queerly_it_is
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The dream is his, but the panic isn’t.
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There’s no reason given for it, and Corvo doesn’t honestly expect one. He doesn’t ponder much on the why of things anymore, or tries not to. Corvo sleeps better when he doesn’t go rooting around in the dark for threads to pull on.
That doesn’t stop him asking.
Doesn’t stop his other self from sneering, either.
“It’s almost precious,” the walking mirror, the him-that-isn’t-him drawls, familiar mouth hammered into an unfamiliar shape. He’s not much thinner, but there’s a starved look to him that leaves Corvo wanting to put a few more steps between them than there are. “You still think there’s a reason for any of it. That the reason matters.” The mouth curls sharper, flash of teeth, too bright. Like a rat’s. “Well it doesn’t.”
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When they drop out of the hurtling nightmare of the wormhole, everything blends into nausea and the scream of alarms, the stars smearing into concentric loops outside their Lions.
Keith grits his teeth, hauling helplessly at controls that were already damaged even before they got thrown out of the hangar, across the universe and back into space again. Arms and shoulders straining, muttering constantly under his breath, he tries to get any real response from his Lion, but the connection’s been reduced to just a faint wavering spark, like a candle about to go out.
Finally Shiro brings his own Lion around and physically stops Keith’s uncontrolled spin. His voice sputters in over the com. “This is no good. We’re gonna have to find someplace to set down.”
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One door closed to shadow by queerly_it_is
Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies)
14 May 2016
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“Fuck me,” Steve says, swallowing, watching Bucky’s pupils eat away the colour around them, feeling the reaction in a tremble under his hands. “Make me feel it.” He remembers that first time, in a colder room on scratchier sheets in a different world, smirks and adds: “I dare you.”
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When the panes are dim by queerly_it_is
Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies)
14 May 2016
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At this hour, the cryo chamber gives off the only real light in the room, a soft and circular glow like firelight. With the staff gone and the workstations dark, the walls and the ceiling look flung out, further away from where Steve sits on a padded bench at the edge of the light, where the shadows are fending for themselves.
“We ought to get some music in here,” he says, like Bucky’s going to answer, or like he’s in a coma and still listening in some little corner of himself. “I don’t know how much new stuff you’ve even heard. Some of it’s not so bad. Maybe that’d give you and Sam something else to argue about.”
Even talking in here is uncomfortable now, especially when the place is empty and Steve could convince himself he’s the only person awake in the entire building. His voice comes back too large and hollow off the gloomy walls. It’s starting to feel like praying.