You know what, I'm not done talking about Aaron and Elliot and my headcanons for their past relationship because I fucking love writing messy sibling relationships and I have not been able to stop thinking about them for the last few days.
Elliott was anxious to leave home by the time that he graduated high school. The dream design program at the specialist school he went to was far enough away that he felt like he could actually breathe separate from the way he had been for a long time.
Aaron eventually went to college once Elliott was out of the house and he didn't have to worry as much about him. It was night classes of course, and he was still running himself ragged trying to care for himself and their mother.
Aaron has a pack of bicycle playing cards that he keeps in his pocket that's missing one of the kings. Elliott took one almost out of spite to make sure that Aaron wouldn't be able to play with them with out missing him.
They'd had a blowup argument with each other before Elliot left about him leaving for college, about his magic and leaving Aaron behind. About how Aaron had become a workaholic (almost as bad, but not quite as bad as their father's alcoholism) and did he even care? Elliot as a burden. Aaron as stagnant. The town- the house being suffocating and they need to get out of there before they turn out like their parents. Elliott didn't want to be part of this stupid family anyways and he wished that he'd never been adopted. Aaron tells him if that's the way that he feels, then he can get the hell out. Aaron helps Elliot pack. He wants to apologize, but Elliot refuses to talk. He drives him out to his school and leaves a note in his things to find, apologizing for what he said and not fixing things in time. Neither of them are good with words. This is the last time that they see each other before their mom's funeral.
The summer after Elliott almost died in the lake, Aaron got certified as a life guard. He never said why beyond a half-assed excuse that it's a common summer job but it really was because of his brother. Neither of them can look at a large body of water the same way. Aaron sometimes gets nightmares about any of his loved ones drowning and being unable to help and/or save them.
Aaron and Elliott watched Lilo and Stitch when it came out in theaters as a birthday gift for Elliott because Aaron knew Elliott liked cartoons and weird alien creatures. Aaron hasn't been able to watch it since then because of how badly it gutted him emotionally.
Aaron arranged their mother's funeral when she passed because he was the only one left who would do it. He'd done about half the same for their father because of how quickly their mom had sunk into depression and shock.
Because he's informed unempowered, he knows where to look for any school newspapers that might cover Elliot's accomplishments and he's got a little collection of news clippings about Elliott, especially from the time when he graduated. He's proud of him. It's sentimental and he'd never admit to it, but he keeps it because it makes him feel closer to Elliott in a way.
Aaron went to therapy once he could afford it. Learned what he need to and somewhat graduated from it. He's big on talking things out and relationships being a two way street because of everything that's happened in the past.
Aaron doesn't have a strong personal desire to be a dad, but he's open to the idea of it after a long period of wrestling with his emotions about it.
Elliott used to try to gift Aaron dreams to give him back some sense of fun and protect him from his nightmares, but Aaron was very hostile to having Elliot in his head due to his jealousy over his magic.
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what was vincent thinking when he lost control with lovely?
when lovely came back to wonderworld and vincent said that when he looked at them he saw “prey”. all his body wanted was blood. his eyes tracked their little movements, muscles tensing to chase them if they ran. he wouldn’t. he thinks he wouldn’t. it’s hard to know with the scent of their blood filling up every corner of his mind like a thick fog, blocking out rational thought.
he could almost see the blood rushing under their skin, just a thin barrier between him and what he wanted more than anything else. he could hear their wet pulse, swallowing hard to get rid of the saliva pooling under his tongue. the effort to stop himself from just grabbing them and biting them was immense, the restraint borderline painful.
he asked, begged, but it was hardly a question at all. he knew that. he knew there was no real way for them to refuse. he wasn’t entirely sure it would mean anything even if they did. he felt so distant from himself, from vincent solaire. in that moment, he was just a vampire.
he was so glad they said yes. he wasn’t sure exactly what would’ve happened if they said no, but it wouldn’t have been good. he thinks he would’ve had enough control to let them leave. maybe. he’s glad he didn’t have to find out. he didn’t bite their neck. he had enough control left for that. he didn’t want to bite them at all, not yet, not like this, in this awful place. but he didn’t see another way.
he took a knee and held their wrist up to his mouth, pressing his lips against their pulse. it was less of a kiss and more of a taste, his tongue pressing against their veins, catching the echos of their flavor through the skin. he could feel their quick pulse reverberate through his body, beating hard under his lips and fingertips.
he offers up another apology, just as useless as the ones that came before it. the rational part of his brain was racked with guilt. he could smell their fear, the adrenaline tainting their scent. the worst part of him was concerned, not for them, but for the way it would affect their taste. he could barely think long enough to feel guilty for that.
now that he was sure to get a taste of them, his body was preemptively rewarding him with the phantom feeling of sating his hunger, pure desperation morphing into something akin to anticipation, even excitement. but he knew the imagined feeling would have nothing on their blood. it was unlike anything he’d ever smelled in his entire vampiric life.
when his fangs finally broke the paper barrier of their skin, when their warm blood finally hit his tongue, it was like nothing else. relief so sweet it almost hurt. he swallowed it down, mouthful after mouthful, sliding down his throat. the taste was incredible, but more than that, it was the feeling. his body just felt, right. correct. he felt awake, alive, almost shaking with it. he was completely lost in the sensation, in the pure seething euphoria coursing through his veins. heightened even further by the echos of their own pleasure though the bite.
he somehow managed to pull himself away, to detach his mouth from their wrist. he tried not to look at the small amount of blood that had leaked out from the puncture marks, just in case it kicked up his hunger again. he took too much, not enough to hurt them luckily, but more than he planned.
they almost fell over, dizzy from the blood loss. he caught them, held them upright. his body was still singing in the afterglow, their blood rushing in his veins, waves of pleasure slowly subsiding.
but the fog of hunger had cleared, and he could finally think. he felt sick, guilt weighing heavy in his stomach. he felt horror creeping at the edges of his mind, settling in with the realization of what he’d just done.
implied Treasure being turned :)) because I live for the fact that Porter would be absolutely heartbroken by it
playing: "Pearl Diver" by Mitski
He didn't even bother to lift his head when the light bulb of the small lamp on his desk crackled, room suddenly veiled in a darkness he wished to disappear in. Fall apart until he was nothing but dust carried over by the wind into places unknown. Where mistakes haven't been made yet, and life still held a promise of something better to take out of it. A naive wish to start over, to turn back the clock that kept mercilessly ticking the numbers away, constant sound of its hand grating at his already shredded nerves.
Blurry minutes turned into hours of sorrow, and his misery remained the same, guilt pressing his exhausted body flat against the mattress his head didn't dare to touch, afraid of tainting what should have been clean and pure in the first place. Like a marble statue, he remained indifferent to the passage of time, position taken and never changed, not when he felt himself growing fatigued or restless, not when his stomach began to ache in the well known way that could not compare to anything else, simply because how pointless and little meaning it held, in the face of what happened.
Whatever he suffered through, meant nothing, Not in that room, where the shadows glanced at him with pity, not in his head that reeled with teeth bare and sharp, more than ready to bite, and not in the whole world outside, for he had his own, right in front of him.
A whole world he held in his arms as it crumbled apart, torn at the seams he couldn't mend.
Their face laid on a silky pillowcase, material cool to the touch, soothing the feverish skin he kept caressing, hand growing tired from the constant motion of his fingertips grazing their temple, down their neck and up again. Anything to assure him he was not dreaming, and they were still present, pulse thrumming faintly right below the skin. For him only, to feel and cherish, as long as he was blessed to. Through the pins and needles starting to grow in its intensity, he simply gritted his teeth and kept going, remembering the words they whispered during one evening, truth spilled within the confines of late hour, welcomed by his steady presence and smile that eased his serious expression.
Gesture so grand in its simplicity, they told him between the lines.
I like your touch. It's soothing.
Who would he be if he denied them this simple thing in the most of vulnerable times?
The scar, two little marks, the very same that adorned his own neck, were gone. He made sure it was himself, healing magic never his strongest suit, though with some help and guidance, he managed. If they wished to have one, he would be more than happy to litter their body with thousands, in any place they desired, in any form or size. He would listen, he would do whatever they asked him to, but not this one. They deserved only good things in life, and the weight he had to carry due to his own experience, they were not bound to share. At least, he was capable of granting them this mercy, bile rising in his throat at the familiar and agonising sight.
Sam assured him that those things take time. Vincent said the longer they rest, the better and easier everything would be later, comfort offered with pats against his shoulders, words of the wiser echoing in his mind. If they needed the rest, so be it, he wouldn't cut it short. He would just stay beside and wait patiently.
They seemed calm, like tides after a storm, lulled by the silence of disaster already gone. No stressed wrinkles on their forehead he kept kissing occasionally, when he began to lose hope, and the only thing that fixed it was their warmth pressed against him, a reason to keep going despite his knees aching from kneeling all this time. As if he would be able to go away. They needed him, more than ever. He told himself so, anyway.
The blanket he draped over them covered them up to their chin, more for pleasure rather than chill that seeped into his weary bones. He wished he could lay down, like he always did, their frame fitting like the most perfect puzzle piece, head nuzzling into his chest, listening on to his beating heart, as he kept them close, his most precious jewel. There would be time for that, he muttered the promise in a raspy voice under his nose, instinct to check their pulse yet another time stronger than ever. Still the same, still present, still alive. And they would remain so, with him bound by their side.
Soon, they would wake up. Or later, but he still would remain on his knees nonetheless, hand against their cheek, his heart out in the open, non-existent tears already dried up. And when they did, eyes with the haunting silver, red specks darker than rubies looking at him so pleadingly, lips asking for him in the haze of balancing between the dream and reality, he would hold them, tighter and more desperate than ever.
And love them even more, with a choked apology on his breath.
just thinking about how there are no good outcomes for porter when it comes to treasure.
there are two ways this can go. number one, treasure remains human. and number two, they get turned into a vampire.
the first option. treasure would remain human. they would live out a long life with porter. they grow old while porter stays frozen. he’d spend the rest of their life with them, reassure them if they worry he wouldn’t want to be with them as they age. they’d always be his treasure, the love of his eternal life, object of his eternal devotion.
they’d stay weak and vulnerable. a possible target. porter would do everything he could to protect them, of course he would. but there’s always a chance that something will cut their fragile life short. they’d be an obvious target to anyone trying to hurt the solaires.
there’s a chance treasure gets killed solely for the crime of being associated with porter, and the house of solaire by proxy. or even by something mundane, like a car crash or freak accident or any number of things. and even if everything goes right, and they live to the very end of their human life, they still die. and porters left alone.
the second option. treasure turns into a vampire. ideally, this is a planned thing between porter and treasure. mutually choosing their forever. this is the best case scenario. even still, there would be issues.
it’d be porter that turns them. who else could it be? treasure wouldn’t want anyone else as their maker, and porter especially wouldn’t want anyone else as treasures maker. the thought of anyone else having that kind of power over treasure, the ability to invoke them as he was once invoked by his maker is terrifying.
he doesn’t want that power over them either, to be clear. infact, he’d definitely rather not have it. he knows he’d never use it on them, so if somebody has to be treasures maker, it should be him. but he’d hate that power imbalance between them.
in a fleeting thought, he wishes his maker was still alive just so he could force felix to take away his invocation rights and ability to lie, just as william had done for vincent. and even more fleetingly, but not for the first time, he wishes william was his maker instead.
he’d be so terrified of messing up. he wants nothing but the absolute best for treasure, in their human life and their afterlife. he’d be irrationally worried about hurting them like his maker hurt him even though he knows he would never do that to them. he’d also be afraid that they would fear him like he feared his own maker, even though he’d never give them a reason too.
but it’s no garuntee that porter is the one that turns them. porter and the house of solaire by extension have many enemies. treasure is an unempowered human associated with them. to anyone looking to harm either porter or the solaires, treasure is the easiest and most obvious target. there is even precedent for this, as seen by theos moms death.
but killing treasure isn’t the only way to hurt them. another method would be to turn them. invoke them to do whatever would hurt porter the most.
just imagine, treasure goes missing one night while porters off on an assignment from william. when they stop answering his calls and texts, he wants to run straight home. but he can’t, so he gets sam to go check on them. then sam finds an unknown vampires scent in the house, with treasure nowhere to be found.
to say porter is freaking out would be a severe understatement. he runs straight home, obviously, mission abandoned entirely. he tries his best to track them down, but even with his exceptional abilities the trail goes cold. he’s terrified of what could’ve happened to them. and in a few weeks to a few months, the whole time spent desperately searching for them and not even entering the possibility that they could be dead, they come back.
except now they’re a vampire, and before he can even begin process that they lunge at him, trying to kill him. he wins easily, with him being much stronger and more experienced in fighting.
then he has them restrained, and he’s finally able to get a good look at them. they don’t answer any of his frantic questions, but while they’re struggling against their restraints, they lock eyes. and in their now silver eyes, he doesn’t see any anger. just sadness and fear. and he realizes they’re being invoked into attacking him.
he would, of course, hunt down and kill whoever was responsible. and in doing so, it would free them from the invocation. but porter would still have to deal with one of his worst nightmares, treasure going through what he went through when he became a vampire. for a much shorter amount of time, thank god, but still.
so yeah, absolute best case scenario there’s gonna be a lot of hard feelings to work through. worst case scenario…. not great.
Oh we're going back to when redacted peaked with all the new lore driven videos TWO IN ONE DAY BAYBE
Anyways
Dreamer pushing off the concerns of others because they don't want to burden anyone, dreamer pushing off their visibly declining mental health in favour of making friends to hide their flaws in their mental state
Dreamer only confiding in Corvus because Corvus could feel their emotions, fully willing to tell no one because it's better for no one to know.
Dreamer talking about writing a story about latency but knowing that they pushed that experience on themselves and never writing it
Dreamer not going to a therapist because they know that it's all self inflicted pain and problems and that type of hurt is all their fault and that's not something you can get fixed
Dreamer trying to fix it on their own and realising that it quite literally is all in their head and they made it up
Dreamer allowing dread, guilt, and regret to fill them when they hang up on a useless phone call after being told basically that it's in their head and to get therapy
Anyways, does anyone else get annoyed when English movies and TV shows will portray something that clearly is meant to read in some other language and they use English words but keep only some of the non English things (ex; using Herr instead of Mr/sir but using Mrs/ma'am instead of the German counterpart)
((please seek help if you see any of dreamer's actions in yourself, it is not healthy and you do deserve help. Your emotions and trauma is valid no matter the situation that surrounds it))
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just thinking about the contrast between porter and vincent.
vincent who had a loving childhood, a good human life. one ripped away from him in a freak accident. saved by william, turned to vampire royalty by a maker that would never even think about invoking vincent for frivolous reasons, only to save his life. turned by a maker that cares for him, that loves him, even when vincent pushes him away.
vincent, a prince, progeny of the king. vincent who’s third in command of one of the strongest vampire clans. vincent who couldn’t care less about his status, or vampire politics, or any of that kind of thing. vincent who resented it for so long, who resisted the name of his maker. vincent who hated being a vampire.
vincent who’s practically still human in the way he acts. vincent who seems to almost float above it all, who was so sheltered by his maker he had no idea what the reality of his house really was for over twenty years.
vincent who left the house of solaire once the curtain was pulled back. vincent who saw violence and gore and murder and decided he wanted no part in it. vincent who was presented this option by william, who reiterated that no matter what vincent chose, he would always be family.
porter, who had a turbulent upbringing, colored entirely by loss and pain. porter who didn’t have much of a human life to miss. porter who was so determined to avenge his sister he got caught up with the wrong people, turned against his will. turned by a maker who couldn’t care less about him. not that being unloved by people who should care for him was something new to porter. no, he was very familiar.
porter who spent eight years living with constant invocation and swift, harsh punishment. porter who was relegated to nothing more than a lowly servant, who’s only purpose for existence was to please his maker. a task that proved impossible, if the beatings were anything to go by.
porter who ran when his maker died. his first taste of freedom in eight tortuous years and his first instinct was to run, to leave the entire country, entire continent, and run all the way to california. there he found himself at the doorstep of a king, gracious enough to take in a stray like himself. porter who pledged his loyalty to william in gratitude for what he did for him. porter who took the solaire name eagerly, who wore it with pride.
porter who is most decidedly, not human. porter who has time and time again been not just a vampire, but a monster. porter who spent a fair portion of his afterlife up to his elbows in gore and violence. porter who never, in his entire life, vampiric or human, had the privilege of being sheltered. porter who, save for his sister, never had anyone care enough to attempt shelter him from anything.
porter who was the blade of the king. a king that didn’t even seem to consider he might not want this forever. a king who barely acknowledged the loss of an entire wing of the house, who just gave him the next assignment like it was nothing. porter who didn’t get the offer of amicable separation. porter who tried not to think too hard about what he would do, if the offer had been extended. porter who was not williams family. porter who was family to no one.
the fact that vampire transformation is something that can happen while your conscious is very disturbing.
in most media it’s a process, a short one at times but a process none the less. and you are unconscious for it. but in the redacted universe people are awake for it. it makes them pass out sometimes but not always.
i just keep thinking about vincent when he got turned. him having to lay there, still awake, while his body slowly pieced itself back together. his senses were all wrong, everything was all wrong, from one moment to the next he went from human too… something else. a vampire.
a creature that up until a few minutes ago, he was sure was nothing more than fiction. and now he was one? imagine how confusing that must’ve been, how disorienting, how unreal. i wonder how many days he passed in those first few weeks half convinced he was in some sort of nightmare. not yet accepting that he would never wake up from this.
Hearing a doorbell at the ungodly hour of four am was not new but questionably welcome. An occurance that sneaked itself into their life not that long ago, an occurance that made it worse and better at the same time. An occurance which, despite every alarm bell ringing to run away from, they welcomed in, arms open and common sense gone, thrown out of the window.
They weren't mistaken. Said occurance stood on the other side of the front door, leaning heavily against the porch, arm with torn sleeve over his head, light casting a long shadow over his face. One lense of his glasses was cracked, eye already turning purple underneath.
"What are you doing here?" they asked groggily, rubbing the sleep away. It was their day off, one of only a few they could allow themselves with the cost of living spiking again. The world was in shambles but it seemed like he was too.
"Can I come in?" breathless gasp left his lips and they knew something was off, more than usual.
Moving aside to make space, he took the chance and dragged himself inside, shoes leaving muddy footprints on the doormat. He kicked them off, wobbling on unsteady legs, barely keeping himself from falling face first, close meeting with the floor postponed until further notice.
"What's wrong?" everything and nothing at the same time. A vague answer.
"I didn't know where to go." oh.
"C'mon. On the couch." they saw blood on him enough times to not get spooked by it, they weren't squimish per say. But it was still not a pleasant sight to have in front of at the atrocious crack of dawn.
The always neat hair was tousled, collar of his white shirt uneven and wrinkled, a bit of it managed to untuck itself from his slacks. The usual composed Porter was nowhere to be found on the picture of someone who looked like he was ran over by a car or worse. They didn't even want to think about it.
"What do I do? Painkillers? Bandages? An ambulance?"
"Don't fuss. It will heal soon enough."
"At least let me clean this." to that, he agreed, sitting himself down on the soft couch, body sinking into pillows, head thrown back and glasses taken off, thrown onto the coffe table. Whole front of his shirt was stained red, a long gash on his neck, going down towards his chest, and if he weren't an immortal vampire, it would have killed him with how deep it ran. Fingers sticky, one of the nicely manicured nails broken unevenly, side bruised and looking more red and purple than actual skin colour. Whatever it was that caused it all, it better have been dead, they thought, first aid kit placed on his thigh, a hiss making them apologise quickly.
Cotton gauze soaked in sterile solution soon began to dab away the crusted blood, his brows knitted and face twisted in a scowl, sharp teeth biting his lips and cutting them on accident which only earned him a pinch to make it stop. They were gentle, far more than what he was used to, yet it still hurt.
On many levels, not only physical.
"You want to talk about it?" question left unanswered, they just sighed, throwing the used gauze on the floor, grabbing another one. So be it.
He noticed and knew what thoughts bloomed in their mind.
"I'm...not running away from it. I'm just trying to gather the proper words...so we don't fight again." that was new. But they took it with a hum and a slow swap against his cheek. The silence that followed was tense, they didn't want to pry but who wouldn't be curious in their position? A vampire, theirs but still, knocking on their doors, all bloody and quiet, barely able to walk. A red flag in the making, but they knew not to turn him down. Red was their favourite anyway.
"It's about William." when he finally spoke up, they stopped, hand shaking a bit upon the revelation. They knew the name, knew the weight it carried and paired with the expression on his face, the resignation in his usually sharp voice, it was going to be awful.
"What happened?" he swallowed, eyes still closed, throat bobbing and muscles clenching when he shifted around a bit. Talking was never his strongest suit, actions speaking more than empty words.
He started it. Finishing was only fair.
"Nothing happened. And that's the bloody fucking point. I called him, told him I took care of everything and...and instead of some acknowledgement or–or gratitude, he just told me to come by tomorrow because he found something more for me to do." the words were spat with poison that didn't suit him.
Porter knew ways to speak in a manner that chilled, that hurt deeply, more than the blade he wielded but right then, none of it was there. It wasn't the familiar jab laced witb superiority complex, it was almost raw. Unfitting for a person of his status and looks, it was wrong to see him like that. Yet, it was one of the rare times he opened up freely and they had to let him talk, had to lend their ear and shoulder because no one else would.
He didn't know where to go.
"He doesn't owe me anything, not after he took me in, let me join the Solaires instead of being a mutt on the street but...but I wish he would at least show some appreciation, you know?" they continued with the clean up, letting him talk and pour his heart out, gentle hands brushing past his ruined skin, mending what was broken on the surface level. The pain ran deep and there was nothing else but listen. They did, every word taken to heart because he would do the same.
"I'm not asking for special treatment just...just acknowledgement. Is it so wrong to wish for that? After everything I did?" his facade was cracking even more, fingers nervously toying with the folds on the pillows, breaths turning more shallow to calm the storm inside his head, words out in the open, ones he never imagined himself to speak out loud. It was heresy to talk down your King behind his back but the the limit was reached and it finally spilled over what seemed bottomless at first. It wasn't and Porter just learned that the hardest way.
Burning at a stake never sounded more appealing, he already could feel the flames licking his skin, a scream nestled in his throat, ready to be cried out on top of his barely working lungs. Or maybe it was just the sting of antiseptic when they cleaned the cut.
"Can't you tell him that? You're a part of this clan afterall." they hummed, the input given making him sigh, too quickly, too sharply. His ribs were no doubt bruised, worst case scenario broken but he stayed still. They were probably already halfway down the healing lane, vampiric skills being more than admirable, something to be jealous of. That didn't mean they would stop, gauze switched for a little cloth, swiping at the grime around his neck, being wary of the wound that also started to fix itself, skin pale when a scar should be. In few hours it would be all gone, both the injuries and his confession, swept under the rug as always, never to be adressed again.
Porter Solaire was not meant to be vulnerable, forged in constant battles and war that clung to him since his very first day alive. It never changed, it's not like he could handle it anyway, he was not cut out for it. Nothing really changed when it came to him.
"I'm not the family."
"You have his name. That makes you part of it."
"No it doesn't. I'm not of his blood in any way, it's already...gracious of him to accept me as I am and treat me like Sam or Alexis, but at the same time...it's not the same at all." he tried to explain, he really did, however frustrating it was to talk about things he despised. But they deserved to know the real him, or at least what he believed was leftover of the real him.
"And I know why it will never be. I know why, I knew from the beginning, I accepted it when I took the knee and pledged myself to him, so why the fuck does it hurt so much to see Vincent being able to leave like nothing happened while I'm stuck in the same spot?!" it escalated quickly but so be it. They were already done with his face, the red gone, only the one in his copper eyes remaining, the sharp edge they held dulled by a fog of going down a memory lane, a grimace tugging at his lips, almost a snarl leaving his vocal cords. He straightened himself, head high as always, as if nothing happened and the anger was just a moment of weakness that would dissolve any moment. He finally stood up, shaky but determined to do anything, sitting idly was slowly tearing him apart.
He paced around the living room, steps heavy, anger simmering on a medium heat of feelings he kept pushing down and down for far too long, a wild beast held in captive, nails dragging themselves against the iron bars, desperately clawing to get out. He was trapped by his own doing, key thrown away and nowhere to be seen because he was never supposed to reach for that lock. It was closed for a reason.
They could sense the shift in the air, barely able to breath but no open window would help, not when he was too far gone in the process of drowning, going down and down into depths he never uncovered. What remained buried down emerged so suddenly, a volcano eruption, explosion rapid and quick so much it suffocated.
"He let go of a Prince of the House. The next of crown, he let go of his right hand and he acts like it's nothing, just an inconvenience! But that's not all, no, because he let the Duke leave too!" his voice was reaching dangerous levels of pained and furious at the same time, emotions strong and battling agaisnt each other. There was already a path being formed in the carpet, his heavy steps making an imprint when he dragged himself in circles, every pace fueling him even further. His fists were already clenched, shirt completely out of his pants, the buckle of his belt hidden under the wrinkled material.
"Didn't you say he was mostly absent?" throwing everything back to the white med kit, they wiped their eyes, sleep still lingering in the corners, obviously so, judging by the late hour. Usually, when he came by, they ended up in bed, one way or another. It was half past four, the world was still quiet and far away when Porter made yet another lapse in the middle of their living room, ruined clothes the only reminder of what a night he had, the only proof of what he did and endured. There was never any other, he never talked about what he did, it was not for them to hear.
"You're not a part of this world, Treasure. And I can't be happier that you aren't. There's no place for good in what I'm doing."
Words kept spilling from his lips like the red wine did into chipped mugs one evening. They were both tired but the bottle was full. Shaky hands and late hour led to one thing, then another, and his shirt and the couch they were sitting on, the very same that he slept on so many times, got stained, dark crimson a personal offense to the pretty blue shade of the corduroy. It never got clean enough, the stain remaining just like the bitter aftertaste of the poor quality semi dry wine they bought together, not bothering to read the label. Mistakes were made that night, many of which they cherished quietly.
Porter was anything but quiet, his words tasting just the same as that awful wine.
"Sure, Sam was never too occupied with clan's matter but he held a title of importance. He had a role to play out, even if it was only for looks, and he allowed him to step aside too. No consequences, nothing. Just a nod and acceptance, loss already calculated." his hand brushed his hair, slicking them back, black strands falling right over his face, making him practically growl, flame of his patience dwindling like the last seconds of an almost burnt candle.
"But not me. No, never me, because why would he care about my opinion on anything? I'm never given a choice, just another "take care of it" or "I'm counting on you Porter" and a wave of his hand for me to leave. I don't even get a look from him when he tells me that! Nothing!" he was full on shouting now, a ceramic vase on their coffee table shaking because the loss of his control. They've never seen him so...emotional. He was many things and this was not one of them.
"And you're mad because of it." an obvious statement, one that made him laugh out loud.
"Of course I'm mad! I'm mad because I shouldn't be and that's the worst part! It's not my place to dictate any terms, he's the King! I'm not an equal to them at all but I wish I was! I wish I at least had the option to choose. To make my decision. They all could, so why the hell not me?" he knew why. But the answer only hurt more.
He stopped for a moment, an annoyed snarl leaving his lips, his hands tugged at the messy strands getting in his eyes.
"I don't get to leave. Everybody gets to but no, not me. They can cut ties, drop the bomb and just...vanish while I'm stuck in the same fucking spot, waking every day to the same shit because in everybody's eyes, I amount to nothing! I'm not a Prince or Duke or any other stupid title he gives away like candy!"
Everybody left him. His mother, back when he was still a stupid little kid and didn't understand how life worked. His sister, that hurt back then and still did, wound never healed, the closure never enough. Even his maker left him to fend for himself, invocations thrown from left to right, any mistake, however small, treated with utmost penance despite him not knowing any better. Everybody left him and they would too, sooner or later after recognising him for what he truly was.
Just a monster nobody wanted for he had nothing to offer beside the blade he carried and blood he could spill.
"It's unfair. It's unfair and I don't know why I keep believing something will finally change when it never does." his voice finally cracked fully, he heard it too because he hid his face in the trembling hands, steps carrying him in front of them, legs buckling and bringing him to his knees, the beautiful face still hidden from the shame of being so openly vulnerable. A new territory he didn't know how to thread on, thin ice crackling under his feet, threatening to drop him into the freezing cold water of realisation he was too much.
"I'm just tired of fighting. I've done it since I can remembered and...and I'm tired. It can't stop, I can't ask for it to stop because I won't be needed then, and if I'm not needed, what's the point of keeping me around? I'm just a blade to him. Useful as long as it is sharp." his head dropped down onto their lap, cheek pressed against the bare thigh, skin warm and soft despite the late hour and slight chill of the night.
"And I don't think it's sharp anymore."
"Don't say that." he shook his head, still hiding away from them. He was right, they had to accept it. Sooner the better.
"I was never good enough. Not to my father, not when I tried to find Dana, not when I was trying to escape Felix. And when I thought I'm finally, finally doing something right, it's...nothing."
Just a gaping hole that yearned for praise which was never his to have.
"I'm just a tool in his eyes and it's all I'll ever be." he laughed, altough it was shortlived, sounding more like a try to mask the pain in his voice. It didn't work at all, it didn't fool them and it didn't fool him. No matter how much he tried to hide, the worst was already spoken and it scared him.
"Haven't I earned more? Haven't I given enough already?" his copper eyes turned glassy, one tear slipping past the long eyelashes, mixing with the raw pain and feeling of utter lost. He was out in the open, all weak points uncovered and his shoulders shaking at the thought of them being used against him.
