So sorry, long nights have fried my brains. This has taken on a much crazier loop and this ended up happening. //runs away to hide forever, shamed
5/5
----
Even through the many years, he remains beautiful.
The rain is loud, outside the window, a pitter-patter symphony upon tiles and glass.
Martin was lying on the bed, pale and limp, and quieter than Douglas has ever seen him. The paleness is unsettling, as is the coldness in his limbs when Douglas touches him. His hair was damp, a horrifying mess of tangles plastered to his pale skin, his clothes soggy and soaking into the bed sheets. Smoothing the captain’s hair back from his face, he presses his warm hands to his forehead, his cheeks, trying to coax warmth back into his captain’s lifeless body. He surveys him, the closed eyes and pale lips, and feels for a pulse in his neck and wrist.
The fact that this isn’t the first time that Douglas has found him in this state does not make the situation any less horrifying. It reminds him of charred corpses, of a man that he loves, left in a bloody mess beneath tons of stones, his face unrecognizable, mutilated, or of a bloated body, left to rot beneath water with the pond weeds. The fact that Martin had inflicted the punishment by his own hand to himself does not make it any more reassuring, nor does it do anything to sooth the pain in his heart. At least, this was still something that he could fix, unlike a charred corpse, black and crisp, or a mangled body, twisted and broken and maimed beyond recognition.
Getting up, he fetches a towel from where he knows Martin keeps them, and carefully dries his hair. Martin does not stir, or wake, but the warmth in his chest and the steady, slow beating of his heart beneath his hand is enough to calm Douglas down. He once thought that time would diminish the love that he has for him, but instead the heart grows fonder, and he learns sentimentality, learns selfishness, and greed, even as he carefully tousles the red hair dry, pats the towel over pale cheeks.
He is still as pretty as the day that Douglas had found him, a porcelain doll abandoned upon the ground, naked as the day that he was born, creamy skin smeared with equal parts mud and equal parts blood, unseeing blue eyes gazing upwards at the skies, a prayer lingering just past his lips, a whisper of a wish, a plead.
He had answered, and he had taken, and given. Taken him, kept him, throughout the many lifetimes and centuries past. Witnessed the joy, the pain, and the horror, an unrequited love story that repeats itself on the pages of Humanity’s time, over and over again, if someone like him would know of the concept of love. It is a foreign concept, and a strange one, but if Humanity has it, he must have dreamed of it, somehow.
They are all dreamers, in a way, but he is the Oldest - the First, to dream of the world that they now live in.
The humans, the wee little things, have many names for him. Gods, Deities, Fairies, he is all of them and yet none at all, and is simply content to live among them, sharing the living dream.
He sets the towel aside, and carefully removes Martin’s soaked through clothes, peeling them away from the chilled skin and depositing them on the floor, before wiping the towel over the newly exposed skin as well. His chest remains unmarked, but he does not think that souls will ever leave any indication of them having been there once, except for sadness, and grief, and a terrible, aching, loneliness that lasts throughout for as long as it takes to accept and forget.
It is pure selfishness and greed when he made the decision to keep him, keep this breathtakingly beautiful and fragile soul by his side. Caged him, and trapped him to suffer eternity with him. To witness humanity – the joys, the happiness, the miracles and the hope, together with the anger, the pain, the horrors that unleash upon themselves to each other by their own hands, each one more terrifying and gruesome than the last as time progresses.
It is a minor comfort that Martin does not remember, that he is still allowed to start his life anew each and every time, but even that will not come to last, even as the humans’ belief in Douglas fades with each passing year and day, his powers diminishing, and the dreams dimming.
The fact that this pitiful, beautiful creature was suffering was completely and entirely his fault, and yet he cannot find it in himself to regret his decision.
Somehow, without quite remembering how, he had gotten it back into Martin, even as its colour fades, its edges blurring, and had settled rather contentedly back into its vessel. Shock does not quite agree with Douglas’ age, and he had to confirm, again and again that Martin’s heart was beating normally again. The kind and vulnerable heart that had been betrayed, hurt, and used for so many countless lifetimes, beating on for another repeat of history.
Grief has always been the price of love.
And as his own power diminishes, and his own existence fades, Martin pays the price for being forced to remain in the loop of time over and over, to consume the energy and the material of souls in return for his own remaining pure and strong enough to withstand the wear and tear and friction of immaterial dimensions. It is a burden, a heavy price to exact, and one that kills him each and every time, and it is one that Douglas will willingly continue to make him pay for as long as he continues to exist in this world.
It has been a weary existence, for Douglas, for the recent few centuries, and he feels himself fading, the dreams ebbing away, his own hold over his power slipping. It won’t be long now, he knows, sensing the end of a dream, a world that had lived and dragged on past its prime. He brushes fingertips over Martin’s closed eyelids, and breathes a kiss upon his cold lips.
And for as long as it takes until then, their pitiful existence will continue, living off of weakening dreams, of the taint and filth, waking up each day to a tomorrow that will bring more pain, and sorrow, and grief, that he knows.
And for every day, he will be with Martin. Watching him, supporting him, until he is no more, and neither will Martin.
The captain will wake, eventually, and he will have to explain, to reassure him, and allow him to know that it is fine, that everything will be alright. He will remain by his side, keeping his secret for him, shouldering his burden of guilt and pain together with him, until the day he breathes his last, and draws in a new one again with the prospect of a new life, and repeated histories, and Douglas will keep him safe, for as long as he is able. To watch over, watch over the little monster that he had created in the name of love, from the day he had set eyes upon him in the dirt and rain, an unnamed emotion taking his breath away.
Not long now, perhaps just a few lifetimes more, he thinks, as Martin’s lashes flutter, the man groaning quietly as he wakes once more in a world that he does not want to exist in.
Fill 5/5
5/5
----
Even through the many years, he remains beautiful.
The rain is loud, outside the window, a pitter-patter symphony upon tiles and glass.
Martin was lying on the bed, pale and limp, and quieter than Douglas has ever seen him. The paleness is unsettling, as is the coldness in his limbs when Douglas touches him. His hair was damp, a horrifying mess of tangles plastered to his pale skin, his clothes soggy and soaking into the bed sheets. Smoothing the captain’s hair back from his face, he presses his warm hands to his forehead, his cheeks, trying to coax warmth back into his captain’s lifeless body. He surveys him, the closed eyes and pale lips, and feels for a pulse in his neck and wrist.
The fact that this isn’t the first time that Douglas has found him in this state does not make the situation any less horrifying. It reminds him of charred corpses, of a man that he loves, left in a bloody mess beneath tons of stones, his face unrecognizable, mutilated, or of a bloated body, left to rot beneath water with the pond weeds. The fact that Martin had inflicted the punishment by his own hand to himself does not make it any more reassuring, nor does it do anything to sooth the pain in his heart. At least, this was still something that he could fix, unlike a charred corpse, black and crisp, or a mangled body, twisted and broken and maimed beyond recognition.
Getting up, he fetches a towel from where he knows Martin keeps them, and carefully dries his hair. Martin does not stir, or wake, but the warmth in his chest and the steady, slow beating of his heart beneath his hand is enough to calm Douglas down.
He once thought that time would diminish the love that he has for him, but instead the heart grows fonder, and he learns sentimentality, learns selfishness, and greed, even as he carefully tousles the red hair dry, pats the towel over pale cheeks.
He is still as pretty as the day that Douglas had found him, a porcelain doll abandoned upon the ground, naked as the day that he was born, creamy skin smeared with equal parts mud and equal parts blood, unseeing blue eyes gazing upwards at the skies, a prayer lingering just past his lips, a whisper of a wish, a plead.
He had answered, and he had taken, and given. Taken him, kept him, throughout the many lifetimes and centuries past. Witnessed the joy, the pain, and the horror, an unrequited love story that repeats itself on the pages of Humanity’s time, over and over again, if someone like him would know of the concept of love. It is a foreign concept, and a strange one, but if Humanity has it, he must have dreamed of it, somehow.
They are all dreamers, in a way, but he is the Oldest - the First, to dream of the world that they now live in.
The humans, the wee little things, have many names for him. Gods, Deities, Fairies, he is all of them and yet none at all, and is simply content to live among them, sharing the living dream.
He sets the towel aside, and carefully removes Martin’s soaked through clothes, peeling them away from the chilled skin and depositing them on the floor, before wiping the towel over the newly exposed skin as well. His chest remains unmarked, but he does not think that souls will ever leave any indication of them having been there once, except for sadness, and grief, and a terrible, aching, loneliness that lasts throughout for as long as it takes to accept and forget.
It is pure selfishness and greed when he made the decision to keep him, keep this breathtakingly beautiful and fragile soul by his side. Caged him, and trapped him to suffer eternity with him. To witness humanity – the joys, the happiness, the miracles and the hope, together with the anger, the pain, the horrors that unleash upon themselves to each other by their own hands, each one more terrifying and gruesome than the last as time progresses.
It is a minor comfort that Martin does not remember, that he is still allowed to start his life anew each and every time, but even that will not come to last, even as the humans’ belief in Douglas fades with each passing year and day, his powers diminishing, and the dreams dimming.
The fact that this pitiful, beautiful creature was suffering was completely and entirely his fault, and yet he cannot find it in himself to regret his decision.
Somehow, without quite remembering how, he had gotten it back into Martin, even as its colour fades, its edges blurring, and had settled rather contentedly back into its vessel. Shock does not quite agree with Douglas’ age, and he had to confirm, again and again that Martin’s heart was beating normally again. The kind and vulnerable heart that had been betrayed, hurt, and used for so many countless lifetimes, beating on for another repeat of history.
Grief has always been the price of love.
And as his own power diminishes, and his own existence fades, Martin pays the price for being forced to remain in the loop of time over and over, to consume the energy and the material of souls in return for his own remaining pure and strong enough to withstand the wear and tear and friction of immaterial dimensions. It is a burden, a heavy price to exact, and one that kills him each and every time, and it is one that Douglas will willingly continue to make him pay for as long as he continues to exist in this world.
It has been a weary existence, for Douglas, for the recent few centuries, and he feels himself fading, the dreams ebbing away, his own hold over his power slipping. It won’t be long now, he knows, sensing the end of a dream, a world that had lived and dragged on past its prime. He brushes fingertips over Martin’s closed eyelids, and breathes a kiss upon his cold lips.
And for as long as it takes until then, their pitiful existence will continue, living off of weakening dreams, of the taint and filth, waking up each day to a tomorrow that will bring more pain, and sorrow, and grief, that he knows.
And for every day, he will be with Martin. Watching him, supporting him, until he is no more, and neither will Martin.
The captain will wake, eventually, and he will have to explain, to reassure him, and allow him to know that it is fine, that everything will be alright. He will remain by his side, keeping his secret for him, shouldering his burden of guilt and pain together with him, until the day he breathes his last, and draws in a new one again with the prospect of a new life, and repeated histories, and Douglas will keep him safe, for as long as he is able. To watch over, watch over the little monster that he had created in the name of love, from the day he had set eyes upon him in the dirt and rain, an unnamed emotion taking his breath away.
Not long now, perhaps just a few lifetimes more, he thinks, as Martin’s lashes flutter, the man groaning quietly as he wakes once more in a world that he does not want to exist in.
And until then, I’m sorry.
Je’taime.