For the made up title: 'cause baby we're golden
okok i’m trying another pairing.
'cause baby we're golden
There’s gold on the ceiling, gold in the mirror, gold on Lando’s eyelids. When he closes his eyes, he sees the midnight fireworks, golden too.
It’s also golden where George touches him; ribs, chest, neck. They’re alone in the room, lights dimmed, dancing to the music between them, a slight contretemps with the music coming from the speakers. They’ve been kissing since the clock struck twelve, half an hour ago. They can’t let go, not even to look out the window.
London is still exploding below them, a rainbow of light against the night sky. To Lando, it doesn’t matter. He only sees the blue of George’s eyes. To George, it matters the most. There’s a boy in his arms that could have been out there, dancing with somebody else, spreading gold on another man’s lips.
But he’s here.
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🔪 (i love her, I know this will hurt)
Cold marble hands gripped Roxanne’s arm firmly, grey eyes lifeless as the day he’d been carved. She’d been hiding something, keeping to herself and sneaking out when everyone slept.
“You think I don’t notice death when I see it?”
Roxanne didn’t speak at his accusation, the pregnant woman taking solace in the feel of his cool flesh against her searing skin. Fever reducers, ice cubes, and gallons of ice water were stashed in her car to help her survive the long grueling nights. But nothing was enough to keep away the way her body felt like it was boiling away.
Darren’s serum was wearing off. Alaric’s touch now effected her more and more every time. It dried out her mouth, it increased her heart beat, it made her legs feel buckle. The pregnancy only seemed to multiple the pain, the twins seeming to destroy her from the inside as well.
She hadn’t told anyone. She couldn’t. The most she could do was survive until her term. Alaric would forgive her if she left him something to remember her by.
Or maybe he’ll abandon them. What good are half mortal children? He’ll feel no attachment to them once you’re gone. You were just a favorite toy and you’re delusional if you think he’ll care to remember you in a few hundred years.
The cruel thoughts were new, likely a side effect of a body in decline.
Petros grip only tightened, the man trying so hard to express sorrow despite the inability to create tears.
“What are we to do when you die, Roxanne? Do you think you can simply toss away your life and abandon us? What good is dying?” His tone was a mix of scolding and ache. Her hands had molded him, they’d loved him. And she was ready to leave him alone for what?
“I’ve always been disposable, Petros. At least let me choose my own final glory.” Her voice was barely a whisper, the woman weakly prying from the man’s grip
Petros remained quiet for the entirety of Roxanne’s pregnancy after their talk. It was hard to speak without feeling tempted to betray Roxanne’s secret. The statue knew deeply that if Alaric found out he’d been the cause, he’d be destroyed.
The twins were born in the beginning of the brisk autumn season. Two beautiful boys that resembled Roxanne so closely it was almost shocking.
Hollow and somber, the statue held the children closely as he watched Roxanne pass. He didn’t speak as the others began to panic and grieve. He didn’t respond when Darren asked him if he’d known. Petros could only watch as he felt his skin lose color, as he watched the family she’d gifted him fall to pieces at her loss.
Were you really disposable?
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Sirius: Re? Are you alright?
Sirius: we have a test tomorrow, love. you'd normally be studying like crazy...
Remus: *staring into the bottom of his tea like an alcoholic would their whiskey glass*
Remus: time is a social construct
Remus: so is school, Pads...
Remus: *sigh* we're all just atoms anyway...
Sirius: *kisses Remus' hair*
Sirius: you're cute when you get existential
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