Don't Let Me Drown (Closed)

[Joan Amador]

He wasn't sure how many days had past. He spent most of the time either sleeping or throwing up - and the latter part typically involved throwing up blood. He'd lost a lot of blood that way but thankfully Sara and Xander were both a match and had donated blood for him. Aleksandr had also visited several times, even helping heal the fever that had plagued him for several nights. He'd learned about the immortal healing him earlier and was fairly certain the side effects of his powers would have been a lot worse if not for him. He was dressed only in a pair of boxers, curled up under the blankets of the bed he shared with Dorian. He felt cleaner, having gotten his boyfriend's help with a bath, but he also still felt weak and pathetic. His body was emitting radiation at a lower rate than it ever had before since getting his powers. It was as if he'd let so much radiation loose at Aegis' headquarters that now his body was struggling to replenish it. Normally he'd be fine with it, but it left his muscles sore, his head foggy. It left him struggling to walk on his own without getting dizzy and retching. He knew he should have been thankful to survive but God, did a part of him wish he hadn't. His depression had never fully went away but he'd been able to focus more on Dorian, on his life, his happiness with him. Now all those thoughts he'd struggled with prior to finding happiness with the other man had come flooding back. He felt like a burden even if he knew no one thought that except himself. He could also feel Dorian's worry, his concern for him, like a thought ever present in the back of his mind. He wasn't sure how he knew what his boyfriend was feeling so well. It was more than just looking at the man and being able to tell. He could feel it as if they were his own feelings. Joan reached out for Dorian who was always by his side. His fingers brushed the other man's wrist before he moved to try to push himself into a sitting position. His body protested, his head swam, and he grimaced, swaying to the side and finding Dorian there to catch him. "I'm sorry," he found himself breathing, the words barely a whisper. His throat was only no longer sore thanks to Aleksandr's healing. "I don't - I don't mean to worry you."

... It comes in waves, i close my eyes, hold my breath, and let it bury me. i'm not okay and it's not alright. won't you drag the lake and bring me home again?... fallout @dorian outfit described in post 421 words n/a

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]

[Deleted]

The days had passed in a surreal blur. Since their return from the attack on Aegis HQ, Dorian hand't left Joan's side. That was a point of plain irritation and wariness from his family. The lot of them either knew that Dorian being there would help Joan control his powers while in recovery, or that asking (even demanding) him to leave would've been fruitless, because no one tried to remove him. He very likely would've backhanded them if they'd dared try. Dorian's entire being was bent on Joan in a way it hadn't been, even before. Every blink, stealing the boy from his sight, was a lash of pain. He stayed by Joan's side, drawing in as much of the pain and darker emotions as he dared. To not be having some kind of contact with him - even just a held hand - was like drowning. And all the while in those minutes-turned-hours-turned-days, Dorian was struck with images from the mission: of Joan, coming apart at the seams in that training room; of Joan beneath physician's indifferent hands on a gurney; of Joan with blood leaking from his ears and nose; of Joan wracked with pain so deep he couldn't even see or communicate or do more than whimper and groan. Every memory was a sadistic knife into Dorian's soul; his heart suffering death by a thousand cuts. And with every second Dorian lashed his own back, flaying it with the knowledge, like a penance, that he'd been unable to prevent it all. Unable to protect Joan. Only once had Dorian been forced to leave Joan's presence, and that was to meet with his benefactor directly. Perses had been... displeased at how the mission ended. He'd not screamed or cursed or even so much as raised his voice, but Dorian could feel his emotions, and the way he spoke he needn't yell to give his careful words the same impact. Tangled up in the pretty, clever web of the thorough reprimand was the clear - though never said - promise that Perses was very carefully considering removing Joan from Dorian's charge. He'd suffered through the entire conversation without reacting much, eyes glazed, focus totally devoted to weathering Perses's verbal storm as quickly as possible to get back to Joan. When that unspoken threat came about, though, Dorian was startled from his daze. He'd kept polite and courteous, knowing that was the quickest way out of the room. But internally Dorian decided that if Perses dared to try to take Joan from him, he would tear the Cabal to the ground with his bare hands, starting with Perse's skull. Joan improved, though. Each minuscule step toward betterment made Dorian feel the stakes skewering his heart loosen. Soon Joan was even allowed to move into Dorian's room. The Warlock was emotionally and physically mangled, not letting up even a moment from his constant vigil on his boyfriend. Taking as much of Joan's hurt as he could drag down his empathic lines. But he didn't say a word, and used all the substantial acting skills he had to disguise that. Just then, Joan reached for him. Dorian, who'd been dozing in spite of himself, snapped alert at the faint movements and squirmed closer on the bed. The boy tried to prop himself up, wobbled and collapsed, but Dorian caught him, bracing the back of his head with a hand and collecting Joan's much smaller form against his own. "Don't," Dorian whispered. Usually that word from his lips in Joan's regard was stern and brittle. A command. This was a soft, broken plea. "Don't apologize. I can't survive it. Not right now." Dorian drew Joan's head to his own bare chest and anchored his lips in an unending kiss in the hair on his boyfriend's head, closing his eyes as though he were in pain.

... to be talkin' to you: b e l l a d o n a. should've taken a break, not an oxford comma. take what i want when i wanna. and i want ya ... Warlock Joan Amador

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]

[Joan Amador]

He curled up against Dorian. He breath was a bit uneven as he fought through the dizziness that moving had brought. He didn't want to throw up. He didn't want Dorian to have to rush him to the bathroom or rush a trash bin to him again. His eyes found Dorian when he spoke, not used to hearing that tone with him. Oh... He was worrying Dorian. Of course he was. He shrank a bit more against Dorian. How many times did he have to worry those he cared about? He wondered if he'd still be worrying them without his powers. Would he still be this weak, this pathetic without his powers or were it all because of those toxic powers? Right now he felt the weakness was more Joan Amador than the radioactivity. He didn't have a right to worry his loved ones like this - he didn't have a right to worry Dorian like this. He felt the kiss against his head but it did little to comfort him. He could feel the pain Dorian was in - He didn't know how but he could. And it was his fault. It wasn't that he could have said no to the mission - He could have; he fully believed Perses would have let him. It wasn't that he could have had better control over his powers - He could have, should have. No, it was his mere existence that caused people to worry and fret over him. Even Dorian, who was physically safe from his radiation, was not emotionally safe. He didn't think this would be the last time he caused Dorian to worry, caused him to feel pain. He looked up at Dorian as much as he could in his position. Joan didn't want to hurt him but he was also fully aware that he was far too selfish to break up with Dorian. He loved him, he realized, though it hadn't occurred to him that he hadn't actually said that yet. He'd held back. It wasn't fair to Dorian, he thought, to trap him with someone that would hurt him. But at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to even think about the possibility of letting Dorian go. It felt like losing a limb. He wasn't going to do it. His eyes fluttered close, the negative thoughts like a noose tightening around his neck. He wasn't sure what he would have done without Dorian there to anchor him. Perhaps he finally would have been brave enough to stop existing. He didn't want to die, no, he wanted to stop existing - There was a difference, in his mind. But that clashed with the very real fact that he wanted to continue existing with Dorian by his side. He opened his eyes, the dizziness having passed, his breathing more even now. He shifted ever-so-slightly, the barest of movements, so he could look up at Dorian better. "I... I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, not referring to his apologizing but rather all the worry and pain Dorian had been put through since that mission. "I think..." He looked away, eyes settling on the blanket. "If I was kind, I'd..." He felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed it. "I'd push you away. That way I couldn't hurt you." His hands grasped at the blanket as tightly as his tired muscles could managed. "I'm sorry I can't be kind," he continued, despite knowing that Dorian didn't like it when he apologized. He felt like it needed to be said. He felt his eyes watering - He hadn't known he had any tears left to cry. He looked back up at Dorian, eyes shining. "I don't want to hurt you but I don't want to lose you. I love you."

... It comes in waves, i close my eyes, hold my breath, and let it bury me. i'm not okay and it's not alright. won't you drag the lake and bring me home again?... fallout @dorian outfit described in first post 627 words -dumps a pile of feels on you-

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]

[Deleted]

Dorian lay there, holding his metaphorical heart against his literal one. The emotions he felt, rolling and churning like a thunderhead, seeped into his skin. Dorian lapped at them, just enough to take the sharpest edge off of them in Joan's chest. For a very long time now, any further tampering with Joan's emotions (even for noble reasons) felt like a bone-deep betrayal on Dorian's part. Joan still didn't know that his powers could influence emotions. Didn't know that Dorian had lashed his fear like horses drawing a chariot, there at the beginning of their relationship to solidify the boy's dependency on the man. The closer Dorian and Joan became - the more confused, but content the former was with the feelings the latter buried in him - the more guilt haunted and hounded Dorian about the dishonesty of their first weeks. Now the only time Dorian would pull on Joan's feelings, dragging them into himself, was when he felt pain. Ingesting them, bearing them so Joan didn't have to. The older man continued to take the most lethal edges of Joan's cocktail of emotions and drive them deep and biting into his own mind and soul while they lay there. Joan stirred, determination coloring the edges of his emotions. Dorian listened, and the words shackled him like stone after stone to his ankles and wrists, dragging him deeper into the sea of feelings over which Joan was the master and tempest. Dorian wanted to shake the boy, yell at him to stop being so ridiculous, to stop thinking poorly of himself - why couldn't Joan see what Dorian saw in him? But he didn't. Dorian just stayed there, holding his lover more firmly against him. "Hurt me?" he parroted in a soft break between Joan's words. "You saved me." Dorian hadn't chosen to say the words, but they were the truth and they fell out of his mouth before he knew what was happening. He thought back to the jaded, cynical and cruel creature he had been before Joan. Oh, Dorian knew he was still all of those things, but Joan had given him a reason to continue breathing beyond himself. In fact, Dorian would've cast himself onto a pyre if it was what was best for the boy in his arms. Joan was talking about selfishness and Dorian nearly laughed at the irony. Because he was the selfish one. Even in the light that Joan had brought to his life, Dorian cast shadow on it: with the dishonesty that plagued the start of their relationship; with his simple being. That a creature so warped and gnarled coveted and kept for himself one as pure and faultless as Joan. Oh, he was the villain in this story. "-I don't want to lose you. I love you." Dorian's entire being stilled. Any time in his life that he had heard those words, Dorian had manipulated them into being. This was the first that it had come about through genuine desire from someone. And above that, it was the first time Dorian had had a reaction. His skin felt like it was on fire; his head swam like this couldn't possibly be happening; and his soul? His soul sang a symphony so bright Dorian was surprised his limbs didn't radiate his joy. "I..." Dorian caught the words, because they were spilling from him just like the admission from before. And he didn't want that. He wanted them to be purposeful and intent, and he wanted to- Dorian gingerly drew Joan up so their heads were level. His eyes misted slightly, his throat was raw with emotion, but he looked with an unmatched intensity into Joan's eyes. "I love you too." The blinding truth to it shattered a cruel crust around Dorian's heart. He felt instantaneously transformed by his admission; was this the freeing experience that Catholics felt after confession? And rather than the words setting his carnal urges aflame, Dorian had no desire in him in that moment except to hold Joan close and slowly, thoroughly explore the boy's lips with his own. So he did just that. And if a stray tear tracked a path down his bearded face, Dorian didn't care - he wore it as a badge of honor.

... to be talkin' to you: b e l l a d o n a. should've taken a break, not an oxford comma. take what i want when i wanna. and i want ya ... Warlock Joan Amador

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[Joan Amador]

He'd never thought of himself as a savior. That word was one he'd associate with his siblings or his dad, those that were actually going out there and trying to make a difference in the world while he hid behind the Cabal's walls and tried not to cause a mass murder. He'd also never thought of Dorian as someone who needed saving. He'd always seemed much more put together than Joan. He was cool, suave, had his powers under control and seemed to have a good grasp on who he was. Even when they'd barely known each other, Joan had thought Dorian was everything he wasn't. He still looked at him with that awe and wonder. It made him wonder how much there was about his boyfriend that he didn't know. He barely registered when Dorian stilled, his mind still working slower than usual while he recovered. For a second, he wondered what he'd do if the words, the sentiment, weren't returned. He didn't think he'd have much of a problem with it. After all some people fell in love at different paces, different speeds, right? If Dorian couldn't say he loved him back yet, that didn't mean he wasn't falling in love with him... Right? However he didn't need to worry about that. Joan blinked up at Dorian, even that action slow, tired. Then he was moved, shifted gently. Even if he wanted to not be moved, even if he cared, he didn't have the energy to protest or resist. But this was Dorian. Dorian could do anything with his body and he would be perfectly okay with that. There was nothing Dorian could do to him that he wouldn't want or enjoy, he was sure of that. He loved him. He noted the tears in his boyfriend's eyes - Had he ever seen his eyes coated in such mist? Then Dorian said it. There was a sort of buffering moment - it was brief but it was there as Joan processed the words. He'd just started to grin, meek yet bright, when he found his lips covered by Dorian's. He couldn't help letting out a soft, pleased moan, having been starved for this kind of attention from the older man. His hands rested against Dorian's chest, wishing they could do more and cursing the fact that he wasn't fully recovered yet. He wanted all of Dorian and he didn't want to wait. But then there was the distinct sound of the room's door being opened. There was no knock, it was simply unlocked and opened. Joan took in a shuddering breath as he managed to pull away from the kiss and attempted to get a look at who was entering, after all there weren't many people with a pass to every locked door in the Institute. It was either his dad or-- It was a doctor. He wondered if it was because he was tired, exhausted, that the doctor looked uncaring to him. Despite the record low radiation he was emitting, they still wore a hazmat suit. They carried a metal tray and set it on the edge of the bed. Then they picked up from the tray a needle long enough to make Joan's stomach twist and head spin. His hands instinctively clutched Dorian's arms.

... It comes in waves, i close my eyes, hold my breath, and let it bury me. i'm not okay and it's not alright. won't you drag the lake and bring me home again?... fallout @dorian outfit described in first post 546 words n/a

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[Deleted]

The door opened. Joan gasped in soft surprise. The door itself was to Dorian's back - his side of the bed was closest to it out of unspoken protectiveness of Joan. In stark contrast to Joan's soft inhalation, a growl rolled from deep in Dorian's chest. His eyes fluttered open and his irises shone a dull, dangerous crimson, like the color of drying blood. He turned, careful not to jostle Joan, and the anger twisting his lips in a snarl sputtered. His expression went lax, but his eyes seared more brightly. All at once Dorian knew what this was about, before even seeing the syringe that the strangers carried. Every instinct in Dorian wanted to hurl them bodily from the room. To take that needle and do to them what they were planning on doing to Joan. Two sides of Dorian fought like rabid animals in his skull. He could take Joan, right then, and flee. He had resources. Despite the Cabal's reach, he could keep them a step ahead. If it meant keeping Joan away from any more pain, he'd do it at any cost. The rest of Dorian pointed out how absurd he was being. Or, if not absurd, it highlighted one grave, immovable fact: Joan would not leave. Not voluntarily. And that more than anything stopped the older man from acting violently to protect the boy in his arms - the boy that he loved. "Listen to me, Joan. Look at me. I won't-" Dorian wanted to say "let them hurt you," but he didn't have a choice in the matter, "leave your side." He glared in open hostility at the hazmat-suited physicians. "You will not touch him unless absolutely necessary." The doctors exchanged rolled eyes at each other. With a buffet of wind, Dorian was no longer on the bed. Standing, shirtless, but with black sweats on, he stood between the two strangers, within equal reach of them, a malice rolling off of his heaving chest that made them both flinch. "Or I will kill you," he whispered. After that the physicians worked hurriedly, one avoiding looking at Dorian altogether, his fellow not able to look away. The older man helped arrange Joan as instructed, his heart breaking with each passing moment. Yet another peril he couldn't save the boy from. "Take my hand," Dorian said at the last, and enclosed Joan's in both of his. He waited and, at the last, the moment of injection, stole without any caution all the pain from Joan that he could. Dorian closed his eyes, his teeth biting into his bottom lip enough that blood splashed through his mouth, as he felt a phantasmal echo of Joan's procedure on his own body.

... to be talkin' to you: b e l l a d o n a. should've taken a break, not an oxford comma. take what i want when i wanna. and i want ya ... Warlock Joan Amador

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]

[Joan Amador]

He could feel Dorian's anger, his protectiveness. He didn't understand why Dorian didn't trust the Cabal's doctors like he did. He'd been told they were hand picked by Perses and he had no reason to doubt his dad. Besides, the Cabal had been supplying his doctors since he'd been nine years old. They weren't always gentle - they had told him his powers made it difficult to numb him and thus they were often sources of pain for him. He didn't understand the science behind it - how his radiation apparently negated whatever they used to numb people, but again, he had no reason to doubt. He didn't know they simply didn't care. Joan looked at Dorian the second he was asked to. He was comforted, the needle gone from his mind the second his eyes were met with Dorian's. He wondered if there was something Dorian knew that he didn't. He reached up, weak, tired, to run a hand through the older man's hair. "I'll be okay," he assured him, though he openly found comfort in the idea of Dorian being by his side the whole time. He also didn't think there was any pain - physical at least - that the doctors or frankly anyone could inflict on him that would be worse than what his body, his powers had done at Aegis' headquarters. Then Dorian was gone, a blur of movement. Joan instinctively reached out for where he had just been before noticing he was in front of the doctors. He recoiled in on himself at the amount of hostility, of malice, he felt from Dorian. He made a small noise and then Dorian was back. He didn't notice how hurriedly the doctors worked as they instructed Dorian to get him into a sitting position, his back toward them. He didn't know why he needed his back to them - Weren't needles typically just used on arms? Then he caught a glimpse of two needles, both the same length, on that tray. He wasn't sure if his head swam more from being moved or seeing the needles. He reached for Dorian's hand as he was instructed, his breathing becoming uneven again. He didn't know what they were going to do or why they were doing it. He didn't like it. He trusted them because he thought his dad did. But that didn't mean he didn't want answers. He focused on Dorian, practically leaning forward against him as he felt gloved hands on the back of his neck. Why were they that high? His anxiety was starting to rise. His body struggled to generate and emit radiation in response but all it could manage was to send a shudder running down his spine. His breath hitched when he felt the needle push in. However the pain he expected never came. Instead his mind and his heart told him Dorian was in pain. The needle was pulled out but not even a second later it was replaced with a second one in the exact same spot, the same path. When they were done, he meekly reached forward to pull Dorian into his arms as best he could, aware that the older man was in pain but unsure why. He was vaguely aware of the bandage high on the back of his neck now. "What - What was that for?" he managed to ask, his breathing better from the lack of pain he'd endured. His hands were in Dorian's hair, running slow, smooth lines. He felt his own sense of protectiveness swelling. Then came an answer he didn't know how to process. "Your chip needed replacing," the doctor - the one that wasn't terrified speechless by Dorian - stated matter-of-factly as if the answer should have been obvious and Joan was stupid for not knowing. "You fried it during your last episode." There was a beat - two - that passed. The look on Joan's face made it clear he had no clue what they were talking about. He opened his mouth to ask more but the doctor sighed as if his curiosity was annoying. "It's to monitor your abilities," came the lie except he didn't know it was a lie, "You want a cure, don't you?" Joan flinched but nodded. "This is how we collect data needed for that." With that, the two doctors took the tray and left the room, not once looking back at them. He hadn't realized his grip on Dorian had tightened. He leaned down, resting his head against his boyfriend's shoulder. Whatever connection it was that allowed him to feel what Dorian was feeling, it was his priority to search that and see if he was still in pain. His own weakness, his own condition was forgotten as he searched Dorian's own feelings.

... It comes in waves, i close my eyes, hold my breath, and let it bury me. i'm not okay and it's not alright. won't you drag the lake and bring me home again?... fallout @dorian outfit described in first post 789 words n/a

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[Deleted]

His being was focused on two things. The first, that which he was always: Joan. The second: disguising the biting pain he was pulling away from the boy before it could find its mark. Dorian swallowed at the phantom injection, deep and biting, to the back of his own neck, but holding Joan's eyes in his was all the resolve he needed to ignore the sensation. When both syringes were spent, Joan reached for him and Dorian could've been an inch from death, but he would've responded. He let Joan pull him closer and wrapped his arms around his lover, holding the boy to his bare chest. Joan asked what the needles were for and Dorian, still unable to speak lest he betray the pain he still burgled, glared unabashedly at the physicians. The answers came and the surprise Joan felt - explaining clearly he hadn't known of the first one's existence - made that cruel, possessive beast that coveted the boy in Dorian's chest bare its teeth. The physicians spoke sterile lies. It didn't take Dorian's parasitic empathy to see that, just the kind of cynical, harsh person he had become. But Joan believed them, and Dorian knew that if he tried to say otherwise, Joan's blind loyalty to the Cabal would trump his willingness to believe Dorian. The doctors left and Dorian held Joan more tightly as the boy lay his head on his shoulder. There was a tingling - a warbling through his empathy - that he never felt before. If he hadn't been swallowing the lingering pain of Joan's, and ruminating on how murderous the Cabal's dishonesty with his lover made him, he might've been more likely to explore the sensation. Once upon a time, Dorian wouldn't have had the kind of compassion and love to make him see as clearly as he did now. And there was no one on earth Dorian would be willing to cut himself open - metaphorically or literally - than the boy he held in his arms. But his anger at the Cabal's dishonesty just then took the wound Dorian had been worrying over for weeks and split it wide open, and though he would bear all the pain in the world for Joan, he couldn't bear to carry this any longer. "Joan. I have to tell you something," he began. Voice tentative. His trepidation and determination plain. "I wasn't only chosen to safeguard you because I'm immune to your radiation. My powers also give me limited manipulation of emotions." Dorian's breathing was shallow. He'd wanted to wait until Joan was in better health to get this out in the open but he couldn't. It had to be now. His heart wouldn't have the strength to beat one more time otherwise. He rushed ahead, wanting to get the facts laid straight before Joan could react on half of them. "The only time I used that portion of my abilities was to soothe you, at the beginning. Then once I refrained enough to get you to seek me out - that first night you spent in my bed. After that, I didn't - I haven't manipulated you. I didn't want to come clean, for fear you'd think I'm lying, and you'd have every right. But I'm not." Dorian's eyes had misted over and leaked a slow drip of tears. His voice sounded completely unlike him, warbled and furrowed by his emotions as he plead for Joan to believe him. "I didn't want to tell you until you were better but keeping it secret has been eating me alive. What I did was unforgivable and I wish I could take it back but, Joan-" He swallowed, his nose running, and his burgeoning emotions cracked his voice as he said, the picture of a desperate, prostrate and penitent soul, "I'm sorry." And now Dorian waited for Joan to strike him. To push him away. To tear out his heart by telling him to leave. All of the worst possible outcomes churned in Dorian's head, but he had to face them, even if they came about. They were, somehow, more tolerable to his soul than milking this foundation of dishonesty that his relationship with Joan stood on.

... to be talkin' to you: b e l l a d o n a. should've taken a break, not an oxford comma. take what i want when i wanna. and i want ya ... Warlock Joan Amador

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[Joan Amador]

Dorian wasn't okay. He could see that as well as feel it. He opened his mouth to ask what he needed - Dorian had done so much to help him, there had to be something he could do. But Dorian started talking before he could. He'd never heard Dorian so hesitant. He reached up to cup Dorian's face in his hands. What did he have to tell him that he hadn't already? Just moments ago, they had each confessed their love for the first time. But then the words came. And they kept coming. His mind was slow, trying to process all that he was being told. By the time his words started reaching him, they felt like a bombardment. They, adding with the swirl of emotions, the intensity of emotions he felt coming from Dorian, felt overwhelming. He pulled his hands away. Dorian could manipulate emotions. He'd been hired for those powers. He'd... He'd been assigned to him because of those powers. That had meant his dad - He'd hired Dorian with the intention of him manipulating his emotions. Joan started to shake his head. No - No, his dad wouldn't do that. He was certain. Yet... Among the tangle of emotions he felt from Dorian, honesty stuck out like a sore thumb. Then Dorian said he'd used this power on him. He stared at him, his face showing that it wasn't that he didn't believe him, he didn't want to. He thought the idea of Dorian using that power, manipulating his emotions, to soothe him wasn't bad - It was almost romantic, kind. But then he mentioned the first night they'd shared a bed. He remembered that night very well. In Dorian's bed, with his arms around him, that had been the first time he'd ever slept without a nightmare. But the nightmare that had proceeded that? Joan couldn't stop the hurt that found its way onto his face. He knew manipulating emotions was different than giving him a nightmare, that hadn't been Dorian. But the fear he'd felt... He'd never felt fear like that before. He'd been so close to losing control that night. Everyone in the Institute - in the city - would have been in danger, they would have all died if he'd lost control. All so he would seek Dorian out. He thought he should have felt numb with all there was to process. But he'd started crying the second Dorian did. He didn't know if it was from his own feelings or what he felt rolling off Dorian. Crying made breathing harder. His head swam. His stomach twisted. He wanted to lay down. He wanted to get up and leave. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be held. "You... You made me afraid," he said after a while, his voice quiet, forced, strained. He wanted to push him away. He wanted to pull him closer. "You... You put me through that." He moved to reach for him then pulled his hands away. He didn't know what to do with his hands. He settled for trying to wipe his own tears away but they wouldn't stop falling. "Why?!" he found himself demanding, the words pouring out like tears before he could even consider stopping them. "That - That was horrible. I am afraid every day of my life already-- Why - Why would you do that to me? I didn't - I didn't need that." Breathing was becoming harder. He could feel his body going into overdrive to generate enough radiation, thinking he was in danger. His eyes and mouth were starting to glow. He moved his head so he could catch Dorian's eyes if he dared to try to look away. His stomach felt like he was going to be sick. His head felt like it wanted to pass out. His lungs felt like there was barely enough oxygen in the room. "I didn't deserve that," he stressed. His hand reached for his throat. He felt like he couldn't breathe. It was all too much - Everything he'd been told, his body recovering, his own emotions, Dorian's emotions. He reached for Dorian. He needed him. He wanted him. He clung to him. "Why," he started to ask, fear finding its why into his voice. "Why - Why can I feel what you're feeling?"

... It comes in waves, i close my eyes, hold my breath, and let it bury me. i'm not okay and it's not alright. won't you drag the lake and bring me home again?... fallout @dorian outfit described in first post 711 words Hi yes I hurt myself writing this.

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[Deleted]

Every word, every thrash of Joan's emotions, was another knife that scorched him to the core. He took them openly, without flinching, and held Joan loosely in his arms. Dorian felt he was more than deserving of each syllable that flayed his soul from his body. Above all, he was terrified that Joan would physically push him away, or order him to leave. But he didn't. And that's why Dorian was able to keep himself knit together, if only just. The older man opened his mouth to say there was no excuse, there was no forgivable reason to justify or absolve him of what he'd done. That he was asking Joan - begging him - to love him anyway, to love him in spite of himself. Joan's emotional drowning changed turns, reaching out to clutch onto Dorian and the older man's heart split in pieces with hope. "Why can I feel what you're feeling?" Dorian stilled. Confusion broke like a wave on his face. Then he remembered the faint hum that'd been growing in his brain for weeks. He looked severely at Joan through his red, puffy eyes and... "Wait... I can let you in?" He spoke aloud. Then Dorian clutched Joan all the more fiercely and, reaching into that foreign humming sensation, found Joan on the other side... With his bare hands and bleeding fingers he ripped that space open, letting Joan flood into him, into the maelstrom of all his emotions about their relationship. His regret, his self-loathing, and above all his undiluted, pure, raw, incarnate love for Joan Amador.

... to be talkin' to you: b e l l a d o n a. should've taken a break, not an oxford comma. take what i want when i wanna. and i want ya ... Warlock Joan Amador

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