Quote:
i.
It's been awhile, months, but the dream stuck with him. Memorable, in that way awful things could sometimes be. The details remain sharp, lingering at the back of the mind until something innocuous comes along and drags it all back to the forefront.
Zeke didn't think it was awful, not really. It probably should have been—she would have said it was, had it been her—but it wasn't. Not the worst of it.
He didn't mind the idea of trading lives for his own. Hell, it sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan, so long as the lives he was trading didn't belong to the few people he valued. It was a terrible choice to lay before any normal, moral person, but most people had a wider emotional range that included such things as guilt and empathy. Zeke didn't think he fell in the same category. He just didn't care enough.
What he had found awful was the connection of the dream to the mark's that had come about from it. Not the marks themselves—he was covered with scars, ink, and piercings. What were a few more? But the dream had followed the mission in the cave. The voice in the dream, the one asking the question, had been familiar. He'd woken up in a cold sweat, pulse thudding in his chest, with his weapon having hysterics.
It had taken well over an hour to calm Lagertha. Not that he could blame her.
It's been awhile, months, but the dream stuck with him. Memorable, in that way awful things could sometimes be. The details remain sharp, lingering at the back of the mind until something innocuous comes along and drags it all back to the forefront.
Zeke didn't think it was awful, not really. It probably should have been—she would have said it was, had it been her—but it wasn't. Not the worst of it.
He didn't mind the idea of trading lives for his own. Hell, it sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan, so long as the lives he was trading didn't belong to the few people he valued. It was a terrible choice to lay before any normal, moral person, but most people had a wider emotional range that included such things as guilt and empathy. Zeke didn't think he fell in the same category. He just didn't care enough.
What he had found awful was the connection of the dream to the mark's that had come about from it. Not the marks themselves—he was covered with scars, ink, and piercings. What were a few more? But the dream had followed the mission in the cave. The voice in the dream, the one asking the question, had been familiar. He'd woken up in a cold sweat, pulse thudding in his chest, with his weapon having hysterics.
It had taken well over an hour to calm Lagertha. Not that he could blame her.
Quote:
ii.
Paul Malls had never been his brand, but lately it seemed those were what he preferred. It wasn't difficult to figure out why, though he tried not to think about it overly much.
The smell of the smoke was a familiar one, and every once in awhile a lengthy drag would come with the taste of pale skin filling his mouth(teeth pressinging down and down and down…), and he missed the mix of smoke and soap at the base of the other man's neck.
Paul Malls had never been his brand, but lately it seemed those were what he preferred. It wasn't difficult to figure out why, though he tried not to think about it overly much.
The smell of the smoke was a familiar one, and every once in awhile a lengthy drag would come with the taste of pale skin filling his mouth(teeth pressinging down and down and down…), and he missed the mix of smoke and soap at the base of the other man's neck.
Quote:
iii.
It wasn't like any other relationship he'd ever had with another person. Even the word relationship seemed foreign still, and he sincerely doubted he'd ever find himself any anything remotely similar ever again. But there was something about her, some magnetic, static energy that he found himself utterly defenseless against, and unwilling to shake free from.
Under his skin.
She wasn't the first to dig beneath the exterior and take root, though what he had with her was, well, different.
The touch of her skin was addictive. The scent of her hair was addictive. The taste of her lips was addictive. And of it, all that compulsive want, came from the least sexual relationship he'd ever shared with someone he considered as more than a friend.
He could never understand how someone so entirely maddening could also bring about such deep wells if contentment and calm.
She was a mystery, still. Which was perhaps why he continued to go back.
It wasn't like any other relationship he'd ever had with another person. Even the word relationship seemed foreign still, and he sincerely doubted he'd ever find himself any anything remotely similar ever again. But there was something about her, some magnetic, static energy that he found himself utterly defenseless against, and unwilling to shake free from.
Under his skin.
She wasn't the first to dig beneath the exterior and take root, though what he had with her was, well, different.
The touch of her skin was addictive. The scent of her hair was addictive. The taste of her lips was addictive. And of it, all that compulsive want, came from the least sexual relationship he'd ever shared with someone he considered as more than a friend.
He could never understand how someone so entirely maddening could also bring about such deep wells if contentment and calm.
She was a mystery, still. Which was perhaps why he continued to go back.
Quote:
iv.
Nails in a tickling, prickling rush down the line if his back. The brush of curls sliding along his shoulders. She giggles when she kisses him, and he smiles against her lips. Just for a moment remembering another possibility, another life, another life.
Nails in a tickling, prickling rush down the line if his back. The brush of curls sliding along his shoulders. She giggles when she kisses him, and he smiles against her lips. Just for a moment remembering another possibility, another life, another life.
Quote:
v.
Correspondence is slow, messages few and far between, but it's something. It's not enough, but it has to be, because there's miles upon miles between them, and little to no chance to cross paths. Just a text here and there, sometimes months between. Still alive, mostly while, doing fine.
It's not enough, and it's infuriating and confusing that it isn't.
Correspondence is slow, messages few and far between, but it's something. It's not enough, but it has to be, because there's miles upon miles between them, and little to no chance to cross paths. Just a text here and there, sometimes months between. Still alive, mostly while, doing fine.
It's not enough, and it's infuriating and confusing that it isn't.
Quote:
vi.
Occasionally he still feels it as a lingering ache in his chest, his shoulder. An old injury that liked to flare up at a shift in the weather, or a bit of abuse. It's a reminder of the worst of the worst. Of pain so sharp, so intense, he'd just wanted it all to end. Of darkness so complete and consuming he'd assumed it did end. Of weeks upon weeks of silence and vulnerability that had seemed without end.
The least of his physical scars. It seemed wrong, that. Like the outside should match the inside. Like you should be able to see the cracks that imagined should have been spiderwebbed across his skin.
But there's nothing there. Only the aches, the the wings, and nightmares.
Occasionally he still feels it as a lingering ache in his chest, his shoulder. An old injury that liked to flare up at a shift in the weather, or a bit of abuse. It's a reminder of the worst of the worst. Of pain so sharp, so intense, he'd just wanted it all to end. Of darkness so complete and consuming he'd assumed it did end. Of weeks upon weeks of silence and vulnerability that had seemed without end.
The least of his physical scars. It seemed wrong, that. Like the outside should match the inside. Like you should be able to see the cracks that imagined should have been spiderwebbed across his skin.
But there's nothing there. Only the aches, the the wings, and nightmares.
Quote:
vii.
It had taken a while—it had taken years—but finally things were moving in the right direction. Finally all the effort, all the hours spent pouring through countless books in the library, diving off the coast of the island, cataloging notes, organizing everything. Finally it was all paying off. He'd made his proposal to Lance, and he'd made his intentions clear to Dr. H. There was a finish line in place, a clear light at the end of what had seemed, for quite some time, like an unending tunnel.
It had taken a while—it had taken years—but finally things were moving in the right direction. Finally all the effort, all the hours spent pouring through countless books in the library, diving off the coast of the island, cataloging notes, organizing everything. Finally it was all paying off. He'd made his proposal to Lance, and he'd made his intentions clear to Dr. H. There was a finish line in place, a clear light at the end of what had seemed, for quite some time, like an unending tunnel.
