@witchoflegends || Cont.

@witchoflegends​ || cont.

at first, all that she is capable of giving back is just a nod, a little more than a shake, and that’s it. glassy eyes and fast paced breathing—not frantic ! no, already past that part at least. not the calm, eased inhales of someone at peace with their own minds either. but also not the suffocated gasps of survival that once were. she stops, collects herself. “ sorry… ” and she means it, the guilt of waking him up faint but present even when this dynamic has been a constant since infancy. but she can’t help it, no. she’d like to make a promise of uneventful nights but that hasn't happened yet. not through all these years, and not with that restless mind of hers.

but her brother’s bed starts to have an effect on hers, or so she’d like to believe. soon, the fear in the back of her mind meets with the possibility of safety ( so scarce in the own silence of her room ) and although not quite there yet, she dares to speak. all in the name of distracting herself, just a little. “ were you... dreaming—about something? ”

Sara Barnard, A Quiet Kind of Thunder

(   cam   )

        * * *

 His eyes closed tightly as her fingers brushed through his hair, the simple comfort of that gesture rolling over him in waves. Camniel found some of his tension melting away, letting her take a little more of his weight. He was tired. He was exhausted, and not just from the beating he’d received.

 The mental strain was taking its toll on him now, of defending Heaven for so long, of giving up everything he’d ever loved for the sake of duty. God, of course, was not involved in this equation anymore. She’d removed Herself. It was the high ranking angels that enforced the rules these days, and they ruled with an iron fist.

 It took a moment for him to realise she was talking to him, too wrapped up in her touch. Such a long time since he’d experienced this, the closeness to another, and that tiny press of lips against his temple- he’d never felt so weak in all his thousands of years in existence.

 Camniel gave a quiet huff of laughter against her shoulder, loathe to move away from her so soon. He’d almost forgotten what he had to do, overcome by…temptation. A fist curled tightly, pressed against his own chest. His other hand reached for Reevah, gripping her arm as though she might melt away into thin air.

   “Coffee.” He managed, finally, his voice still strained. “A very strong, very black coffee. Please.”

 Despite the quiet request, he didn’t want to let her go to prepare it. He didn’t want to let her go at all.

        * * *

it’s a strange thing, this. she can’t help but ponder all about it as seconds pass and the world forgets about them, turns a blind eye whether merciful or accidental on the strangest miracle. a trespass, as we’ve been told, yet—worthy of so much observation as i’d dare to propose. now, before time betrays us and no room is left for pauses and explanations. for thoughts about who they are, and the way her hand runs along his head ( finger first, then the palm and her thumb drawing patterns where it lands; so certain, sometimes, so suddenly clueless at others. then changing ).

for the thing was—she came to realize ( in flashes she dared not retain for too long in her own mind ) that this body of hers, once created for love and protection, had long ago been used and trained and destined to many a thing different to the motions of quiet intimacy. devoid of the slightest chance, laughed at even when a lover hinted such preferences. no, hers was a nature for violence and intensity, for cruelty and hurt. and yet—let’s emphasize on this, and yet—here she was, wasn’t she? here she was entangled with him, not struggling, not burning, not physically fighting the strangeness of this situation. feeling a bit awkward perhaps, like anyone new to love would be testing the limits of their body ( was she doing it right? was there a more comfortable position where she should move him, perhaps? ) but definitely not living any of the consequences that the creatures of the underworld expected from these repulsed actions. the untold lie nevertheless spread among their vicious minds. 

in fact… she found herself quite at peace. strangely alright. as if the comfort he had seemingly found had managed to enter her body as well. along with a little warmth in her chest, and a fast paced rhythm in the cavity of her heart. moving her, lifting her up. 

“ tea, coffee. stained water, it’s the same thing. ” she blurted with a growing smile, relief masked behind confidence, and perhaps, that bit of nonsense she much needed after all that thinking. all that silence in the world. “ i’ll probably need to look up for the instructions on the phone anyways. ever—thought on getting on of those fancy ‘ put-one-capsule-get-one-macchiato ‘ by pressing just one button or something? ugh, the things they do smell so good. ”

ah, but there it was. several seconds too late and vividly in the way he held her arm: with a strength that in no way spoke of a troubled sentiment buried and ready to be forgotten. no, she didn’t know what it was either, what to call it. the desperation she saw in his eyes, and the terrible knot it transported into her guts. unexpected, unknown. 

but why?

“ cam, hey… ” a hand going to his grip, but cowering away the second she felt his muscles, the tension under his skin. “ what’s wrong? hey—hey talk to me… ” she insisted. her body, formerly half-ready to get up went back to kneeling in front of him, a marked crease in-between her brows and a pair of eyes tempted to search the answer in the different corners of his face.

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(   mysterio   )

Quentin rose a brow at the boy’s words. That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. “Peter…” he began, fighting the amusement that wanted to peek through at his condition. “This isn’t a hostage situation. I’m not barricading you in. The two of you can leave. I’m not going to stop you.” But it would certainly be a mistake for Peter to make. Because if Peter didn’t play his part yet again, him and his friends were going to have to pay the price.

To prove his good intentions, he stepped to the side slightly. Giving the girl enough room to leave if she so chose to. Anything to make him seem less threatening in this moment. A predator eyeing up its prey the way a wolf hides in sheep’s clothing. He needed Peter to trust him. Everything would go so much smoother if Peter trusted him. Believed in him the way he believed in Tony fucking Stark. After all, if he was going to be the next Iron Man, it was almost too fitting if he took his protege under his wing as well.

“You probably think terribly of me. I don’t blame you, but nothing is without reason. The world has been a little messed up since the blip. Everyone trying to makeup for all those lost years. They’re scared and unsure. People need something to believe in.”

everything—every single bit in him fights to remain as focused as he is right now. tense, aggravated. moved and forged by the findings he and mj made just a moment ago and that could mean so many things—so many DARK, DIFFICULT, bad things. and if he had been any other ! one is tempted to think, if any other had been the man standing in front of him it would have been so much easier to distrust and remain enraged by the situation. so much easier to not give in to the niceness of his words and the way he moves—steps aside and assures them of the freedom they still have. but—at the same time, there’s something about him that starts to bring down his walls. something… so civil, so concerned, so genuine. he states that she can go and there’s not a threat he can perceive, not a lie he ought to anticipate, and although he wouldn’t want to ! he is distracted by that. he is distracted now, and even more when she grasps his forearm and he turns to her with a silent exchange of stares. she doesn’t want to go and she begs her to leave; she asks if he’s really sure and he is ( but you are not, i am, you are not, i am ! go, please, go ) he thinks she doesn’t buy it in the end but she agrees all the same, she’s smart like that. smarter than everyone he knows really, and he only hopes she’s smart enough not to do something that could compromise the safety of everyone here.

hopefully, that is.

michelle leaves and he quickly shoots the door so his webs are there to interfere with anyone who’d want to enter his room. all of his attention completely now on the man waiting for him, just a few steps ahead. “ maybe. okay ! maybe. but—if that’s what they need, they—they have heroes already. thor, and the falcon, and that—that one king guy with ladies soldiers and all his armies and everything. and i—i know there’s a lot of talking about who—” but he has to stop himself right there. a memory, one coming too soon and too sharply for his still scarring self. almost too fast for him to completely stop before saying it. “ about who—who’ll be the next... iron man and—everything, but— ” he forces—pushes himself to say, but he can’t. 

he wants to but he can’t—say it, verbalize it. even thinking about him becomes too hard to even try for too long right now.

“ please, can’t we stop this? it’s—it’s not right, and you know what? if we talk to fury maybe he’ll understand—i’ll help you make him understand—we just— ”