I've been watching too many Spanish novelas; this fill is starting to sound like one of Shakespeare's tragedies, orz orz.
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Arthur knew Alfred better than he knew his own family.
He knew how Alfred liked his coffee (—black, with two spoons of sugar, sometimes three when he was feeling particularly tired—), and that he drank more carbonated drinks than was healthy. Arthur knew Alfred was a good cook but that he preferred to eat fatty takeout, specially those cheese burgers he was so fond of. After a summer in high school were he put on more pounds than he would have liked, Alfred began to work out almost every day. Despite this, the young man continued to lead a less than healthy diet; Arthur found that trait of Alfred endearing, and on others days, slightly irritating. Arthur didn’t like following Alfred to the gym. He would never admit it out loud, because he was just as stubborn and prideful as Alfred, if not more, but he didn’t like the looks Alfred got from the females who stared at him at the gym.
Arthur would not deny that he sometimes played mean tricks on the girls, from hiding their toilettes and tying their shoelaces together to cursing that barely-there-and-noticeable pimple to grow ten times bigger. Arthur was always in a bad mood when Alfred went to the gym. The only reason why he followed his human there was to keep the females from latching onto him with their talons. He could not blame the females for fawning over Alfred though, for he too had always found his human to be beautiful. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it.
It hurt him to see Alfred crush and fall in love with those girls. There had been times when Arthur had hurt so much that he’d been unable to fly, his wings sad and droopy, his magic so pitiful he could not even make the roses in Alfred’s garden bloom. Invisible and completely besotted with his human, Arthur watched over the years as Alfred continued to fall in and out of love with those girls.
“If it’s too painful for you, leave.”
Drawing his legs to his chest, Arthur gazed sadly at the near park bench, where his human and a pretty brunette sat side to side, shoulders touching, hands inches away from touching. Closing his eyes against the happy image the couple made, Arthur buried his head in his knees.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, voice muffled but just as stubborn as it’d been years ago, when his four brothers—his true nest brothers, blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, sharers of his magic—threatened to drag him back home kicking and screaming if they had to.
Arthur’s brothers did not like Alfred; Arthur’s brothers were not fond of humans, they were cruel and spiteful and would have loved nothing more than to play with Alfred until the boy broke. To them, Alfred was Arthur’s weakness, an embarrassment to their family. They’d never been kind to Arthur in his childhood, had never been loving, had never taken the time to care for him like real brothers would—but in their eyes the only ones who were allowed to hurt their little brother was [them]. They had been the ones who’d so easily given Arthur away to that pompous prince, to wed him and to tie him to another, but to them Arthur was still [theirs]. Family came first, cold, cruel, and vicious as Arthur’s family was, and never a lover, a human least of all.
But Arthur’s love was his to give to whomever he wished, his heart to gift to whomever he deemed worthy of it. Alfred had his love and Alfred had his heart, and Arthur would not have it any other way. So he’d ignored his brothers, had cast them away, had cursed at them and hurt them like he’d never hurt them before. Arthur would kill them if they hurt his human. He made sure they knew that before they left, bristling with rage and the desire to break the one who’d stolen their little brother away from them.
“He will never love you,” they made sure Arthur knew before they left, cruel with their words and spiteful with their smiles. “He will never hold you and he will never be yours the way you have so foolishly gifted yourself to him. Love him all your want but know that he will never yearn for you the way you yearn for him.”
Your Sins Into Me [1/?]
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Arthur knew Alfred better than he knew his own family.
He knew how Alfred liked his coffee (—black, with two spoons of sugar, sometimes three when he was feeling particularly tired—), and that he drank more carbonated drinks than was healthy. Arthur knew Alfred was a good cook but that he preferred to eat fatty takeout, specially those cheese burgers he was so fond of. After a summer in high school were he put on more pounds than he would have liked, Alfred began to work out almost every day. Despite this, the young man continued to lead a less than healthy diet; Arthur found that trait of Alfred endearing, and on others days, slightly irritating. Arthur didn’t like following Alfred to the gym. He would never admit it out loud, because he was just as stubborn and prideful as Alfred, if not more, but he didn’t like the looks Alfred got from the females who stared at him at the gym.
Arthur would not deny that he sometimes played mean tricks on the girls, from hiding their toilettes and tying their shoelaces together to cursing that barely-there-and-noticeable pimple to grow ten times bigger. Arthur was always in a bad mood when Alfred went to the gym. The only reason why he followed his human there was to keep the females from latching onto him with their talons. He could not blame the females for fawning over Alfred though, for he too had always found his human to be beautiful. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it.
It hurt him to see Alfred crush and fall in love with those girls. There had been times when Arthur had hurt so much that he’d been unable to fly, his wings sad and droopy, his magic so pitiful he could not even make the roses in Alfred’s garden bloom. Invisible and completely besotted with his human, Arthur watched over the years as Alfred continued to fall in and out of love with those girls.
“If it’s too painful for you, leave.”
Drawing his legs to his chest, Arthur gazed sadly at the near park bench, where his human and a pretty brunette sat side to side, shoulders touching, hands inches away from touching. Closing his eyes against the happy image the couple made, Arthur buried his head in his knees.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, voice muffled but just as stubborn as it’d been years ago, when his four brothers—his true nest brothers, blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, sharers of his magic—threatened to drag him back home kicking and screaming if they had to.
Arthur’s brothers did not like Alfred; Arthur’s brothers were not fond of humans, they were cruel and spiteful and would have loved nothing more than to play with Alfred until the boy broke. To them, Alfred was Arthur’s weakness, an embarrassment to their family. They’d never been kind to Arthur in his childhood, had never been loving, had never taken the time to care for him like real brothers would—but in their eyes the only ones who were allowed to hurt their little brother was [them]. They had been the ones who’d so easily given Arthur away to that pompous prince, to wed him and to tie him to another, but to them Arthur was still [theirs]. Family came first, cold, cruel, and vicious as Arthur’s family was, and never a lover, a human least of all.
But Arthur’s love was his to give to whomever he wished, his heart to gift to whomever he deemed worthy of it. Alfred had his love and Alfred had his heart, and Arthur would not have it any other way. So he’d ignored his brothers, had cast them away, had cursed at them and hurt them like he’d never hurt them before. Arthur would kill them if they hurt his human. He made sure they knew that before they left, bristling with rage and the desire to break the one who’d stolen their little brother away from them.
“He will never love you,” they made sure Arthur knew before they left, cruel with their words and spiteful with their smiles. “He will never hold you and he will never be yours the way you have so foolishly gifted yourself to him. Love him all your want but know that he will never yearn for you the way you yearn for him.”