Yoooo, I Can't Write For Shit(especially In English), But I Desperately Need An Angsty Wing Fic About

The current random brain worm is if Logan found an abandoned fawn in the woods and just raised it and named him Sue like the Johnny Cash song… i’ve been making it my warm ups.

And like what if I made a whole story about that instead of his man pain? Fucking what then??

dog day afternoon

(don't tag as ship, don't tag as tw///n)

[id: left to right: childhood versions of lambert, eskel, and geralt, laying under a tree in midday sun. geralt and lambert are leaning on eskel, who is leaning against a tree trunk. all three are asleep. /end id]

I- I can't

“It’s ok...I’m here...”

Some days he misses the Commander so much, death is calling his name, whispering it in his head like relief, crawling out of the darkest parts of his brain.

The brain that is left, the one that might've taken too many shocks, too much electricity, too much brainwashing and all that is left is the ruins, the forgotten and decayed city that is left of what was once James Barnes.

People call him all types of things. War hero. Sergeant. An honorable veteran. A staring machine. A friend even. None of those things feel like him.

He rejects it violently and neither Sam, nor his therapist or the wakandans ever even caught a glimpse. Because how could they? They all assume that's what he wants to be, even if right now he does not see himself as any of it.

What they don't know, what haunts him every night, is the Commander' touch on his clammy neck, his rough voice in his ear, sharp tang of blood and sweat and sex, his own screams and moans echoing in his skull and a deep emptiness aching inside of him.

The dreams never stop.

The longing never stops.

Longing.

Ironic isn't it, he thinks with a bitter smile.

He would give anything to be able to be his Commander's Soldier again. To go back to the ease and the clarity and the pain. The painful lust that turns into floating bliss and soft whispers, his reward for being good.

He will never get a reward again. He will never be able to please anyone again, because no one uses him anymore, like he was meant to. His purpose is gone. And so is the man that gave it to him.

The dread and panic spills out of him violently when he heaves over the toilet in the middle of the night.

The Commander is dead. He will not come back for him. He will never be able to be himself again.

It's a life sentence. A sentence he is not sure he can endure, not knowing how long it will be, because he is not human, not anymore. He is what they made him and he is out of time, out of place, out of control.

He fears it will take forever.

And his nights feel endless as he sits with the painful longing, cold sweat on his body, as the ghost of his Commander's voice joins his scrambled thoughts.

Memories.

He sobs.

He doesn't stop until the sun comes up.

Okay but that whole genre of steddyhands fics that were like "edizzy used to hook up on the reg in the early days but they pulled every wrong bdsm move in the book and when Ed tried to be softer or give aftercare Izzy spat at him like a feral cat and ran off (even though he really wanted that gentleness), and that's what made Ed pull away" no longer ring true at all for me

(they didn't quite line up with my character interpretation before either, but pre s2 I figured that was all just personal taste without canon backing)

Izzy would absolutely take anything Ed gave him, even if he'd never dare ask for softness aloud

Ed never even realized that Another Way was possible until he met Stede, and even after Izzy had come to represent everything Ed hated about the roughest parts of himself and piracy (even when that wasn't true).

You see in order to think Izzy deserved affection or even a thought outside of Ed's immediate whims and desires, he'd have to see Izzy as a person and an equal. Which he never has.

(I think a lot about a post I saw back when the season started airing, along the lines of "Ed would never treat Stede like this." No, he wouldn't.)

and oh god, I need Stede to come in and see this broken to fuck dynamic constructed over decades for everything it is. for someone to finally offer a love that doesn't hurt. I need these three assholes to figure out how to stop digging in the knife.

"I have... love for you, Edward" what a fantastically fucking unhinged way to confess to anybody. The clear reluctance. The pause, the averted eyes. "I have it" like it's some fatal disease, something he's carrying, something he wishes someone would take away. Perhaps even something he wishes could be....................amputated, one might say

Wait, so this didn't happen?

I’ve been postponing finishing this for a long time but hERE IT IS

sorry for the long post

BONUS:

Din, pointing: May I sit there?

Paz: That's my lap

Din: That doesn't answer my question, Paz.

sure I could become a slut. but you see, I'm scared