#OC: Vax Vũ-Verdant | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

abelflints · 1 year ago

Text

I already reacted to this, but you know what, I'm gonna do it again, about some lines...

I really can't articulate anything other than screaming currently but ahhh, ehe I asked for angst and you delivered--

Also, this line... about wanting the world to burn, and to hurt in the way he had been hurt-- shook me because I wrote a similar line in a fic I have never published about a vengeance AU Vax and so the fact that you were able to mirror his voice like that without even knowing about that is really cool.

🥺 🥺 🥺

Anyways, thankyou again! 🥺 I love it 🥰

He Would Have Won

This fic was written for @abelflints for the Choices 2023 gift exchange organized by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd!

WARNING: Extreme angst lies ahead, ye be warned!

Fandom: It Lives Pairing: Lincoln x MC Word Count: 6957 Concept: What if Matthias succeeded in killing MC and made them into his anchor?

If you prefer Ao3, you can find the fic HERE.

The playlist accompanying the gift can be found HERE.

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations

***

He would have won.

If he hadn’t gone stupid and fallen in love, then he wouldn’t have panicked when he saw that gray-faced horror tear her teeth into Lincoln’s shoulder. He would have been able to turn away from the pooling blood that dribbled down Lincoln’s arm and focus on his fight. He wouldn’t have abandoned everything he was doing to get to Lincoln’s side, now, before it was too late and he bled out and this reason for living was gone.

But he had fallen in love, and he did panic when he saw Lincoln get bitten. He didn’t turn away from the sight of blood against gray fabric—he moved toward it. Mouth, frozen in a scream; hand, outstretched. He ran for Lincoln, he ripped the horror off of him, he threw her to the ground—

“Are you alright Lincoln?”

But he was no longer watching his back.

“Vax, behind you!”

Lincoln’s warning came too late. Vax’s breath hitched as a searing pain tore through his entire core. He looked down. A bloodstained knife protruded from his chest.

His mouth tasted like iron. His vision began to spin.

“No, Vax… no…”

Vax’s knees buckled, but Lincoln caught him before he hit the ground.

“No no no no no…”

Vax lifted a weary hand to Lincoln’s face. Speaking was difficult, but he managed to say, “Your— shoulder—”

Tears brimmed Lincoln’s eyes. “My shoulder is fine, don’t worry about my shoulder.”

Vaz coughed specks of blood. “Be— okay—”

Then Matthias was grabbing him, dragging him to the altar— Lincoln was being held back by Matthias’s minions— he was on his knees, begging his father to please stop this, to give Vax back to him—

And then… that was that. Matthias won. Vax was dead.

He would have won, if only he hadn’t fallen in love.

But he did. He’d never say it, of course, but anyone who knew him knew that’s what it was. It manifested by the way he worried over Lincoln’s shoulder, even as he was dying, or the way that he was always aware of what Lincoln needed and did all in his power to meet those needs.

Maybe it was this love—so endless and monumental—that led to what happened next, or maybe it would have happened in any world where Vax became Matthias’s anchor. But the facts were this: Vax was only sort of dead, and anyone who’d ever known him in any way, knew it.

***

(continued under the cut)

The sun had barely risen, its warm reds, yellows, and pinks glinting off the crystalline ocean surface, when the man sensed it: a presence, distant and altered, but unmistakable all the same.

He rose from where he lay in his bed, draped between two other sleeping bodies, and crossed the lavish room to stare across the beach and into the tranquil waves—to stare west. As he did, it appeared once more, a pulse in his chest, a tugging, a thrashing, violent and raw and furious.

A slight smile tugged at his lips. “I was wondering how long it would take you to awaken.”

The sheets behind him rustled as the man and woman with whom he had shared his bed began to groggily awaken. They were nothing, really, just some playthings to pass the time with, but in this moment they were interrupting something important. Something sacred.

“Are you alright?” called the woman.

Matthias turned to them, a cruel glint in his ice blue eyes. “Leave me.”

“But—”

“Now. Before I lose my patience.”

They knew nothing of who he had been, without the slightest idea of the power he held. But at the edge in his voice, they both obediently rose to their feet, their silken robes loose against their skin, and darted from the room.

Matthias was alone once more. Or was he?

He stepped toward the window and pressed his palm against the glass. “Try to wake up,” he taunted as the waves crashed against the beach. A distant sense of anger from a source so very far away crept into the air around Matthias.

All it managed to do was make him smirk. “You always were so very angry, weren’t you? I suppose that’s something that you and my son had in common.”

The curtains fluttered, though the windows were closed and no fans were turned on. Matthias chuckled to himself Even from the other side of the world, Vax’s power could still reach him. Yes, he had chosen his anchor very well, indeed.

***

The start of a new consciousness isn’t a sudden thing. It’s not like turning on the lights or opening your eyes, it isn’t darkness to brightness in an instant. No, it’s more like a sunrise; subtle rays of light dimly glimmering to life in the darkness until the entire sky gleams brilliantly from the sun.

And so it was no different for the sentience trapped deep beneath the earth in the mountains outside of Westchester—aside from the pain.

It started out as a dull throb, but the stronger the awareness grew, the stronger it became. It grew and grew, little by little, until the pain was blinding and all-consuming, a constant torrent of agony centered around one single point: the knife protruding from a heart that was no longer his. He was everywhere, and he was nowhere. He was looking down at himself in a pool of water—at the mess of his rotting, tattered clothes and dissolving, decomposed skin—and he was inside himself, looking up at a vortex of spiraling cyan.

Through the spinning confusion, only two things were clear: pain was everywhere, and his rage was burning hot.

Try to wake up…

The taunting words were distant, as if worlds away, but they struck him to the core. Fiery wrath exploded from within him and the cavernous chamber filled with cyan flames.

Y… o… u… the sentience thought. I… will… fi… nd… you…

His anger leaked out from the bottomless pit that was his existence, staining the air around him and shooting out in all directions. He was angry, he was alone, he was in pain, he wanted the world to burn, he wanted to hurt everyone the way he had been hurt—

Vax…?

A softer voice, a gentle presence, reached him, pulling all his attention for the briefest of moments before cutting through the fire within him and soothing him all the way down to his core. The anger dissipated until the only thing left was pain and the echo of a memory of having once loved…

***

Lincoln awoke to a gasp and an aching heart, the name of his fallen lover hiding in his lips.

The windows were streaked with rain, and gentle pattering sounded against the roof of his apartment bedroom. He sat up in bed, his loose hair hanging in his eyes, and took deep, calming breaths. The room was calm and dark, peaceful even. But he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was truly, deeply wrong.

His dream… Vax had been in it, hadn’t he? Lincoln could only remember vague details—something about being angry, perhaps? and pain, too—but he had the sense that his dream had both been very real, and very important.

He reached for his nightstand and blindly fumbled in the darkness for his phone. He wanted to listen to the voicemail Vax had left him, a voicemail that he kept even now, more than a year after Vax had passed. It never failed to offer him comfort and warmth whenever he felt overwhelmed. But before he could grab it, it started to buzz, the screen lighting up and casting a soft glow across the room. His brow furrowed.

Who the hell is calling me in the middle of the night?

Lincoln grabbed the phone and squinted, his eyes adjusting to the light as he read the name: Abel Flint. He stifled a yawn, then answered the phone. Before he even had the speaker against his ear, he heard Abel’s frantic voice on the other end, growing louder the closer the phone got to his face.

“—need to know if you’re alright!” Abel was saying, his normally deep voice now higher and panicked.

Lincoln grunted. “The hell are you talkin’ about, Flint?”

Abel paused. “So you’re okay?”

“I’m about to be less okay if you keep blabbering like that. I was asleep”—Lincoln broke himself off with a yawn, only continuing once it had passed—“and you’re calling me at… 5:30 in the morning.”

Lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating his sparsely decorated bedroom. On the other end of the line, Abel let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank god.”

Lincoln leaned back against the bed frame, the phone tucked against his shoulder. “Why? Were you expecting me to not be okay?”

“I guess you wouldn’t have heard about it if you were asleep.” Abel takes a breath, then says, “There was a pretty big earthquake in Las Vegas just a few minutes ago. If you turn on the news—”

Lincoln didn’t wait for him to finish. He was already running out to the living area of his apartment and turning on the TV. It immediately flipped onto the news channel, where the words BREAKING NEWS slowly scrolled across the bottom of the screen. The video displayed horrific destruction that made his breath catch: leveled houses, fractured streets, flattened businesses.

“I was worried something had happened to you,” Abel said quietly, pulling Lincoln’s attention away from the screen.

“No, I—I’m good.”

But he was rattled. That building there on the TV—he was certain it was a shopping mall he had visited just last week to shop for new clothes. One moment, everything had been calm and quiet, and the next, it was shaken with destruction. Snippets of his dream came back to him—fleeting recollections of the furious anger, and pain—and something inside of him felt that this destruction was somehow related to the feelings of that dream. It wasn’t without the realm of possibility, not with Lincoln’s connection to the Power.

“Are you going to be okay?” Abel asked. “Things look… pretty bad, Linc.”

“Yeah, they do.” And then, before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth, he said, “You’re in Westchester right now for Mercedes’ birthday aren’t you? Maybe I’ll come visit for the next few days. Just until things calm down here.”

If Abel was surprised by Lincoln’s sudden willingness to return to Westchester, he didn’t show it. He just said, “Yeah. I think that’d be a good idea.”

They chatted a while longer about light things, like Lincoln’s clients at the tattoo shop and how Abel’s siblings were doing and then hung up. By then, early morning light was spilling between the cracks of the curtains blocking Lincoln’s windows. Slowly, uncertainly, he crept toward them, and drew the curtains back.

He gasped at the sight.

The sky was covered in a dusty gray smog from the aftermath of the earthquake, and even just down the street he could see signs of the destruction: palm trees were split in half and lying in heaps on the ground, cars were totaled, and the driveway of a nearby house was cracked in two.

“What could have caused this…” he muttered to himself.

And then, as if in answer to his question, one word came floating unbidden to his mind: Vax.

Lincoln fell back from the window, his heart racing. That made no sense. How could Vax be responsible for any of this? He was dead, gone, and even when he was alive, he never could’ve caused destruction such as this. But then a feeling washed over him—familiar in its cool aloofness and fiery loyalty. It was the feeling of Vax’s aura, an aura that Lincoln had never felt anywhere except for at Vax’s side.

Perhaps that was the reason he’d volunteered so readily to visit Abel. Not to get away from the destruction in Vegas, but to be closer to Vax, to uncover if this earthquake had any ties to the life force being preyed upon deep within the Westchester caves.

Whatever the reason, Lincoln dropped the curtains and turned back to his bedroom. If he wanted to get to Westchester before dark tonight, he needed to start preparing for the trip.

***

The sun was warm against Lincoln’s face as he stepped out of his hotel located on Westchester Main Street the following morning. He’d arrived from Vegas late the night before, and he still wasn’t sure why. There was no other place that he hated more than this town and all its ghosts, and yet here he was. Drawn in by something that he could barely understand and explain even less.

He may have been using the excuse of the earthquake, but the fact that he knew Abel was here for the next month, visiting friends and family, made it easier for him to come. There was Connor, Devon, and Noah, but their time together had barely been over a month, and despite Connor’s attempts to reach out, Lincoln hadn’t been the best at staying in touch.

There was Jocelyn, too… but Lincoln had barely spoken to her since the memorial. He knew he shouldn’t blame her—his father had spent nearly three centuries mastering the art of manipulation and she was such an easy target—but that didn’t stop the questions from plaguing his mind. If Jocelyn had told them about her deception sooner, what would they have done differently? Would they have uncovered the full extent of Matthias’s treachery?

Would Vax still be alive?

He shook away the thought as he climbed onto his motorcycle and drove the short distance to Westchester’s favorite diner. Abel was already there when he arrived, of course, long legs tucked under a corner table with a mug of coffee in one hand and a tattered old book in the other.

He looked up as Lincoln entered, and his face lit up. Lincoln waved, quickly ordered his food, and then joined Abel at the table. Before allowing him to sit, Abel insisted on a hug, which Lincoln grumpily accepted.

“It’s good to see you again, Linc,” Abel said as he took his seat once more. His trademark grin was stretched across his face, as if sitting in this breakfast cafe with Lincoln was the best thing that could’ve happened to him.

“Good to see you too, Flint.” Lincoln set his coffee on the tabletop—an americano with a few drops of honey and a hint of cinnamon—and slid into the chair across from Abel. The chair was made of uncomfortable black metal, and the legs were uneven lengths, making it wobble back and forth with the slightest shifts under Lincoln’s weight.

“I’m so glad you decided to come,” Abel said, his cup halfway to his lips. He took a sip, then continued, “Mercedes will be thrilled that you’re here for her birthday. She still mentions at least once a week to me how happy she is that we’ve made up, and she’s constantly begging me to have you over while she’s here so she can see you again.”

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. “...Why?”

“She missed you, Linc! We used to do such fun things with my siblings. Blanket forts, Mario Kart tournaments—”

“Blow up pools in the backyard, horror stories in the attic—yeah, I remember,” Lincoln said, a smile stretching across his face. “I guess I did spend quite a bit of time with them when we were younger. It’ll be good to see them again.”

Conversation came easily between the two men as they chatted over their coffees and pastries. Many other patrons came and went, but Lincoln and Abel stayed. First it was an hour, and then it was two hours, and they were still there, chatting about their lives and their friends. They talked about Amalia’s successful application to law school, and Jocelyn’s upcoming graduation, and Lila and Dan’s engagement, and Connor’s new auto body shop. They talked about all the things that had happened in the near decade that they’d spent estranged from one another: about Abel’s few relationships and Lincoln’s many flings, about Lincoln’s tattoo mentor who had grown to be like a father and Abel’s professor who had never stopped encouraging him from pursuing a PhD.

They talked until their cups had been empty for so long that the paper cups were now cold and the conversation finally lulled.

Abel leaned forward, an air of solemnity descended upon him as he crossed his hands on the tabletop. “So. I’m surprised you decided to actually come here. I wouldn’t have expected even an earthquake to be enough to get you to come back.”

Lincoln shrugged, and the damned chair rocked backwards the tiniest of bits. “Maybe I realized that it was time.”

“Maybe so.” Abel’s dark eyes narrowed, and Lincoln knew he could tell that there was something else he wasn’t saying. “But why? What’s your real reason for coming back here, Linc? I know it’s not the earthquake.”

Lincoln opened his mouth to claim that yes, of course it was the earthquake, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the earnestest in his oldest friends face or the fact that they’d just spent nearly two hours talking about their lives and all the things they’d kept from each other for years. But instead of following his deep-set instincts and pushing back, Lincoln said something else instead.

“Something’s happening to the Power. It’s different. I don’t know how to explain it but, it’s like Vax…” He trailed off. He never spoke of Vax to anyone other than the stillness of the night. Even after his funeral, Lincoln had remained silent, preferring the therapy of a bottle to the therapy of warm remembrance. Yet here he was, sitting across from Abel at a diner, saying the words that had been building up inside him for months. “It’s like… he’s still here. I can feel his presence everywhere.”

Abel was silent for an extended moment, giving space for Lincoln to continue. When he didn’t, Abel cleared his throat. “I know it was hard for you to lose him. It was hard for all of us. It’s only natural that you’d still feel him nearby.”

Lincoln groaned. “Don’t try to tell me that these are just my emotions playing tricks on me. We both know that my psychometry allows me to sense the Power and auras around me. Besides, you used to see literal ghosts.”

“Wait…” Abel’s eyes widened. “You mean you can literally sense Vax? In a psychometry way, not just a grief way?”

Lincoln rolled his head back with a groan. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Yeah, I’m just here because of the earthquake, because—”

“It’s not stupid,” Abel interrupted, and one look at the solemnity in his eyes proved that he was being genuine. “You mean you think that Vax is sort of alive, somehow? Sort of like how Lila used to be alive after becoming that ghost, or Loha’s consciousness was able to speak to us after Vax removed the stake from her body?”

Lincoln nodded slowly. “Something like that. And I think… I think that the earthquake yesterday might’ve had something to do with him, too.”

Abel leaned back in his chair, his hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His eyes went distant like they always did whenever he was lost in thought, piecing together puzzle pieces and searching for answers. “If that earthquake ties back to Vax, then we have to do something about it.”

“I agree.” Lincoln got to his feet, his empty coffee cup in his hand. “That’s why I need to go back to the caves and see what’s happened to him. If something’s changing him—twisting him—then I might just be the only one who can get through to him.”

***

About a half hour later, Abel parked his car outside of the caves and turned off the engine. Heavy silence hung over them as they waited, for what, they weren’t sure.

“Are you sure you want to do this alone?” Abel finally said, breaking the tense stillness in the air.

“Of course I don’t want to do this alone. That’s why you’re here.”

“You know what I mean. Those caves…” Abel’s eyes dropped to the steering wheel, the corner of his lips tightly downturned. “There are memories in there, Lincoln. Memories that are difficult to face alone.”

Lincoln clapped Abel on the shoulder—a confident gesture, betrayed in tone only by the ever-so-slight trembling of his fingers. “All memories have to be faced sooner or later.”

“Even the corpses?”

Lincoln’s forced smile faded. Abel wasn’t referring to metaphorical corpses; he was talking about Vax. It was the reason Lincoln hadn’t gone back, not once, even though the others had ventured deep inside the caves to leave flowers, notes, and gifts for Vax’s memory. His body was there, a knife still stabbed through the mass of decomposing, waterlogged flesh and bone.

Lincoln wasn’t sure he could face seeing that corpse. But he knew that he had to try.

“Just wait out here for me,” Lincoln said. “If I need anything, I’ll send you a text.”

“You seriously think you’ll have service all the way down there?”

“...It’s possible?”

Abel sighed, but didn’t push further. Perhaps he could see in Lincoln’s eyes just how important this was for him. He remained in the car as Lincoln stepped out and crossed over the familiar mountain path with its dense pine trees and underbrush to the hole in the side of the mountain, gaping out from the rock like a jagged maw.

The last time Lincoln was here—

No. He wouldn’t think of it. The ghosts couldn’t come back, not yet, not until he had actually reached Vax and found answers for the questions that hung over his head.

Lincoln closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped into the caves.

The moment he was inside, he could feel it—the Power. It hummed in the caves, dense and overbearing, and yet so familiar all the same. He pressed one hand against the rock and using his gift, he quickly navigated the maze of twisted rock and dense, stony chambers until he reached the Power source at the heart of it all.

The chamber glowed with an otherworldly light, bathing the walls with aqua rays and rippling across the still surface of the small spring in the center of the chamber. Behind the body of water was the breach—a flickering, pulsating mass of cyan light and energy that was so thick and heavy, it was almost a concrete, physical thing.

And there, partly submerged in the luminescent pool of water, was Vax. Or what was left of him, anyway. A tattered, disintegrating leather trench coat, stubbornly clinging to decrepit human remains… Lincoln forced his gaze up from the corpse and to the breach above it. He took a step forward—

And froze. The feeling in the air… it was so strong and familiar that it took Lincoln’s breath away.

Because he was right. Vax was there, and not in the way that someone’s ashes keep their presence alive or your mind thinks you hear the voice of someone you lost long after they’re gone. Vax was there. Not quite alive but not quite dead, existing alongside the Power, infusing it with such Vax-ness that Lincoln knew he could never unsee it.

He approached the glowing rift and carefully held out a hand.

“Vax?” he said softly.

Silence, and then—

The softest moan swept through the cavern, carried on a wind that had no source. It brushed against Lincoln’s face, caressed his cheek, tossed aside the strands of hair hanging in his face.

Lincoln’s breath caught, and his knees grew weak. He lost his balance and started to fall toward the breach, but a force, gentle as a breeze but powerful as a storm, kept him upright. Lincoln’s heart caught and hope filled his chest. He lifted his eyes to see who had caught him—

But no one was there. At least no one who was alive.

“Vax… I know you’re here with me.” A hollow whistle echoed throughout the chamber and Lincoln’s shirt collar fluttered. “Do you remember me? It’s me, Lincoln.” The water rippled, but still nothing that Lincoln could understand. So he reached out once more and held his hand in the light of the glowing breach.

At once the world faded and Lincoln found himself somewhere else—a plane of nothingness, an existence composed solely of blinding white light. He squinted against the brightness, his hand rising instinctively to shade his eyes, and that’s when he saw him. Vax.

He was standing right there, across the plane from Lincoln. His hair was the same bright pink it had always been, and he was wearing the same black leather and silvery jewelry that he always did. But the look in his eyes… it was one of pure pain, of agony. One eye twisted shut in a silent scream while the other was a gaping, bloody socket that streaked scarlet down his face.

But he was there.

A sob weighed heavily on Lincoln’s throat and he tripped forward. “Vax!” he called out. Vax’s single eye shot wide open, and Lincoln reached for him, anticipation filling him at the prospect of having Vax in his arms once more. But when he tried to touch him, his hands passed right through him as if he were nothing more than vapor, and he collapsed in a heap onto the misty white void.

Vax gasped at the near contact. When he tried to speak, his voice was fractured, shattered, like he’d lost the parts of himself that he’d once used to express himself.

“L… nc…” he choked out.

Lincoln rose to his feet, his former hope and anticipation nothing but splintered remains. But he tried to push the disappointment aside. He may not fully understand what was happening, but Vax was here. It was more than he’d had in over a year.

“Vax,” he said again, gentler this time.

He took in Vax’s face, and now that he looked closer he could see that there was a wrongness about it. It wasn’t the same Vax he had known. Despite the brightness of the void around him, a shadow hung over Vax’s brow, and his entire face was twisted with bottomless pain. And his eyes… it was like they were seeing everything and nothing at the same time, staring at Lincoln while simultaneously staring through him.

But Lincoln didn’t back away. He stepped closer, until his forehead was mere inches from Vax’s own transparent one.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Lincoln said, his voice soft and gentle.

Vax’s ragged breath shuddered and a ripple passed over his face. “Why… y… ou… come…”

“Because I will always be at your side whenever you need me. In life or in death, I will always be there for you. We promised each other, Vax. Do you remember?”

Vax’s expression was blank, no hint of recollection anywhere in his face. So Lincoln remembered for him.

Images flashed through his mind. Moonlight filtering through a shuttered window— different shades of intertwined skin— soft lips upon a neck—

And then the words drifted in: “You give me the strength to live, just for the honor of staying by your side” and “I am yours” and finally, “In life or in death, always know that I will be there for you.”

A blip passed over Vax, like some sort of glitch. Within the next second he was yards back, on his knees and clutching his forehead as he screamed out in pain, but before Lincoln could react, he flickered right back to where he had been standing. But this time, the shadow was gone from his face. The wrongness was still there, but it was less pronounced. Lincoln could see the Vax he knew in his beautiful, familiar features.

“Lincoln…” Vax said.

“I’m here.”

A smile flickered across Vax’s lips, but then it dropped as soon as it came and he groaned in pain.

“It hurts,” he whispered, hands fisting over his heart. There was nothing there in this projection of his body apart from a crimson stain that seeped from the center of his chest. “It hurts so badly.”

“I know it does, Vax. I know.” Lincoln stepped closer. “Is there anything I can do to make it hurt less?”

Vax shook his head, his arms wrapping around himself. “It’s impossible. This pain will never go away. It’s endless.”

“I’m so sorry.” Lincoln knew it was pointless, but he couldn’t resist. He reached a hand out to Vax’s cheek, and his fingers passed through, just as he expected. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“Every single second it’s nothing but agony… and fury…” A shadow passed over Vax’s face, and pure rage flickered in his remaining cyan eye. “He did this to me. Matthias…”

And Lincoln could feel it somewhere deep inside him—a distant rumbling and quaking earth—as Vax’s anger pooled out in all directions. With a spark of understanding, Lincoln realized without any doubt what had caused the earthquake. He didn’t know how, or why, but Vax’s pain was so great that it could reach far and wide, causing devastation and death without him even realizing it.

As his mind drifted to the fallen buildings and smoky sheen of debris back in Las Vegas, Vax’s eye widened in horror. He must’ve seen Lincoln’s memories, just like he’d seen the memories of their love.

“What is this?” he asked, but from the look on his face, Lincoln could tell he already knew.

Lincoln pushed the thoughts away. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“I… caused this?”

“No,” Lincoln insisted with a firm shake of his head. “It wasn’t your fault. You’ve been hurt, tortured. You can’t realize what you’re doing.”

“So much death and destruction, all because of me…” Vax’s incorporeal form shuddered and he shrunk back. “I did this. I’m a monster. I never wanted to be this thing, I never wanted to hurt people, I—”

“You’re not a monster, Vax. My father is the monster. Not you. Never you. And I’ll come here every single day if that’s what it takes to remind you.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Vax was flinching backward, a visceral horror etched onto his features. “No. You can’t do that, Lincoln, I would never ask that of you! I’m not really here, living a life with me won’t make you happy. It wouldn’t be real.” At his agitation, the blood in Vax’s chest gurgled and more spilled out across his chest. “You can’t give up your life to be stuck in the past with me. I won’t let you.”

“If me being here with you is what it takes to get your mind off the pain or to convince you that you’re not the monster you fear you are, I’ll gladly live the rest of my life in this dream.”

“Don’t be stupid, Lincoln.”

“But—”

Before Lincoln could say anything else, the world around him began to dissolve, until he was watching the same scene from a different angle. He was up above, looking down on a vision of Vax and an older, unfamiliar man as they stood across from each other in the void. They weren’t touching—they couldn’t—and though Lincoln got the sense that the two had spent years like this in the void together, Vax’s pain and anger was no less than it was in reality.

“Look what I’ve done to you,” Vax’s voice murmured from below. “I should never have let you visit me like this. You’ve thrown your life away for nothing. Look how quickly being here has aged you.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” the other man said, and with a start, Lincoln realized he was looking down at himself. It was his voice—albeit weak with age—and his eyes. His hair was snow white, and his skin was sagging and wrinkled, but it was him. He’d spent his entire life tied to a ghost in a phantom world, and Vax’s anger and regret was even stronger than it was now.

“My life is mine to give, and I chose to give it to you,” the older Lincoln said. “As long as I’m alive, you shouldn’t have to suffer alone.”

“But soon you’ll be gone, and I’ll have to live the rest of eternity knowing that you shortened your own lifespan and dedicated the few years you had left because of me.” And though he was incorporeal, glistening, glowing tears glittered down Vax’s cheek. “I never wanted this for you.”

A stricken look passed over the older Lincoln’s face as he realized the truth in Vax’s words. He could dedicate his meager years to living by Vax’s side, but eventually, he would die. And when he did, Vax would be alone, and all that all remained with him would be the guilt that Lincoln had given up his life for him.

The faded until Lincoln was back in the void, standing across from Vax.

“Now do you see?” Vax asked. “The reason I don’t want you to stay here with me?”

Despite everything he’d just seen, Lincoln shook his head. “I don’t care. I’d do it, Vax. I’d do it for you!”

“No.” Vax’s eye flashed, and a pulse of energy rippled through the void. “Taking your life from you would truly make me a monster. I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me. I want you to live for me.”

The air vibrated as if confirming the truth of Vax’s words, but still Lincoln couldn’t bear to hear it.

“But what about you?” he asked. “I can’t leave you here alone. I need to help you remember who you used to be, to offer you something besides this constant misery.”

Vax’s lips pulled into the softest of smiles, so faint it was barely there but clear enough to speak volumes. “You already have. Just this brief moment with you is enough for me to hold onto and to remember why I can never give into my anger. This moment has given me all that I need to never lash out and hurt others again.”

“I need to take responsibility for this, Vax. It’s my fault you’re here. If I hadn’t allowed myself to get hurt, if I hadn’t let you love me—”

“You didn’t let me love you, Lincoln. I fought for the chance to, and eventually you gave in.” Vax’s expression faltered, his brow furrowing with worry. “But now, we have to move forward. We can’t be chained by these feelings, we have to accept them for how they were and move forward. You’re still alive, Lincoln, and you can’t waste your life away here with me. Even being here for as long as you have is taking its toll on you.”

Something inside Lincoln ached, and he knew that Vax was right. It was as if he could feel himself aging and growing weaker with each second he spent here. If he came back here, how long would it be before he turned into the man from the vision, old and stricken with years?

“You have to leave this place,” Vax said with a decisive nod. “If you won’t leave willingly, I’ll just have to make you.” He closed his eyes, and Lincoln felt the world around him start to shift.

“No, Vax, I’m not ready—”

“Promise me you’ll live, Lincoln. Knowing that you’re somewhere out there, still caring for me, is all that I need to endure this existence I’ve been sentenced to.”

Wind began to whip at Lincoln’s hair, and Vax’s body dimmed until it was nothing but a dense cloud.

“Vax…”

“Promise me you’ll move on and won’t come back to this place!” Vax’s voice boomed all around him, like it was everywhere and yet nowhere, all at once.

“I can’t—”

“Please, promise me!” His voice was desperate, and Lincoln couldn’t stand to be another cause of Vax’s pain. So he found himself shouting, “I promise!”

The chaos seemed to fade, and Vax offered a whispered “Thank you.”

When Lincoln opened his eyes once more, he was back in the Power chamber. The familiar presence was still there, warm as a caress, wrapped around him with a care, and faint words echoed throughout the stillness of the cavern:

“When everything else fades and nothing is left in this world, I will remain. And I will love you. When all living creatures have passed on and their memories with them, I’ll still be here. And I will remember you.” A gentle breeze stroked Lincoln’s face, and tears pooled in his eyes as he closed them. “You deserve every good thing this world has to offer, and I’m sorry that we couldn’t have the life together that we so desperately wanted. But at least in death, I can make sure that someone on this earth will always remember you, and will always love you.”

With these words following after him, he turned his back on Vax and made his way back out of the cavern, tears hanging from his eyelashes like tiny crystals.

Abel was pacing anxiously beside his car when Lincoln emerged from the cave, and he stopped abruptly the moment he saw Lincoln. “You made it!”

He ran for Lincoln just as Lincoln’s legs gave out beneath his weight. His breath was heavy, and his hair had fallen loose. Abel slung Lincoln’s arm around his shoulder and helped him walk back to the car.

“What happened?” Abel asked once they were both sitting in the car. “And Linc, your hair…”

Lincoln ran his fingers through the bangs falling in his face, pulling them into his line of sight, and his breath caught. A stripe of his dark hair had faded snowy white, as if only this part of himself had aged rapidly in the past hour.

“Whatever you did, it took its toll on you,” Abel said, his eyes sad.

“It…” Images, both terrible and beautiful, danced across Lincoln’s memory. If there were words to describe what he had just experienced, he did not have them. At least not yet. “It was him. He’s gone, but he’s here, and he needed me.”

Abel’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “Lincoln… You can’t become like Noah. Especially if visiting him ages you like this.”

“I won’t be like Noah. I…” Lincoln‘s breath shook, and he forced himself to continue. “I promised Vax that I wouldn’t come back here to see him anymore. He wants me to live, not to be shackled to a ghost.”

“Is that a promise you can keep?”

Lincoln’s hand tightened into a fist in his lap. “I know I can’t bring him back, and I know that spending my life with him is impossible. Even if he’s sort of here, he’s not really. Beignets together is nothing more than a dream that’s passed, and I’d be stupid to try to go back to it.”

Abel nodded, a clear look of relief on his face.

“He’s much more powerful than Loha ever was, and more capable of destruction when he’s angry and hurt,” Lincoln continued, “but I believe that seeing me today awoke something inside of him. We still can’t be together—that hasn’t changed—but that little moment together has changed both of us. And I truly believe that he won’t be lashing out and hurting anyone anymore.”

As if in confirmation, the Power in the air around Lincoln buzzed warm and comforting, and he knew it was Vax.

Beside him. Abel turned on the car. “Let’s get you back to your hotel. I think you need some rest.”

They drove away from the caves, and Lincoln knew he wouldn’t be back. Just as Vax would keep his promise to temper his anger, Lincoln would keep his promise to move forward, and in so doing, they would forever honor the love they had for each other.

***

When Matthias felt Vax again, he was just sitting down for dinner at one of the most distinguished restaurants in Majorca. Aside from the other wealthy patrons occupying the tables around him and his dedicated server, he was alone, though he didn’t mind the solace of spending a meal by himself.

“Are you alright, my friend?” Matthias murmured. The presence was there, challenging him.

You have no power over me.

And somehow, he knew that it was true. Whatever had happened between now and the first time he’d felt Vax’s presence had impacted him so deeply that the simmering anger—which was still there—no longer consumed his soul.

A wry smile pulled at his lips. “Lincoln. I have you to thank for this, don’t I?”

Enjoy your power while it lasts, fuckface. As soon as I learn to cut you off from myself, you’re going down.

Matthias chuckled at the threat. It was nothing more than a child attempting to be powerful and brave. At least, that’s what he told himself. The white knuckles, flushed face, and quickened heartbeat told another story.

But that story no longer matters. What matters is this: if Vax hadn’t fallen in love, perhaps he would have won in the battle against Matthias. But now… his love was what was saving him. The tale of this love didn’t look like lazy mornings spent in one another’s embrace, or romantic trips in the tropics. This love didn’t save Vax’s life, it didn’t keep Lincoln from loneliness. But its power was there in a different way.

It happened. It mattered. Just the memory of so great a love was enough to soothe an abused, battered soul and to give a broken heart the courage to move forward.

And sometimes, that is enough.

#vaxxie my boy...#ilw #lincoln x mc #vaxlinc #OC: Vax Vũ-Verdant #death cw #death tw #injury cw #injury tw #ilw spoilers #kind of

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abelflints · 10 months ago

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Tehe.

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abelflints · 9 months ago

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Random expression dump because I finally adapted his makeup and markings to go over his other expressions... Also his neutral face which was already done:

#ilw #it lives within #playchoices #it lives choices #it lives series #it lives anthology #it lives #rowan burke #ilw mc #play choices #choices stories we play #choices stories you play #it lives project #choices game #OC: Vax Vũ-Verdant #my edits

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abelflints · 8 months ago

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Little ILW MC Angst Piece

Book: It Lives Within

Basis: What brown means to Vax... (ILW MC.) Or, his reaction to the loss of his eye. Warnings: spoilers. angst. injury. Word Count: 620+ A/N: I wrote this forever ago, but I'm digging it up because it became relevant again.

Vax knew brown to be warm. To be human.

It was the fragmented sheen of the pebbles at the bottom of the lakebed he and Annie had lounged in, sunlight weaving and waving off the smooth rock faces, the rival of any monarchies jewels.

It was the polished glow of woodwork, hours amassed into a single little figurine, standing proudly on his desk. Hands covered in cuts and splinters, slices and dices, but he doesn’t frown, no– he doesn’t frown–

Sitting back and thinking– I made that, I made that!, the conjoined laughter of father and son echoing out across the oaken room, buttery hues of the setting sun softly dancing past the silhouette of a son, a hero, and a father.

Vax knew brown to be homely. To be kind.

It was the tantalizing bronze of food, freshly cooked, the glimmer of the oaken table where family and friends alike would gather, and laugh, and chatter, the umbra hues of the extra servings that he folded into hands that once held onto milk bottles, building blocks, and storybooks, but now holds onto a world, weighted down, heavy and hurting and hoping for something– something less–

Vax knew brown to be an oath, a truth, and a promise–

It was the glint of his mother’s ring, catching on all the angles of the light, and sending rainbows bounding across the ceiling. A golden-brown and gilded thing, crested by the cream of a quaint little cranium, the skull ring that she had clutched to her fingers, and now, he clutches to his, the scrawling swirl of calligraphy sheening softly with each turn as he spins it around through the air - memento mori - remember, you will die.

Vax knew brown to be familiar. To be grounding.

It was the colour of the sap that raced down the tree he had hidden in, and wailed and bellowed before Annie, a stream of mocking ghostly wails that sent her screaming, not laughing, like he had intended, and then, his run to her, brotherly arms outstretched, it’s just me, it’s just me, I’ll never let anything hurt you, okay? You’re stuck to me, see, like this sap is to this tree, and I won’t let anything happen to you, I won’t let anything happen to you…

I promise, Annie. I promise.

Vax knew brown to be many things, but mostly, it was home.

It was his mother’s eyes, his father’s, his sister’s, everyone that ever mattered to him–

Or it was the speckling of freckles across the nose of the boy he had sneaked out with at camp, tangling his fingers into his hair and realizing, oh, that’s what the feeling of my tingling chest when I saw my friend in his silken suit at prom was, oh, that’s the feeling of my pinkened cheeks as I heard him speak, oh, that’s… this is… this is…

The truth is, brown was– is– so much more than a colour.

So maybe that’s why he sobs, and sobs, and sobs, and sobs, like a man possessed, inconsolable, on his haunches, no consolation left in the soft compress of strong arms and frantic utterances “Vax– Vax– show me, show me, show me, please, show me where it hurts, let me take care of you–”

Brown was good, brown was safe, brown was home, soft… sweet–

And stolen from him.

So maybe that’s why he sobs, when the last of it is taken from him. The one thing he took pride in, the homely hue of his kin carried down in one singular eye, and struck out with one single swipe.

“They got– the wrong eye– they got–”

It should have been the other eye.

…It should have been the other eye.

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abelflints · 11 months ago

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Soft Lincoln x Male MC Snippet for WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @aces-and-angels so thank you for the tag 🥰

So here's a break from yesterday's angst, I don't know if this will ever be finished to entirety because it's my first not-angst fic so it's uncharted territory for me, but we'll see.

Lines are subject to change... Anyone that wants to do WIP Wednesday, consider yourself tagged! Put it under the cut for convenience, one thing I'll let escape the cut, I think everybody should know that "my dawn" is one of Vax's pet names for Lincoln because of the saying "it's always darkest before the dawn."

Vax's skin tingles under the touch, and he feels the low hum of the Power reacting– soft, lazy, languid, and sweet, in all the ways that he knows Lincoln to be, leaking dappled light through gentle, teasing, calloused fingertips. The Power in Vax, for once not threatening to overflow himself, or overthrow himself, just, just.. Good. Good, and whole, and right, and real, and true, and free–

"…That tickles." Lincoln smiles, and Vax looks at him, something suddenly very serious to his face, bleeding devotion set in his unwavering gaze as he turns Lincoln's wrist to him and kisses a trail up his arm, uttering words of affection down every single inch of perfect, perfect tattooed flesh.

"My dawn…"

"We have a home. We have a home. We have a home."

A ringing hum and a soft breeze caresses Vax's lengthened locks, pink curtains of silken strands swirling as a growing glow emanates from his heart, and when he looks up again, there is something so awed and besotted to his gaze that no novel, no artwork, nor imagery could ever possibly strive to picture something half as raw, and real, and open, and true.

Genuine, joyous tears carve a streak down his face, before he swipes self-consciously at them, pivoting away from Lincoln in a flustered flurry.

"Oh, fuck this–" he half-barks, half-laughs, blotting at his tears with a furious intensity.

But if Lincoln is at all off-put by the man's sudden show of emotions, he doesn't show it, instead hooking a tender hand beneath the man's freckled chin, and turning him back to face him. His free hand squeezes Vax's, once, twice, thrice, soft pulse of Power alighting every square inch his skin touches.

"Hey," Lincoln's voice comes, low and slow, a rumbling sounding deep within his chest, "...hey."

The gaze he fixes Vax with is intense, and damn it all, damn it all, but here, now, Vax, leaning his forehead up against his purpose, his path, his salvation...

Damn it all, damn it all, but Vax just dissolves into laughter, and he hasn't, he hasn't in so long, so long, he wasn't– he isn't that little boy from all those years ago, the boy that used to make people laugh just for the sake of seeing them smile, the boy whose giggles would stretch longer than a mile, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit–

Not since he was a kid, not since he was a kid, no, and it wasn't him, but it was, but it wasn't, but it–

And then anger and sorrow and loss took hold of his heart, but dammit... dammit... dammit.. dammit... He has a home, and it's tumultuous black locks, he has a home, and it's hard brown eyes and small little smiles, he has a home, and it's arms that open, open just for him, he has a home, warm and wanting and waiting, he has a home... he has a home... he has a home.

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abelflints · 2 years ago

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Character development.

#lincoln mcquoid #abel flint #lincoln aquino #lincoln x mc #it lives within #ilw #playchoices #it lives project #it lives choices #it lives anthology #it lives series #ilw spoilers #my memes #OC: Vax Vũ-Verdant

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abelflints · 11 months ago

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It's Lincoln x MC angst time again...

(Part 1/2) Book: It Lives Within Basis: Lia is gone. Connor is out for blood. Vax's worst enemy is his own Power. (or, horror Connor comes after my MC whilst he fights back anchor explosions.) Pairings: Lincoln x male MC, but Lincoln doesn't actually physically appear in this part, but he is brought up a lot throughout. Warnings: murder, assault, violence, swearing, trauma, injury, guns, blood, and because of the flashbacks, there's also gore and death of all ages and species. Part 1 word count: 2.2k A/N: ILITW MC is called Lila in this, Sif is the name of my ILW MC's childhood dog, Vax is the name of my ILW MC, and this part opens with Connor's POV, but shifts POV mid-part.

Part 1 under cut!

Running, running, running, running–

Pooling scarlet of officer’s head, shuddering, shuddering, shuddering–

down,

down.

Shuddering, shuddering, shuddering (savagely, savagely, so–) clattering to the floor like it was made full of lead, lead, lead–

One step, two step, three, what is happening, what is happening, what is happening, what is happening, what is happening to me, legs pump, pump, pumping, BANG, BANG, BANG of the bullet, reverberating out through the trees.

One step, two step, three, what am I doing, what is happening to me, flash of pink, onyx leather, get him, get him, get him, get him–

Cracked skin, ash hands, wet, copper– blood, where, why, whose– blood– blood - blood - blood!

“VAX!” Voice that is not my own, should not be my own, but it is my own, deafening, banging, booming, “VAX!”, where’s Lila, is she safe, Noah, Dan, who, what, why, what is happening to me, what is happening to me, what is–

Cyan…

Drowning…

Everything...

Out.

Ringing, ringing, ringing, then–

Only cyan, only blue, only cyan, forever true.

…….

"Calm the FUCK down!"

Vax’s cry echoes across the clearing, falling a harried step backwards. The cerulean markings woven amidst his skin flare to life with his heightening anxiety.

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?! Like you can do any better? Like this isn't all you ever do? You're not even a real person, just some vessel for anger, and you're harping to me about keeping my temper in check?!"

"CONNOR!" His voice is guttural, pleading, a warning bark and a plea all in one.

He scrambles backwards, not in fear for himself, but in increasing acknowledgement of the creeping bonds of Power that wind their way up his sternum, his throat, his neck, the all-too familiar burning feeling sending his heart a-pounding.

"You.. don’t... want… this." He grits out as he gestures around, tendrils of smoke haloing his nostrils like some scorned angel of reckoning.

Then he scrabbles further backwards, clutching his scorching hands to his chest, all too aware of the Power it has to bend and break and burn, all too aware of how quickly, how instantly, how easy it would be to smite out the one good man in this woefully empty clearing out in the sadistic solace of the woods.

Pure cyan engulfs his hands as he raps one in a violent staccato against his head, trying in vain to tame the rising flame.

"I’LL KILL YOU!" It's not a threat, not a promise, not a scare tactic or a want, or a need, it's a plea, hollow and desperate and wavering and screaming and crying, and fraying at the edges please do not let me kill you, please do not let me kill you, I do not know how to control my Power, please do not let me kill you, please do not let me kill you!

For the sake of Connor, for the sake of whatever frayed hold he has on his humanity, desperately clinging onto a violently snapping thread, Vax stops… Freezes.

Purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation–

Calming thoughts… Calming thoughts!

Smother the fire, smother the fire, smother the—

Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln!

Hard eyes, dark hair, hands that feel like home when he holds you, hard eyes, dark hair, hands that feel like home when he holds you, hard eyes, dark hair, hands that feel like– like– like…

Burning, burning, burning, burning, and by the nine hells why must the Power hurt so much, burning, burning, burning, burning, burning– ladder of flame climbing up, up, up, up, up–

Up his arms, up his hands, up his neck, up his skin, burning, burning, burning, burning, and no, no, no, no, no, no, no–!

Hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, come on, come on, come on, come on–

Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln!

Flesh, searing, sizzling, scorching, smouldering– and fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln.

…And so Vax did. And it worked. For but a moment... But then Connor barrelled into him, and his markings flared once more, all thoughts of hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair– scattered, flittering up, up, up, up, up, up– like the ashes of his Power, the spiralling smoke of the fires that threaten to swallow him whole as he rips out of, and runs free from the horror’s snatching embrace.

But he grits his teeth, and he tries again, and again, and again, purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation–

No, you're not a monster, Vax, no you're not a monster, no you're not, you're not, you're not, you’re not–

Gruff voice, tied hair, raven marks, gruff voice, tied hair, raven marks, gruff voice, tied hair, raven marks–

And Vax’s voice, it comes, finally, growling, growling, growling, growling– gnashing claws and fangs of the horror - Connor, Connor, Connor, Connor – edging closer, closer, closer, closer–

"I'll take the blame, Connor!” He cries, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking–

“I’ll take the blame – they’ll believe me – I’m not – I’m not – I’m not right – I’ll take the – they’ll believe me!” He hisses, burning, burning, burning, burning–, eyes widening at the expanse of his Power across his flesh, climbing, creeping, crawling, burning in the backs of his atoms, his cells, his neurons, his flesh–

Vax shakes, and stutters, embers spilling out his nose, his mouth, his eyes, his hands–

“I'll cure you– just please stop– I'll cure you– just stop, just fucking stop, just–”

Enraged tears stream down his shaking face, an aquamarine snaking of Power tinging his teardrops electric blue.

Connor sneers back at him, all fangs and too-long teeth, the man himself, a monster, now, but still… To Vax? The bastion of the pure, the tainted and shattered echo of the man before him a testament only to his own failings, to what Vax could not protect him from, to what Vax failed to do, to protect Connor from, to protect Annie from, to protect Sif from, to protect mom, dad– if they were ever really his to protect - if his name were every really his to bear – if his name were anything other than the very creatures his mother warded him against at night, if the name monster did not sit so pretty and perfect on lips that bloody and stutter and freeze amidst the chilling Power breeze.

"You stole his life, and yet you still don’t know how to act with an ounce of humanity!" The thing wearing Connor’s face jeers, but no, that is Connor now, it is Connor, it is, it is, it is–

"DON’T!” Vax screams, voice piercing through the now whistling winds.

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” Vax half-pleads, half-commands as Connor’s taunts persist, fists balled as he takes yet more steps away, trying to keep a tamper down on the fire, the Power, the flames, the fire, the Power, the flames, the fire, the Power, the–

"Connor, you fucking idiot, I am trying to save your life, just– just–" Vax’s wild gaze drops to his arms, two pillars of hellish blue flame thrashing at both sides, flaming and flaring with his emotions.

The drawn-out shell of Connor jibes back at him, his own glowing and furious eyes swirling like whirlpools in his head. His voice is cruel, callous, careless– gaze calculated and cruel as he casts a wicked glance back at the fading and fated man.

"Mommy dearest never teach you breathing lessons, or what?" The horror nods to the flare of Vax’s nostrils, the warning glow emanating out from his flesh, the tell-tale signs of an anchor explosion, imminent, no deterrent to the not-Connor before him, just a spectacle, a show, a jibe, a joke, a spot of entertainment on a chilly autumn morn.

"STOP!” Vax growls, pleads, prays, before keening quietly to himself “please, please, please, please…”, his knees slamming harshly against the deck as his anguish swipes them out from underneath him.

Mom.

Mom…

…….

Onyx hair. Raven lips. Pointed bangs. Fatal edge, soft for him.

"Stay gentle, Vax..."

She commands, the butterfly on her hand strutting across ticklish flesh.

Stay gentle.

Her cool brown eyes turn to him, extending the dainty little creature out to grabbing hands.

Stay gentle… Stay gentle.

"Buttahfwy!"

She laughs at the toddlers wide-eyed wonderment, tinkling and beautiful and rare.

Stay gentle. Stay gentle, stay gentle, stay gentle, STAY GENTLE–

All too soon, the memory of her is pulled out from underneath him, browning and blackening at the edges like all the polaroids of his family he had burned through gritted teeth and falling tears, burning away like the memories of his childhood– his memories? His childhood? Lemon drops, Vax, they were lemon drops, Vax–

…….

The snarling horror before him cares not for his trip down memory lane, racing towards him in a flurry of fangs and fatalistic fingernails.

One sharp tug, and Connor’s dragging him, dragging him, dragging him, by the nape of his jacket neck, dragging him, dragging him, dragging him– don’t fight back, don’t fight back, don’t fight back, keep the Power down, keep the Power down, keep the Power do—

Dragging, dragging, dragging, dragging, then screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming – what-have-I-done, what-have-I-done, what- have- I– but when Vax looks up, it is not his Power that alights Connor’s soul, twisting his mouth into a screaming vortex, but the sigils of the cabin, searing into him like so many snakes down skin that knows no solace.

Skidding back, back, back, burnt hands stinging, stinging, stinging, with the splinters of the sable, Vax backs away, but no sooner than Connor was seized by the sigils pain does he stop… Unfreeze from his pillar of hurt… And chase Vax back to his room, throwing his body against the wood of the wall with a sickening crack.

Copper, and red, streaming down Vax’s head, grappling, grappling, grappling, still, with the Power, tamp it down, down, down, down– don’t hurt him as you hurt Noah, don’t hurt him as you hurt everyone, don’t hurt him as you hurt Lincoln, blackened hiss of Power on paint, don’t hurt him as you hurt Lia, the knife of your nightmares and all the words you did not say– and all the words that you did say– do not hurt him, do not hurt him, do not hurt him, do not hurt him!

Calming thoughts.

Calming thoughts!

Think of Lincoln.

One shadow looms against the gloom.

Think of Lincoln. Infernos for eyes, encroaching ever closer, closer–

Think of Lincoln.

The first kick winds Vax.

Think of Lincoln.

The second sends him sprawling.

Think of Lincoln!

The third has him face-down on the floor.

Think of Lincoln…

Connor’s boot stamps across his back.

Think of Lincoln.

Claws haul him up, then swipe across his nose, slicing, slicing, slicing– a sizzling scarlet line, ripping open the same very spot another creature once did, in a memoria of pain, of agony, of anguish…

Think of - think of..?

Onyx hair. Raven lips. Pointed bangs. Fatal edge, dulled under the gnashing claws and jaws of the Power.

Onyx hair. Ever-smiling lips, click-click-vrrr of dad’s polaroid as it spat out yet another photo.

But his arms, they are gone, but his arms - they are bloody, but his arms, they are swelling wells of scarlet, but his arms– they are no more, just like his chuckle, just like his jokes, just like his breath. No more polaroids. No more pictures. No more him, no more her, no more she, no more you, no more me–

Snow-white fur, blackened snout– that sniff-sniff-sniffing curiosity, always by his side, forever at his side, tail wagging, wagging, wagging, wagging ready to face anything, anything, anything– until that anything was everything and nothing and then she was gone, gone, gone, gone.

And then… And then, and then, and then, and then, there was her, there was her, there was her, there was her.

Annie, Annie, Annie–

Onyx hair. Little, smiling, innocent face. The sweet scent of strawberries and icecream, the colour of his hair, sundaes overflowing with syrup and sauces, and digging in as she giggled, and giggled, and giggled, but now, as he lays, sprawled, spread-eagled on the floor, lifesblood spilling out of him, she only gurgled, and gurgled, and gurgled, overflowing with red, red, red, red— and oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, she's fucking dead, dead, dead, dead–!!

Scarlet scratches neon against the black, rip-rip-ripping across his front, his lips, his chest, his nose, burning agony suffusing him as he froze–

Think… Think…

Quickly, he finds, he can't think of anything, anything at all.

Think of… Think of..

Lincoln? Lincoln… oh fuck, LINCOLN–!

Bloodied and burnt hands fumble across cracked phone screen.

Calltone dragging, dragging, dragging–

Beep…

Beep...

On the third chime, Connor strikes him straight down, sending him sprawling to the floor.

A gruff voice sounds out across the other line, too late, too late–

Think of Lincoln.

A strangled scream. A cacophonous crashing. And then?

Nothing, nothing at all.

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abelflints · 1 year ago

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Pictures of You (ILW piece)

Basis: This is a little piece about the main cast and looking at some of their former friendships through photographs.

Characters: Jocelyn, Lincoln, Abel, Amalia, MC (non of them are mentioned by name.)

Word count: 500+

Warnings: some mentions of blood and dead people and mourning, chapter 17/18 spoilers, angst

A/N: This isn't formatted like a fic, but it's a form of creative writing.

Work is under the cut!

I need you to think about a photo of two best friends, ripped cleanly in two. I need you to think about the jagged-y white tear, serrating the shot of two lifelong friends into years of solitude. I need you to think about the contrast of the ruthless rip against the jovial smile on the soft-eyed friend's face, against the small-- but sturdy-- smirk on the others. I need you to think about the plastic-y tear of tape against teeth, echoing out across the dark, one tattooed arm steadying the roll as large hands work to seal the rift.

I need you to think about blood-speckled polaroids pried from a dead man's hands. I need you to think about yet another two best friends, young and naïve and free, beaming on the paper in their silly little costumes and posed alongside the same face that now clutches the pictures in his death grip. I need you to think about now-mismatched eyes crumpling as they are handed the photographs that were pulled off of his father's lifeless body, gripped tight to him, even in death.

I need you to think about two parents on a once-glossen photograph, now pulpy and whited at the edges. I need you to think about the gridlines that score down the image, the wear and tear of years and years and years folded into a wallet and thumbed over and over and over by scarred hands, scratched by keys, cards, coupons, but always there, there, there.

I need you to think about an image of three not-friends, but somethings, one now dead, dead, dead, living on only in her head, head, head. I need you to think about the way the picture is warped and lumpy, stained with saltwater so, I need you to think about how she clutches it to her in a moment of weakness that she berates herself for, even now, as she ponders the what could have been, the if only, if only he had had a chance to be better, as she wonders if others will even deem him worth mourning at all, as she ponders if even she will be worth mourning at all.

And I need you to think about two lifelong friends, a man and a woman, hands linked from cradle to grave, twist of twine and twinkling beads round wrists that grow, and grow, and grow, time not one to slow, and slow, and slow, treats biting and sweet like so, and so, and so–

As years go by, and by, and by, and the roads before her fly, and fly, and fly, the picture of them nigh, and nigh, and nigh, her lungs breathing a sigh, a sigh, a sigh, the proof before her, stark, and stark, and stark, and you can try, and try, and try--

But you can't stop that that tear-filled cyan, shrink-shrink-shrink-shrinking by the second, shifting, shifting, shifting-- stranger-sidekick-sanctuary-- speck of a silhouette in her rear-view mirror (the eye, a lie, a lie, a lie.)

#ilw #it lives within #playchoices #choices #abel flint #it lives series #it lives choices #it lives anthology #it lives #it lives project #lincoln mcquoid #jocelyn wu #amalia de león #lincoln aquino #rowan burke #ilw mc #OC: Vax Vũ-Verdant #my writing #ilw spoilers

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abelflints · 2 years ago

Text

Some Lincoln x MC Angst

Heal What Has Been Hurt (Change the Fate’s Design) Part 1 of 2 (part 2 available here)

Fanfic about the @itlivesproject game...

Basis: Vax is dead. Matthias McQuoid is the root of all problems. Killing him isn’t enough. (or, Lincoln uses the watch.)

Pairings: Lincoln x MC (mine is called Vax!), but intermittently (they don’t break up or anything, but well, look at the basis...)

Warnings: chapter 20 spoilers, lots of angst, swears, death, blood, injury, there’s going to be body horror in the next part, but it’s not in this one (except for the blood.) this is going to be dark!

Part 1 word count: 1834

Part 1 under cut!

Vax hated red.

It followed him everywhere.

Festering in his flesh–

In the flare of his nostrils, in the force of his fists.

Festering in the forest–

In the frown of his face, in the flounce of his feet.

Vax hated red.

Red was always hot. Burning, scalding.

I don’t want to be red anymore.

(be careful what you wish for.)

Tonight, red was cold.

He didn’t know what it was to die.

To stare the reaper in his face, and lift his unshaking gaze to it.

Red answered him…

When no one else would.

Red was loyal. Curt. Efficient.

Tonight, in these hallowed hills, red was cold.

As it spills out from him.

And he doesn’t know what it is to die…

Because there’s no authority figure left to curse. No finger left to point.

Finally, he finds, he doesn’t have any red left in him.

Not in his veins. Not in his head.

Red doesn’t blanket his fall, when he tips into the icy fingertips of the plunge.

Red doesn’t hold him, and cry, softly, softly, softly, with shuddering shakes.

Red doesn’t sneer:

“I told you so.”

The line they both thought (both dreaded– ) would be on their lips.

But red doesn’t hold him. Not tonight. Not like that. Instead, blue holds him, and all he squeaks is “I’m sorry, Abel.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry– ” he stutters, over Lincoln’s shaking shoulders that hold him tight, staring out at Abel, frozen across from them.

“Please take care of Lia. Please. You’re kind – and good - and everything I’m not – please, please, please, please.”

Abel shakes out of his reverie, giving him a determined, tear-filled nod. Amalia’s sobs sound against him, falling into Abel’s side.

Lincoln’s uttering to him softly, softly, softly, so, nonsense against his lips, as he clutches at the red spilling from his fingers.

It paints him, now, in a twisted imitation of an angel’s wings, red against the black of the night.

Vax didn't know how to say those three words.

Not to his friends. Not to Lia. And certainly not to Lincoln.

He didn't know then… He doesn’t know now.

Red held so many words in his throat.

“I am sorry.”

“I love you.”

“I was wrong.”

The trilogy of words he could never say.

But he’s tired of being red. He’s so tired .

Red didn’t permit him to say “I love you.”

But it was there in the way he nodded to Lia, when she did something worthy of his praise.

But it was there in the way when he bristled, when someone said something off to her.

But it was there in the way he grunted in response when Lia asked if he liked her outfit.

In the way how he remembered just exactly how she liked her breakfast, even though the last time she told him was half a decade ago and he’d rolled his eyes in response.

Or in the way his hands went for Lincoln’s own, even as both their teeth gritted, looking into the eyes of a viper.

In the way he’d rest his head against Lincoln’s shoulder, when he thought everyone wasn’t looking, then tear apart with a jump when people teased him about having gone soft.

Or in the way his jaw worked in the way that Lincoln knew to be him swallowing down a smile.

And in the way he followed the man like some lovesick puppy, then, when Abel pointed it out, grumbled how Abel ought to wear glasses all the time, because he was not staring at Lincoln’s ass, thank you very much.

Red didn’t permit him to say “I love you.”

But it was in the way he was there for Abel in the blink of an eye, guarding his side without question.

Or in the way he let out a hmph of laughter at Abel’s jokes, quickly covering his mouth to replace it with a scowl.

In the way he silently bandaged Jocelyn’s leg, against her protests, promising to break her leg if she jostled it again, even as the momentary frown betrayed the false threat in his eyes.

Or in the way he turned to the side, stifling a smile, as he complained about how chipper Connor was.

…So he didn’t know how to say I love you.

And so maybe neither did Lincoln.

But they knew. They knew.

Even if they never said it, they knew.

“Lia - I’m sorry - I’m sorry- ” Vax says, shuddering.

And he means it.

He means it.

Because he doesn’t know what else to say. Because it’s all he knows how to say. Because it was one of the only words red would not permit him to ever utter, the only words red ever snatched out of his lungs.

Lincoln holds him closer, and Abel stares, frozen in horror as his oldest friend and his oldest friend’s lover watch the red wash out of his veins.

“Do you want to try again?” Lincoln says suddenly, voice raw. He pushes a locket into Vax’s red-wrought hands.

Vax stares back at him, confused.

“What?…”

“Your psychometry. We were practising. Do you want to try again?”

“... Why ?” Vax rasps, slumping his head against the stone.

The light haloes him in ways gods could never. Lincoln prays those same gods won’t take him now. Not now. Not yet.

“There’s a message on this. You’ll… you’ll want to hear it.”

The mis-matched eyed man looks at him with his usual petulance.

“If it’s too much…” Lincoln reaches for him.

“No,” comes Vax’s determined voice, all but melting into his touch, “I’ll do it,” he says, a fire in his fluttering eyes – never one to back down from a challenge, even now.

Even now. As he lay dying.

…It hurts. Vax winces as his fingers wrap around the necklace, and Lincoln isn’t sure if his brows are furrowing in concentration or in pain (probably both.)

He shouldn’t have jostled him, shouldn’t have given him–

But a faint smile blooms on Vax’s lips. Unrestrained, free of his usual red.

And he falls back with a laugh, chuckling at some hidden message.

“So?”

“Love you too.” Vax utters, quietly, but he hears him.

He hears him.

For the last time.

It would be a mercy if they truly closed their eyes.

But that’s not how it happens.

Vax is smiling up at him one moment, and the next moment, his gaze goes distant, and in that moment, he is gone.

………

He doesn’t think, when he cries for him.

Doesn’t question how, what or why–

But his name - his best friend’s name - is on his lips, as soon as Vax’s head falls against the tapestries of his embrace.

Because Abel is smart. Abel is sweet. Abel is kind.

Because Abel knows everything.

Abel knows all.

…But this time, Abel has no answers to give.

Not one.

…Not this time.

Nothing to offer, but his companionship. But his shoulder, to cry upon.

And Lincoln’s head fits. Like a piece of a puzzle. It fits into the tall man’s shoulders, like it was made for them. Like that was always where his head was supposed to lay.