packaging on the shelves to his left and he instantly stopped walking, nearly causing Vincent to topple over.

‘Something wrong?’ he asked, glancing at Mikhail and following his gaze toward the shelves. He paused for a moment, then reached out his free hand and grabbed the roll of questionable-quality cookies Mikhail was staring at.

‘Want that,’ Mikhail immediately said and snatched the packaging out of Vincent’s hand, startling him a little- though he was entirely unaware of it, softly clicking his tongue as he tried to shove the roll of cookies into the pocket of his hoodie.

‘Hey, hey- we gotta pay for that first.’ Vincent reached for the roll again, but Mikhail turned his upper body away and swatted at Vincent’s hand; Vincent was barely able to dodge him and he scoffed, then began swatting back until their hands ended up colliding with a little more force than the both of them had meant to and they both pulled back with a pained grimace.

‘V- Could you help me with this, please?’

Vitali stood ahead of them, resting heavily on his cane and a little out of breath as he vaguely nodded at the shelf in front of him- he had attempted to grab a product from the top, and even though he was slightly taller than Vincent he had been unsuccessful thus far, his agility not what it used to be now that his leg injury had started acting up again.

‘Oh-! Of course, baby.’ Vincent lowered his now slightly reddened hand and wanted to walk over, but he paused, and quickly looked back at Mikhail as he carefully untwined their fingers. ‘Misha? I’ll be right back, okay? No need to panic. I’ll be right back.’

‘Right back,’ Mikhail repeated, still fumbling with the cookies in his pocket and he nodded. He had no idea what those words meant.

‘Exactly.’ Vincent quickly squeezed his hand again, eyes worriedly scanning his face one last time- but Mikhail appeared fine, his gaze once again wandering off to the shelves around them and a small, content smile lingering on his lips.

Vincent carefully let go of his hand.

Mikhail’s heart dropped and he looked down, a sudden wave of intense sadness washing over him as he quickly reached out for Vincent again- but Vincent was already not paying attention to him anymore, hurrying over to Vitali to help him grab what he needed.

Betrayal.

Mikhail really did not have a better word for it.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he took a few steps back, secretly hoping either of them would notice and would walk back to him, and take his hand again- but neither Vincent nor Vitali saw, both too preoccupied with whatever product Vitali oh-so desperately needed.

They don’t care about me anymore.

It was bound to happen at some point, wasn’t it?

So he just turned around, and quickly walked away.

Even though he had been there before, the store looked severely unfamiliar to Mikhail and it did not take him long to get lost, completely not paying attention to any of the signs pointing toward the exit. He angrily rubbed the tears out of his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by a strange sense of shame- embarrassment for nearly crying, perhaps, or for believing Vincent and Vitali cared about him at all-

Fuck, it was hot.

It was the middle of summer, and of course Mikhail had refused to put on anything short-sleeved that morning; he didn’t hate the sun- quite the opposite, actually- but did hate having to slather himself in sunscreen each morning and still get sunburnt severely.

Mikhail tugged on the collar of his hoodie and huffed softly to himself, nearly running face-first into a pillar in the middle of the aisle. He took a second to lean against it and catch his breath; for some reason he suddenly felt like he had been running a marathon, and the consequences of it were now hitting him all at once.

He stumbled a little further, nearly toppling over someone else’s shopping cart and quietly cursing to himself in Russian. Part of him really wanted to start taking off some layers- but a tiny voice in the back of his head told him that would probably not be appreciated all that much by other people in the store, so he wisely ignored the urge.

He wandered out of the aisle and reached the far back of the building; along the entire wall stood ceiling-high freezers, and Mikhail was immediately drawn toward the cool air surrounding them.

He pressed his hands against the glass of one of the doors and rested his forehead against it as well, humming contently as he instantly cooled down a bit; his eyes quickly scanned the inside of the freezer, entirely ignoring its contents and instead inspecting the bottom shelf- it was empty.

Mikhail fumbled with the door handle for a second and then slowly opened it.

It was at least worth a try, right?

‘Um- buddy? Don’t you think that’s a little drastic?’

Mikhail barely reacted as he carefully set his foot down in the freezer, clinging on to the door tightly to not lose his balance. The empty space on the bottom shelf was not too big now that he saw it from up close, but at quick glance he believed it should be doable for him to fit into it, if he would just make himself as small as he possibly could-

A sudden hand landed on his arm and Mikhail shrieked, flinching as he launched himself face first into the freezer- he hit a shelf and cursed loudly in Russian as his head bounced back, and he allowed himself to rag doll back out of the cold interior and onto the grocery store’s tiled floor.

‘Jesus Christ.’ Vincent kneeled down beside him and appeared into his view, a worried frown decorating the top half of his face- though he had a hint of a smile lingering on his lips, barely able to contain his laughter as he watched Mikhail roll over the floor and whine in exasperation.

Part of him was happy to see a familiar face; though at the same time he had not forgotten Vincent betraying him, and Mikhail felt his previous sadness bubble up again as Vincent slowly got back up.

‘Just leave me here,’ he mumbled, laying unmoving as Vincent attempted to pull him back up on his feet. He glanced up momentarily when he noticed someone else approach them- Vitali, looking mildly amused as he watched the scene unfold from behind his glasses.

‘Jesus Chri- Misha, please-’ Vincent had managed to lift up most of Mikhail’s upper body by just pulling on his arms, but he was visibly struggling; Mikhail did not weigh much, but he was at the end of the day still taller than Vincent, and the fact he refused to assist also did not help much.

Vitali walked around the two of them and closed the freezer door with his hip before kneeling down behind Mikhail. He carefully hooked his arms under Mikhail’s armpits, then hoisted him up without warning.

‘Come on, big boy,’ he said, patiently waiting as Mikhail repositioned his feet underneath his body. ‘Your body is not a human mop. No need to try and clean the floors with it.’

‘It was a good idea,’ Mikhail quietly said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as Vitali took a moment to dust off the back of his clothing.

‘Mhm,’ Vitali replied. ‘Is that why you walked away? You feel hot?’

No. No, it is not.

‘Sure,’ Mikhail mumbled, scoffing when Vitali teasingly gave him a pat on his ass. ‘Whatever.’

He did not understand his friends’ nonchalance in the slightest. Why were they so calm about what had happened? It had upset Mikhail- and he was still upset about it, actually. Vincent had just left him. Right? Sure, he had still been in the same aisle, but- he had- well, he had left Mikhail there, standing by himself-

Right?

And it made sense for Mikhail to feel bad about it, right?

He clenched his jaw, the thoughts in his head that had been crystal-clear to him before suddenly all jumbled, and he watched Vitali walk back to Vincent and give him a soft kiss on his cheek before returning to their shopping cart. A sting of jealousy shot through his chest-

What do I get? Do I not matter anymore?

Mikhail had always had trouble putting his thoughts into words. It was not even necessarily because of the language barrier; Russian was just as difficult for him as English on occasions, and he often found himself tripping over his words trying to explain his feelings to others.

He was well aware of this, of course. It’s why he would regularly just swallow his words and figure out another way to deal with the situation; though this time was different. He felt different- quite literally so, because of the medication- and either way he could not keep his mouth shut about it.

Mikhail quickly followed Vitali, ignoring Vincent’s offered hand and even refusing to look at him when he passed by; it did not feel good to do that and he immediately regretted the action, but was also too upset about all of it still to turn around and apologize.

‘Vito,’ he quietly mumbled, grabbing the sleeve of Vitali’s shirt and softly tugging on it until Vitali turned his attention to him.

‘Why did Vincent leave me?’

Vitali raised an eyebrow and momentarily glanced over his shoulder, to make eye contact with Vincent. He looked back up at Mikhail and hesitantly opened his mouth, clearly searching for the right words to say.

‘I… I don’t think he left you, Misha.’ A pause. ‘He helped me with something- it was only for a moment. He told you he would be right back, yes?’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

Mikhail stared at Vitali while they continued walking, patiently waiting for an answer. But Vitali was clearly struggling, for reasons unknown to Mikhail, brow furrowed and jaw clenched as the cogs in his head almost visibly turned trying to generate a response- and the longer Mikhail had to wait, the more upset he started to feel.

‘I don’t- I don’t want you- I don’t want him to walk away,’ he continued, turning his head away and tapping the underside of his chin when he felt new tears well up in his eyes. ‘I- What if I end up- Don’t want to be alone. If he leaves, and you leave, and I- I can’t do that-’

‘Darling, please,’ Vitali quietly interrupted him, slowing his pace as he turned back toward Mikhail. ‘Please, breathe- I genuinely do not understand a word you’re saying.’

‘I am saying-’ Mikhail slowed down as well and turned his body toward Vitali, almost hitting him in the face when he promptly moved his hands up.

‘I do not want you to leave,’ he said, attempting to sign along as he spoke so Vitali could focus on his hands instead- but if anything it only made him more incoherent than he had already been. ‘Either of you. You already left- for years- and I don’t want to be alone again.’

The suddenness with which Vitali stopped walking startled Mikhail and he instantly stopped as well, causing Vincent to run right into him. A dark shadow washed over Vitali’s face and his eyes briefly unfocused as Mikhail’s words slowly settled in his head; Mikhail noticed his grip on the shopping cart had tightened to the point his knuckles were white.

Vitali glanced around; they were the only ones in the aisle, and it was nearly entirely quiet around them- the only exception being the speaker on the wall nearby, blasting some obnoxious song none of them had heard before. Mikhail watched as he swallowed heavily, then looked back up at him with a strange look in his eyes- sadness, almost, though Mikhail was not sure what for.

‘We are not going to leave you,’ he said, every word that left his lips spoken carefully as if talking to Mikhail was the equivalent of walking on a minefield. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at Vincent again, who had stayed quiet through it all- and then he switched to Russian. ‘We’re not leaving you, okay? You won’t end up alone. Do you understand?’

The sudden heaviness of Vitali’s words caused Mikhail’s chest to tighten painfully, though he was no longer sure what was going on; he had only been upset about one thing, but now Vitali seemed to be referring to something entirely else. He opened his mouth to answer, but found himself unable to force the words out of his throat; so instead he just nodded, and continued to watch in light confusion as Vitali exhaled sharply and visibly relaxed his shoulders.

‘We’ll talk about this later,’ he mumbled, still in Russian, and he reached out for Mikhail’s hand; Mikhail allowed him to take it and squeeze softly, and he squeezed back as an answer. ‘But please, don’t worry about this. There’s no need for it, I promise you.’

‘Hey.’

Vincent took a hesitant step closer as well now, nervously looking up at him. Mikhail instantly felt his previous emotions bubble up in his chest again- but he noticed Vincent fumbling with the edge of his t-shirt, knuckles whitened from the tight grip he had on the fabric- and he instantly mirrored the action, a reflex, almost, his own way of trying to make himself look more approachable to others.

‘I’m… I’m sorry for leaving you, back there,’ Vincent shyly said. It was weird; he suddenly sounded like how he had sounded back when the two of them had first met, though Mikhail, again, was not sure why. ‘I thought you understood when I said I would be right back, but- um, yeah, doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.’

It was all so confusing.

The sudden change in atmosphere felt horrible, and Mikhail wished he had kept his mouth shut. Vincent looked so anxious now, eyes darting around restlessly to look at anything but Mikhail- not to mention Vitali’s slumped shoulders and his empty stare at nothing in particular-

‘I want to go home.’

The words had left his lips before he could stop himself, and he wasn’t even sure why he had said it. Part of him wanted to apologize; another part of him wanted to ask why his friends suddenly seemed so upset. But no, instead-

I want to go home.

Vincent reluctantly reached out again- Mikhail immediately closed the distance and grabbed his hand, grateful not to have his own empty anymore.

We go home, and we will talk there. Maybe that will help.

‘Let’s go home, then,’ Vincent said, a small smile appearing on his face once more and the tension in his upper body slowly vanished. He made brief eye contact with Vitali- Mikhail also turned his head, but only just missed the look they shared and instead managed to catch Vitali’s gaze.

‘Are you okay?’ Vitali carefully asked him, his previous frown still lingering on his face.

‘I…think so,’ Mikhail answered, and he quickly nodded. ‘I, eh- sorry.’

‘It’s okay.’ Vitali paused, then reached for Mikhail’s face and pulled him closer; he left a soft kiss on his cheek, and something in Mikhail’s head clicked, suddenly- a brief moment of clarity. ‘You did nothing wrong.’

They continued their way through the grocery store in silence, though a comfortable one this time. Giving it all a second thought, Mikhail was no longer sure why he had gotten so upset.

Clearly Vincent had still been there; he had merely joined Vitali for a moment, and had Mikhail waited just a little longer Vincent would’ve probably walked back to him the moment he’d been done.

Though at the same time, it had truly felt horrible; perhaps not because of the moment itself, then. Something rooted much deeper into Mikhail’s brain, worries he subconsciously still carried around- and probably was well aware of too, had it not been for the medication clouding his mind.

We are not going to leave you.

Mikhail bit the inside of his cheek. Of course Vitali had not left him; they had gone separate ways, to study, and circumstances had caused them to lose contact for a while. It now made sense to him why Vitali had appeared so upset when he had told him that.

‘Vito- There’s a new shipment comin’ in tomorrow, right?’

Mikhail stayed quiet as Vincent and Vitali discussed some business, both seeming relatively alright again as Vitali leaned forward on the shopping cart to be able to look past Mikhail. He partially wanted to join in on the conversation, starting to feel a little left out again even though he had no idea what they were talking about- but at the same time, at no point did Vincent let go of his hand, and he still walked close enough to Vitali for their arms to gently brush past each other while they walked-

Of course they were not going to leave him.

They had talked about it so many times now- how could he forget? Mikhail lived with them, for fuck’s sake- and it had been Vincent’s idea, even, not Vitali’s nor Mikhail’s. An invitation like that must mean something- right?

Though in the moment it had felt real. Vincent walking away from him- it had felt real, and Mikhail had been- well, he’d been scared. For some reason.

And in a way, he was still scared. Scared to be pushed to the side, scared that Vincent and Vitali’s relationship would develop in such a way there would be no room for him anymore, and he would have to find his place elsewhere; probably move out, and he would not see them as often as he did now-

They had arrived at the self-checkout, and Vitali slowly began scanning their groceries with Vincent’s help. Mikhail quickly reached into the pocket of his hoodie and took out the roll of cookies still in there- he handed it to Vitali, who gave him a soft smile and muttered a quiet ‘thank you, darling.’

No, that was ridiculous. They wouldn’t just send him away. Right? Why would they?

Would they?

‘Wanna grab a milkshake on our way back home?’

Vincent had walked back to Mikhail and softly tugged on his arm until he looked at him, wiggling his eyebrows and a playful smile spreading on his face.

‘Only if I get two,’ Mikhail answered, his questions still lingering in his head- though he was able to push them aside, now, as Vincent chuckled at his remark and dropped his head against Mikhail’s upper arm.

‘So you can throw up in my car again?’ Vitali asked, raising an eyebrow as he slightly turned his head toward the two of them. ‘Didn’t think so.’

‘We’ll just get you a large one,’ Vincent whispered, slightly lifting his head and turning it the other way so Vitali couldn’t hear him. ‘And I’ll let you take some sips from mine.’

Mikhail smiled in return, unable to say anything.

It was strange, how things had gone for them. When Mikhail first met Vincent, he never thought they would become such good friends- never thought they would even talk all that often, considering the fact Vincent had appeared a little intimidated by him. But they had grown close so quickly, both dead set on befriending the other- even though Mikhail had low key worried Vincent would end up taking his place.

And sure, he had his fair share of worries, still- even with his head clouded from the medication he worried enough to completely lose his shit in the middle of a grocery store aisle and walk away randomly, and then attempt to climb into a fucking freezer.

But it was not necessary, and he knew that as well. They would never just leave him like that- they had proved that time after time to him, and it would be weird of him to still be so convinced that would for whatever reason suddenly change.

‘So- Milkshakes?’ Vitali asked, finishing up the transaction and glancing at Mikhail and Vincent.

‘And dinner,’ Mikhail immediately added. ‘Please. And thank you. And please.’

Vincent snorted as Vitali glanced at the groceries they had just bought, specifically so they could make dinner at home together for once, and he sighed in a way only an exasperated eldest sibling could.

‘Sure,’ he then said, ‘why not.’ A brief pause, as he waited for Mikhail’s gaze to wander off again, following a fly that had found its way into the store and was buzzing over their heads.

‘Let’s just…hope he falls asleep in the car. V, stop laughing.’

#asks #steelport #writing asks #nuclearwriting #local 30-year-old man turns into a toddler when he takes two paracetamol. more at 6 #literally the funniest thing i've ever written lmfao if i was vincent or vitali i would simply just pass away #'i don't know what that means' that would do an instant 5d10 psychic damage to me i think. what do you say to that LMFAOO #this fic is a little all over the place but ig it makes sense since it follows mikhail who is like. not thinking clearly #but yeah hope you all enjoy <3 it's the last prompt i had in my inbox so this is the last one you're getting for a while #i will be working on the chasing stars fic again tho! i should make like. a fic page or something hmmm

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shadowglens · 2 years

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amaryllis, anemone, + bluebell for sage!

amaryllis : what is something or someone that your muse takes pride in ?how do they express that pride ?

kit! sage is such a proud mamma! kit is a fairly smart kid by nature and picks things up very quickly, but sage still gets that warm swell of love and pride in her chest whenever kit does something new or cool. the first night kit reads her book out loud without stumbling over too many words, sage can’t help but smile until her scar aches. sage tends to express her pride softly, quietly - a smile here, a ruffle of the hair there. she’ll always praise kit verbally too, or at least try to.

as kit gets older, i think sage is quietly proud that kit didn’t turn out cruel like her father. which is a miracle, really, because kit’s formative years were spent on the run, sometimes watching her mother brutally kill zombies or people, but 🤷‍♀️. kit turns out okay, all things considered. sage is endlessly relieved about it.

anemone : how does your muse view the world ; as a cruel & unforgiving place , a land full of wonders , or something in - between ? where does that world view come from (what experiences , life lessons , etc .) ?

sage has always had a bit of a pessimistic view of the world, even before it ended, so when the dead start walking around she’s not that surprised. she’d been living in hell long before the outbreak, and in all honesty - people turning into zombies was kind of a relief, because she wasn’t the only one on the run now. the outbreak did a lot of bad for her, and took a lot of kit’s childhood away, but it also gave sage a strange sense of peace - she didn’t have to worry about money, or her ex, and she takes to killing a lot better than she ever did being a zoologist. not being chained by the morals of the old world is freeing in many ways for sage. so yeah, it’s a cruel, brutal existence, but it’s at least a lot quieter now.

bluebell : does your muse learn from their past , or are they prone to repeating the same mistakes ?

when she was younger she was prone to moving in circles, unable to free herself of bad habits or past mistakes. once the world ends and her morals fracture along with it, sage is able to finally stop being that meek woman she used to be and move into something stronger. she’d made the first step away from her past when she took kit and ran just before the outbreak, and she’s come a Long way since then. she still struggles occasionally, but she’s got better at learning from her mistakes.

#oc tag #steelport #ch: sage st james #ty elliot!!! <3 #that second one got me good #she has such a complicated view of the outbreak and the zombies #its not that she Prefers it like this - but she doesnt miss too much of her old life either #mostly she misses the world before if only because kit wont ever get to experience so many things

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arklay · 2 years

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ithrenil + nightfall <3 (ok my prompt spam is done sjdhfg)

49. nightfall + ithrenil.

words: 1.6k warnings: injury, blood, brief mention of alcohol, casual nudity [read on ao3]

“It’s clear,” Ithrenil said sharply as they emerged from the narrow passageway that led to another cavern. Their harsh voice barely cut through the muffled sound of rain hitting the rocks that concealed the cave’s entrance – a pair of rickety wooden doors that had them believing this was once a mine, it surely appeared to be man-made.

Farkas shot up from where he had sat down on one of the wooden crates around the cave to take a breather, biting back a grimace as the sudden movement aggravated the wound on his side. He hadn’t expected them to be back so soon, and their voice abruptly pulled him out of his thoughts, which were unsurprisingly surrounding said elf.

“There’s not much here,” he offered. “Well, mead is good, but that’s about it.”

With a small scoff, Ithrenil took the bottle from his hand and read the label. “Not even the good stuff.”

Their dry tone didn’t make it sound like the joke they intended, but he let out a small chuckle as they handed the bottle back to him – a low sound rumbling from deep within his chest – and they tried to hide the smile that was threatening to pull on their lips.

Turning on their heel, they made their way back towards the burnt-out fire at the far end of the cave, and he trailed behind them, watching as they pulled a cloth out to wipe the blood off of their dagger’s blade. There had only been a couple of bandits holed up in the old mine, and seeing as there were no bodies in this cavern, he figured they had all run out into the area where he’d alerted one of them by charging head-on, making Ithrenil rather irritated as it didn’t follow their preference of taking enemies out quietly.

With the blade clean, they tapped the quillon with their long, slender forefinger once, then twice, followed by a small flicking movement of their wrist in somewhat of a flourish before they finally sheathed the dagger in its scabbard at their hip. Farkas only smiled to himself at the ritual he’d noticed them do many times over the course of their journey.

Crouching down beside the pile of logs, Ithrenil huffed to themself as only a few sparks remained from the bandits’ fire, not nearly enough for it to be rekindled. They picked up some of the hardwood left aside and tossed it onto the pit, then prepared themself to cast. Harnessing their magicka, they focused on building up the energy until they felt the familiar prickling warmth arise in their palm then all the way to their fingertips.

Farkas watched as the flames expelled from one of their hands, lighting up the corner of the room that was devoid of the lanterns littered around the rest of the cave. Magic made him rather uneasy, especially the destruction kind, but they didn’t use it around him often and he saw no other way for them to light the fire.

His gaze travelled up to their face instead, their black eyes that reminded him of wells of ink were lit up by the flame and their brows were knit together in focus as they kept up a steady stream of magic until the pit would no longer require their aid. The way their damp hair was plastered to the side of their neck and across their temples – the dark strands a sharp contrast to their ivory skin – distracted him for a moment, until he was reminded of the storm outside, and his stomach flipped at the thought of having to sleep in such close proximity to them again. He hadn’t realised he’d been staring for so long until they abruptly stood up, making him tear his eyes away as he felt heat rise to his cheeks, and he knew for a fact that it wasn’t from the fire.

Now in relative safety, Ithrenil became acutely aware of the rubbing of their drenched tunic against their skin – how the fabric clung and pulled with every movement, how their leggings felt far too tight around their thighs, and how their armour only intensified the constricting feeling – and their heart sped up as irritation built up in their chest. Out of the corner of their eye, they noticed Farkas look over again, they could feel how worried he was, especially when they roughly shrugged off their pack and unbuckled their belt.

He had warned them that they wouldn’t make it back before nightfall, but had Ithrenil listened? No. Instead, they remained steadfast in their belief that the storm wouldn’t reach them until they were closer to Whiterun. Foolish on their part, though the nature of Skyrim’s weather was still something they weren’t quite used to. Now here they were, feeling their skin crawl all because the rain had soaked through their clothes.

They made quick work of their armour, but still feeling his eyes fixed on them, they looked over, not quite meeting his gaze, their fingers toying with the lace of their tunic. “You should take off your leathers”—motioning to the fire with a quick gesture of their hand—“so they will be dry come morn.”

He hummed in agreement as they continued to peel off the fabric, revealing more of their fair skin. The taut muscle littered with silver lines entranced Farkas. Some of them were small, barely-there marks while others were the evidence of deep lacerations. He cleared his throat and looked away. Rude to stare, he thought. He’d seen their body before; they weren’t particularly shy about stripping down when they would make camp, and there was that one time the two of them had to share body heat – a situation that wouldn’t typically have made him so flustered if he didn’t feel such a way whenever they did as little as walk into a room.

Reaching up to unclasp the worn chestplate that Ithrenil had pulled off of a hunter he'd slain after he shifted and tore through all of his armour, he winced at the way the gash on his side pulled with the movement. Ithrenil’s head snapped to look at him. He couldn’t tell, but he assumed their eyes were darting across his form to try and find the source of his pain.

“You’re bleeding,” they said plainly after a small sniff, the sweet metallic scent reaching their nose instead of them actually witnessing the fresh blood.

He nodded and they just pointed to the crate near the fire. With a small huff, he sat down on it, the wood creaking under his weight, and they went to stand at his back. Their hands deftly unclasped the poor excuse for armour and pulled it off before reaching for the hide underneath. No wonder the hunters fell so easily.

Crouching down to get a better look, they could see that the wound wasn’t as deep as they had anticipated, but the blood trickling down his side made them frown. One of the hunters had landed a good hit back in Dustman’s Cairn, but why it was taking so long to heal seemed a mystery to them. The thought that perhaps those who had contracted lycanthropy may not heal as quickly as someone such as themself – born with the gift – crossed their mind.

“This should’ve healed by now.” They glanced up at him after inspecting the wound as they reached over and dragged their pack over to the crate.

Farkas nodded as he watched them rifle through their belongings. “Aye, if it was any other wound, but they use silver.” He shrugged then leaned back on one arm before he added, “It will take a while.”

Ithrenil’s eyes darted up to meet his and their hands paused on pulling their bandages and tools to clean the gash out from amongst the mess of trinkets in their pack. “They?”

“The Silver Hand.” They tilted their head to the side, glancing between him and their waterskin as they uncorked it and poured some water into the empty pot by the fire. He clarified, “Bad people who don’t like werewolves. So they don’t like us.”

Finally, a name to these bastards. Or at least they hoped they were connected to the groups they had hunted all over Cyrodiil. It didn’t matter, they would take them all down regardless.

Soaking a clean cloth in the water, they then reached out and placed a hand on his side to steady themself, and his muscles tensed underneath their touch. “As in the Companions?”

“Not everyone, but—” He cut himself off with a hiss as they gently wiped at the blood surrounding the wound and they gave him an apologetic look. “Hey, can’t you use your magic for this?”

“Afraid not. I’m unfamiliar with restoration spells.” They felt a bit guilty for using the last of their healing potions back at the crypt, but they would have to make do with this. At least he would have a nice scar to show for it. “Continue.”

Farkas looked down at them, confused for a moment, before he realised they were referring to what they had asked before the pain from his side made him lose his train of thought. “All in The Circle are. It’s a secret to everybody else.”

They scoffed then as they unfurled the bandages, and the confusion that ran through them made Ithrenil glance up at him again, finding him watching them with a raised brow. The corners of their lips turned up as they simply got to work on wrapping the dressing around his torso, but the silence between the two of them didn’t last long.

“What?” he finally inquired.

“You’re not a subtle lot,” they teased, and he almost looked offended despite the way his lips pulled up in a smile, obviously enjoying that they were able to be more at ease with him so much as to poke fun. “That, and I could smell you all from yards away.”

#thank you elliot!! ily #i present to you my favourite little werewolves heheh #setting: mid to late 4e 201. a day after proving honor quest while going back to whiterun // i don't know how to write magic or get sensory #stuff across but yes ithrenil is autistic because projection. they also use they/she pronouns but prefer they #oc: ithrenil #pair: ithrenil x farkas #writing.#asks.#steelport

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