Prompt Post 2.0
With the season finale behind us I figure we'll have an explosion of prompts soon. So, new prompt post. Please post any new prompts in this post. But you can always find fic or fill more prompts in the original prompt post.
Rules!1) One prompt per post, please! If you have multiple prompts, no worries, just make separate posts for each. Please ( Read more... )
Rules!1) One prompt per post, please! If you have multiple prompts, no worries, just make separate posts for each. Please ( Read more... )
Water is drawn from his lungs in a stream. He feels it before he sees it. When he inhales again the air grates, sticks down his throat. His back arches. He can't breathe properly, struggles to escape his own ribs, knows something must have snapped already but can't identify what.
His shoulders are being clamped together, restricted. He gasps, tries to cough as everything burns as his face burns. He tilts, off-balance in his own skull. The grip does not lessen even though he can't feel his right side at all, it's numb and the breath drives into him harder, irregular, uneven like a saw. Something else bubbles out through his lips--hot and wet and thick. He can't see. There are dark shapes flaring in front of his eyes. Spirits, his face is burning his eyes are burning the vice around him remains let me breathe I can't, I can't ( ... )
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He still misses him. He misses the boy who closed his parka against the cold, who taught him to fish, who would whisper ghost stories at night when their parents thought them asleep. Who was willing to stand against their father but in the next moment abandoned him to the storm.
Tarrlok is not a child anymore. It shouldn’t serve as a constant reminder that he is and has always been unworthy, unwelcome.
Pathetic.
Amon no longer knew him, loved only the idea of his brother as a last resort. If the revolution had ended differently he still might be rotting away in that cell, a different cell. They had become strangers to each other standing on opposite sides of a war. Of course it mattered. He will never understand how Noatak could imagine otherwise.
He wants to hate him.
He wants to plead for forgiveness.
He wants to see him again and never see him again.
He wants to be free.
And yet, like a caged animal, he’s afraid of what freedom will cost.
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This was beautiful, anon. In a sad, torturous way. ;)
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