| |
Darkseeker
|
Hello there! I don't consistently write things and post them, so don't be surprised if this goes dead for a while before a new story is posted. When I get random urges to write, I'll try to put something coherent together and share it. I don't necessarily enjoy my own writing, buut I'll still post some writing because why not? The worst that can happen is someone telling me I suck, ajdsj- like, if you think that then I suggest you just ignore this topic entirely. :)
***I will link the character(s) used in my stories so you can see how they look!
You're free to comment about the things I write! Just please don't give me suggestions on what to write or how to write, please and thank you. If I wanted advice, I would ask :>
Note: These stories are my personal head canons for my characters. Yes, I may use my characters for roleplays- but please do consider those as "alternate" versions of them.
Ex: Remiel is taken by Leon, but in 1x1 roleplays, he isn't taken by Leon/Leon doesn't exist in that "universe".
You can find all of these stories in my blog. I use that as my default for short stories n' shit. This thread is literally just me copying/pasting those posts from my blog to the forums. |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Butterflies
One. Two. Three. Four. Four drinks in and he could hear her screams. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. They were quieter now. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. A shaky, bloodied, hand set a small glass down. A stifled sob cut through the tension in the empty cabin. The lonely man sat, hunched over the coffee table that sat in front of his couch. A bottle of vodka and his emptied glass sitting on the edge. Dull brown eyes stared off into nothing. The man's lips were parted, shaky breaths slipping between his lips as he grunted softly. Today was a bad day. Remiel refused to face the loss of her... he refused to face the loss of his unborn son. Grief, guilt, sadness, and anger had a tight grip on his heart. He thought that taking on jobs would ease his mind... but even the carnage he unleashed on the targets didn't ease his mind. That's how he ended up finding solace in a bottle of alcohol. The burn that cascaded down his throat eating away at the god awful feeling that he felt deep down in his bones, entangled in his marrow and changing the very way he functioned.
Butterflies were in his stomach, except they weren't the welcomed ones... the ones people wrote about in their romantic stories. No. These butterflies left a constant deep pit of dread in his stomach. They were eating away at the walls of his stomach, fluttering their way up to his heart and mind. Everything that helped him ease himself wasn't helping now. Remiel laughed bitterly at himself, gripping the bottle of vodka in his bloodied hand. There was no point in using the glass. Instead, he lifted the bottle to his lips, tilting it back and gulping the liquid fire until there was nothing left. He should be happy now. He should be... he has to be. Remiel wasn't alone anymore. So, why were there days where he felt more alone than ever? Why did he have days like this? Days that made him remember his past in vivid details? Why could he still hear her screaming for him to help? How could he still feel the burning of silver chains against his skin as he was held back, forced to watch her die? Why could he see her bloodied corpse every time he closed his eyes?
A delicate hand rested on his shoulder, drawing him out of the haze. Familiar eyes met his and Remiel choked back a sob. Leon. The man kneeling in front of him on the floor smiled softly. His eyes carried a look, one of reassurance and pain. How had he gotten so lucky? Remiel swallowed thickly, words catching in his throat, as if it was coated in honey, making it impossible for him to get something out. He needed to thank Leon, to talk to him- to reassure him that he was okay. Leon simply shook his head, his hand moving to cup Remiel's face. A soft thumb rubbed the hybrid's jawline, reassuring him. Leon knew what his boyfriend wanted to say just by looking him in the eyes. He didn't need to hear his voice to know. Leon's hand shifted back so he could get a gentle yet firm grip on his lover's face. His thumb pushing the loose hair from Remiel's face so that he could gently rub his thumb across his cheekbone.
"Remi, it's okay. I understand, hun. I'm here for you, okay? I will always be here for you."
Leon's voice was like a painkiller to his headache. Remiel's shoulders slumped, his body relaxing as he nodded. The tight feeling in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach began to calm down. Remiel's shaky hand dropped the empty bottle on the couch beside him, his hand moving to claim Leon's hand. His thumb gently running over the younger man's knuckles.
"Leon... I- I can't do this."
His voice was raw, laced with pain and pure, unfiltered, emotion. Leon's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he shook his head, squeezing Remiel's hand. He wouldn't let Remiel think that he was broken, that he couldn't get through this... because he knew that he could. Getting up from the floor, Leon sat down on Remiel's lap. Cupping his boyfriend's face, Leon planted a soft kiss to his forehead before speaking again.
"Remi, you're the strongest person I know. You can do this. I'm here for you, baby. Please, please, don't give up on me. I promise you, you can do this. I'll be right here. I'm here for you. You aren't alone, not anymore."
Remiel's breath hitched, tears pricking at the corners of his chocolate eyes. His strong arms wrapped around Leon as he buried his face into his boyfriend's chest. His breaths came out shaky, his body trembling as he let himself feel. He couldn't hold it all back anymore. The dam was cracking. Salty tears dripped down his face, some getting soaked up by Leon's soft shirt. He couldn't hear her screams anymore. He heard his heartbeat. He couldn't feel the chains. He felt his arms around him. All he could focus on now, was the loving and comforting embrace he was in. The butterflies were dying. Leon had chased them away, again.
"The butterflies. They're gone."
A beat of silence, then, Leon smiled as he ran a hand through Remiel's hair.
"You did so good, hun."
Remiel's heart skipped a beat, the corners of his lips curving upwards slightly.
"I love you."
Nails lightly scratched against his scalp, a soft hum resonating in the younger man's chest.
"I love you more, Remi."
----
Art credits
Remiel & Leon
|
|
|
| |
Lightbringer
|
I..... love your writing. I cant stop rereading it *^* I may or may not stalk this for when you do post more 😁 |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Thank you so much for saying that! I damn near always look at my writing with distaste because I feel like I repeat things too often, or that people will dislike my slight overuse of this: -
So, thank ya! I should be posting something soon, once I settle down and catch up on some things, I'll be free to free write. :D |
|
|
| |
Lightbringer
|
I'll be keeping an eye out for more c:, I've been debating on weather I trash Past Mistakes and just rewrite the whole thing. |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Carnage.
There was only one word that could describe the bloody scene. Carnage. A body lay on the floor, crimson staining it and the floor around it. Splatters of red visible in every direction. Whoever that man was didn't matter. He was dead now. Standing off to the side of the body, holding a bloodied axe, was a man of tall stature. A bounty hunter. His dark eyes stared at nothing, his breathing slow and deliberate as he swallowed thickly, bringing the axe up to rest on his shoulder as he walked away. He could care less about the blood that had splattered onto his body, staining his fair skin red. A hot shower would get rid of the stains. He'd forget the man by the next day. It was work, nothing more- nothing less.
Remiel made it home a quarter after midnight, his cloak soiled from a multitude of things. He couldn't bring himself to rip the cloak off, to take off his shirt and pants and take a shower... or at least to get a change of clothes. Instead, he found himself setting the axe by the door, leaning it against the wall as he made his way to the kitchen, finding himself a bottle of alcohol. This was his second resort. If the gruesome jobs didn't take his mind off of the pain, then certainly this would. Part of him felt guilt, for resorting to alcohol to numb himself- but he couldn't muster the courage up to go and wake up Leon, to ask him for help. He didn't want to burden his boyfriend. He couldn't. That was how he ended up on the couch, shakily pouring himself drinks and downing them as if his life depended on it.
The house was dead silent, save from the sound of Remiel's stuttered breaths. He was hyperventilating. Numbness started to make itself apparent, his face tingling as he struggled to get a deep breath in. He couldn't calm himself. The alcohol wasn't helping either. Shit. Setting the bottle on the counter, Remiel pushed it away from himself, his hands gripping the ledge as he let himself hunch over as he hiccuped. His grip on the countertop drained his knuckles of their color, making them turn white from the pressure. The carnage was supposed to help. The alcohol was supposed to help. Why weren't they helping? Why did it feel like someone was tightly holding onto his lungs? Why did it feel like he swallowed rocks?
"Remi?"
He knew that voice anywhere. Leon always had a soft voice. The bounty hunter could hear the concern and worry that laid under his words. Remiel's shoulders trembled, his voice shattering like glass as he spoke, "I'm sorry."
Instantly Leon was by his side, his hand coming up to rest on Remiel's back as his other hand cupped his face- forcing the taller man to look at him, "Shh, it's okay." Moving quietly, the young man walekd over to the sink, turning it on as he grabbed a washcloth, wetting it. He then wringed it out, turning to Remiel and bringing the warm cloth to his face, washing the blood away without saying a single word. The silence was comforting. Leon didn't need to speak in order to get through to Remiel. His careful and quiet actions spoke for him. The tension that previously drowned the room was melting, and Remiel's breaths were steadying. His hands were loosening their iron grip on the counter, color returning to his knuckles. The hybrid wanted to laugh at himself. He really should've just gone to the bedroom to wake up Leon. Of course his boyfriend was the solution. Of course Leon was the only thing that could clear the fog in his mind. He was the only thing that always chased the pain away.
Setting the cloth aside, Leon moved behind Remiel, his hands gently grabbing onto his hips as he guided the man to turn around. As Remiel complied, his chocolate eyes looked down, meeting the comforting gaze that belonged to Leon. One of his hands shakily lifting to cup the man's face as the other moved to hold onto Leon's waist. Neither of them had to talk in order to communicate. That was a quality Remiel loved about Leon. No matter what, he somehow always knew what Remiel wanted to say. He could read his unspoken words through the way his eyes looked into his. Any semblance of pain melted away the moment Remiel leaned down and pressed his lips against Leon's in a soft kiss.
As he pulled back, the corners of Remiel's lips curved upwards in a small smile, "Thank you." |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Totally didn't completely wipe away the last thing I wrote and replace it with something else. Totally.
Not gonna lie, my writing is getting on my nerves lmaooo |
|
|
| |
Lightbringer
|
I . Love . Your . Writing .
Voxtexy said:
Totally didn't completely wipe away the last thing I wrote and replace it with something else. Totally.
Not gonna lie, my writing is getting on my nerves lmaooo
|
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Angel.
So much for being perfect. A bitter chuckle ripped through Stace's raw throat, making the grown man wince. It was five in the morning and he was standing in front of the full-length body mirror that was propped against the wall in his room. His sharp blue eyes studying his body in the mirror. His gaze took in every tiny imperfection. Small scars, the very noticeable scars on either shoulder, the dip on both hips, the oh-so-noticeable tiger stripes on his inner thighs and lower back. Gods, Stace hated the way stretch marks looked on his body. He hated how everything look on his body. He hated his body. The drummer's wings twitched with irritation. He's an angel. That meant that he had to love himself, that he had to love the way he looked, right? So, why was it so damn hard to do that? His judgmental gaze flickering to the raven-colored feathers. His jaw tensed up as he came to a realization. Stace didn't like how the wings looked on his back. He could fix that.
Angels were meant to be perfect. He was far from that. In his head, it made sense to grab the blade and sit in front of the mirror so that he could look over his shoulder and see where the wings met with his skin. Forcing himself to bite down on a t-shirt he had picked up from the floor, Stace's hand guided the blade to the base of his wings. For a brief moment, his breath hitched and he almost considered dropping the blade. He as hesitating. However, the twisted voice in his head encouraged him to go on. So, he listened to it. What other choice did he have? There was no way he was going to try to call someone and talk about his feelings. No. That would just make him a burden to them. He couldn't waste their time like that. Stace drew in a sharp breath as the cool metal teasingly rested on the base of his right wing. The antcipation built in his chest, his eyes focused on the blade. Then, he chose to look away and face himself in the mirror.
The initial laceration made his wings flare out, as if they were offended by his actions. By all means they weren't sentient, but it damn near felt like it. Stace had to will himself to sit still, to keep his wings tucked back as he let his calloused hand guide the knife. He would have found a way to somehow get the damned things off of his body, but something inside of him snapped. Something screamed at him to bloody stop. After a few too many cuts, the blade dropped and Stace screamed. The sound of his pain and anguish muffled by the t-shirt in his mouth. He was so fucking stupid. He couldn't help the overhwelming sense of panic that ripped through his body, making him think about punching his reflection with all of his strength. Stace couldn't will himself to do it.
Two years. Two years was all he had to himself. The voice was back and he wanted to do nothing more than to find a way to drown it without drowning himself. At this point, it felt like there was no way he could get rid of it... but he wouldn't let himself fall that far. He couldn't let that happen, not until he could confess his feelings to the man he had fallen in love with. Stace pulled the t-shirt out of his mouth, his chest tightening as his ocean-blue eyes landed on the feathers that had fallen from his wings. Crimson speckles coating them. His back was bloodied now. Thankfully, both of his wings were strongly attached to his back still. It would've taken more that a simple knife to cut through them anyways. With shaky hands, the young man pulled his phone out of his pocket. Velvari would answer him. She always did.
As predicted, Velvari answered the phone right away. Her voice silky smooth and sultry as she greeted Stace, teasing him. She was right to assume that Stace would call her for a rendezvous. When she didn't hear his typical quip and shitty one-liner, the woman knew something was different this time. The way Stace's breath caught in his throat made her uneasy. She could hear the way he was struggling to break surface, to hold his head above the depths of his own thoughts. He was trying to not drown. Velvari's voice shifted, her tone a mixture of worry and reassurance, "I'll be over in ten. Hold on for me, okay? You've got this, hun." She stayed on the phone as she rushed to pack a bag. The demon didn't need to know what happened before Stace called her. She had a feeling that he had gotten hurt, again. It pained her to know that no one but himself caused his wounds. Why couldn't he just go out and get into a drunk fight like other men? Because he wasn't other men. He's Stace, he's himself.
Those ten minutes felt like ten hours. Even as Velvari spoke, trying to distract him enough to keep his head above the roaring thoughts in his mind. Stace was lost again, his gaze lingering on the mirror. He had moved his body, now kneeling in front of the mirror as his eyes ravaged his body, once again focusing on the imperfections. He didn't even notice that Velvari had entered his room. The sound of the door and her footsteps were drowned out by the voice in his head. Three gentle taps on his wing pulled him up from the water. It was a sign they made together. A gesture that meant the world to him. Stace's gaze flickered up, using the mirror to look at Velvari who stood behind him with worry painted across her face. He did that. He was to blame for her feeling anything but happy. She didn't speak, despite the countless words she had for Stace. She wanted to yell at him, to slap him, to hold onto him and murmur reassurances into his ear. However, she didn't make a move to do any of those. Instead, she took the bag from her shoulder and sat down behind Stace as she opened it. The drummer silently watched as Velvari fished out some materials from her bag. The familiar smell and sting of alcohol were all too familiar.
When she finished up, dabbing ointment onto the wounds, Velvari let out a soft sigh as her white eyes met with his blue gaze in the mirror. She placed a hand on his side, resting her chin on his shoulder as her lips parted, "Stace, hun. Stop looking at yourself like that." Reaching an arm around his waist, Velvari grabbed one of his hands, her thumb gently rubbing his knuckles as she let out a shaky breath, "You need to stop beating yourself up. Who cares if you have scars or dips on your hips? They're what makes you perfect." Stace bit down on his tongue, his gaze dropping to look at her hand. His breathing was steady and calm. Stace was trying to appear tough. His voice betrayed him as he closed his eyes, "I don't know how to feel." Velvari's heart ached as she smiled softly, letting go of his hand in order to gently grab onto his chin, making him turn his head towards the shoulder her head rested on as she leaned closer. Her lips met his in a soft kiss. She could feel the angel melt under her touch, giving in to the affection. This wasn't the answer to anything. Velvari knew it wouldn't do anything but distract him, but if she could distract him, even for a short period of time, then she'd do that for him.
Two hours later, Stace was quietly laying on his chest in bed. One of his hands holding onto a fistful of blanket as the other laid under his body, tucked up against his chest. Before Velvari left, she made sure to set the drummer's alarm, just in case he didn't get up on his own after she left. Then, she drew a thin blanket over him to cover his wings and bare torso, shielding his injured wings and body from anyone who might look into his room. It was now a little after seven in the morning, and the demon could only pray (for Stace's sake) that Aster was asleep in his room... and that he had slept through any noise that might've come from the drummer's room. She had a strong suspicion that he was awake. She could only hope that he wouldn't give Stace too hard of a time for her being there, she knew how much he disliked her coming over. It wasn't hard to miss the way Aster would look over at her whenever he saw her, even when they ran in to each other in public.
----
Stace & Velvari |
|
|
| |
Lightbringer
|
|
Winter 
Day Weather: 
