the silence that lingers on the hamlet bodes unwell. it makes audrey’s hair stand on end, makes her boots tap-tap-tap the tavern floor as she paces back and forth and back and forth until the barkeep tells her to take it outside, she’s making the other patrons antsy.
so her pacing takes her outside, where she can see the battered hamlet gate, the aftermath of the brigands beating on their door, and wonders why the battle has gone quiet. wonders if it is a good or bad thing -- if their marching party will return or if vvulf will batter the door down and burn them to the ground.
a hulking shadow greets the hamlet gates and her heart thunders in her ears -- her fingers reach for the knives in her belt until she seems the great shield that beckons their champions home. bishop leads the march, though there is exhaustion in his smoldering shoulders.
her heart drops when she counts three heads instead of four.
ymira says not a word to her as she shoulders past audrey, as she nearly knocks the graverobber to the ground, and the blood caking her body says enough -- she is tired. she wants nothing more than to lose herself in some ale and forget the night.
the only one who speaks to her is the one who looks most haunted: adenay’s arms are folded tight around her versebook, her hood pulled askew and a curl of chestnut hair hanging along her face. there is blood on her face, on her hands, soaking into the red of her robes. when she sees audrey, the book falls to the dirt, holiness forgotten in a heartbreaking instant. before she can even say the words lingering on her tongue, the ‘i’m so sorry’s and the ‘i tried, i tried, i tried’s, audrey is flinching away from her, has sharp and angry accusations to fling, but adenay is crying and shaking and audrey can’t even bring herself to say anything in response.
the poison dies upon her tongue, settles in her gut and lingers in her lungs as she staggers back from the sobbing vestal and turns tail towards.....somewhere. anywhere. anywhere but here, anywhere but now.
@eldritchbled because our children have destroyed me
He is everything in her vision and the swelling of her heart as he plucks the strings and plays her like a harp. He is the sun shining through his raven locks that whip in the wind he creates carelessly and in perfect tandem with the beating of her heart. He is the ground she walks upon and bends, the levity that keeps her connected to the world around her and the very reason she continues on. He is everything she has learned from, everything she hopes to be, everything she wishes she could be.
He is everything to her, and she wouldn’t have traded his company for anything in the world.
Taliyah’s laughter is normally musical, but under his guidance and compassion it only reaches even happier notes as they spend their time together, training and learning from each other. She takes under his wing like the sparrow he so lovingly calls her.
He is everything to her.
It’s when her eyes crinkle up when she laughs at his corniness, when her head slumps back to allow the waves of chortles to pass by her lips and she has to hold her stomach because he has gone and done another party trick that always leaves her in shambles - it’s when she wipes the happy tear that has formed in the corner of her eye and she subconsciously looks past him, out to their surroundings, that she notices him.
It couldn’t possibly be anybody else. Him. The sight of him makes her laughter stop short, hand freezing near her cheek where it had been wiping away the tear before Taliyah shakes her head, frowning because the mood she’d been in dissipated like morning dew on grass leaves. Her sensei is still performing, too caught up in his parlor trick to notice that Taliyah has gone quiet.
She licks her lips in anticipation. I must speak with him.
“Sensei, one moment, please. I shall be right back.” She muses as she stands from where she had been sitting next to him, making her way over to the line of trees he’s no doubt hiding behind. So unlike him, and yet for some reason Taliyah is not surprised.
Her master gives a small noise of acknowledgment as she leaves his side, and with a quick punt of her foot she is rock surfing out to the edges of the clearing she had been sharing with him. The figure she is surfing towards, usually so tall and commanding, seems to shrink under her scrutiny as she confronts him from behind the tree he’s currently backed up against.
Her arms cross over her chest, but it is not in anger or disappointment - only bated expectation. “Darius,” she muses, sienna eyes scanning at the familiar face - though her face is distinctly not smiling, as per her usual. To see such a usually happy face devoid of its contentedness is such a foreign look, especially on one so upbeat as Taliyah.
“It has been a long time, both since I have seen you, and since you have been to Ionia. I am sure this is not merely a coincidence. What brings you to Ionia?” Her voice is neutral, lacking the warmth of her laughter from just a moment ago. She prays that Yasuo does not go looking for her and inevitably finds her out of sight talking in hushed tones with this Noxian, but she wouldn’t put it past him at this point.
Darius looks away, unable to meet her gaze. Not only is it odd to see him so subdued - to see him unable to meet her gaze is an equally odd sight. “I just came to see... if the rumors were true, about your life after you had left Noxus.”
The frown on Taliyah’s face only grows at that, and she gives an unhappy huffed exhale as she is now the one to turn her gaze away from him. “The day that Noxus finally lets go of the files and rumors of my existence and keeps my name off of its lips is the day they finally give up their outward expansion dreams.”
“You misunderstand me,” The Noxian frowns with a shake of his head. “I speak not of rumors spread by Swain or his faction - what I reference is not in any government papers or reports about you. This is... more personal than that. I came seeking the closure that... you have truly been happy since your departure from Noxus.”
Taliyah’s sigh leaves her lips at the same time as the General himself concedes a heavy sigh - the air is heavy with the tension of unspoken words. It is not even as if Taliyah left on any particularly bad terms, but it was no secret that her departure had wounded Darius deeply.
Despite this, however, Taliyah looks back towards the clearing and smiles fondly at the thought of who is waiting there for her. “... Yes.” She finally says. “I would say I am quite happy.”
“Then that is all that matters.” Darius’s voice is gruff. “He definitely appears better suited for you than Noxus ever was.”
“I never sought out leadership.” Taliyah admits. “The teacher I truly needed was never one you could buy or attend classes from. I needed guidance, I needed compassion. Someone to learn with me as well as teach me. I could never have found that in Noxus, no matter how understanding your nation is of magic. I was... never meant to go there, Darius. I hope you understand that. My decision to leave was never with the intent of hurting you or betraying the generosity you have shown me. I just...”
A heavy silence. A stalemate. Both parties were unable to speak - Taliyah kept her eyes trained on the floor, arms wrapped around herself as her frown only grew more troubled. “... I am happy now. I am where I need to be.”
“I suppose you never did belong in Noxus, as painful as that sounds.” Darius concedes. “I could tell you were never truly happy, as hard as you tried to convince the both of us otherwise. Noxus clipped your wings and caged you - here, you are free. It is such a sad waste of potential for our nation to let you go, but... it was the least I could offer you; a peaceful parting. You need not worry about Noxus following you here. I came alone on my journey to find you once more and I do not plan on returning again, lest Noxus finally decides to expand its borders here permanently.”
Taliyah turns her gaze once more to the clearing where her sensei sits, now playing his flute. She can faintly hear his melodic music through the growth of bushes and trees that separate the two, and the sound makes her smile faintly. “... Please, promise me you will not hurt my sensei. He was not involved in my leaving. That was a decision I made on my own.”
The General frowns and shakes his head at her words. “He will remained unharmed. Believe it or not, Taliyah, I did not come to cause bloodshed. Only... to find closure.”
“... I suppose I should be heading back, then.” Another sigh.
“Yes, I suppose it would be in your best interest. I should be heading back to Noxus, myself; I wasn’t exactly supposed to come and make the expedition here.”
For the first time since she’s been in his presence, Taliyah allows herself a small chuckle, sienna eyes locking with his as Taliyah flashes a bittersweet smile Darius’s way. “It was... lovely to see you, Darius. For all it is worth, I wish you the best.”
They do not touch. They do not give another word of parting. Darius picks himself back up to his full height and turns away without another word, never looking back. Taliyah stays where she is for a few minutes, watching his silhouette gradually get smaller as Darius walks back in the direction he came from.
She sighs, still watching, long after Darius is gone and the sun has begun its descent in the sky. Taliyah faintly picks up the sound of rustling leaves in the background before her sensei comes to join her once more, and she smiles far more genuinely in his presence.
“And what would you have been doing out here all by yourself, my little sparrow?” Yasuo coos, coming forward to lessen the distance between them. He puts his arm out to rest against the tree Darius had stood on, and with the use of his special nickname for her, Taliyah giggles.
“Ahh,” She sighs, “One is never truly alone in this world. I was... catching up with the past, I suppose you could say.”
“And what did the past tell you?”
A moment of contemplation. A small frown tugging at her lips as Taliyah worries it between her teeth. “The past reminds me that I am always to move forward. The past reminds me not to dwell on it. It tells me many things, Master, but today it told me that I am very happy to be where I am today. I can truly say that I am happy.”
She looks to the horizon and bows her head, making peace with her demons and hoping that somewhere, somehow, Darius will try to move on and do the same.
Taliyah turns, faces Yasuo, takes his hand and walks back to the clearing, truly feeling at ease for the first time in a long time.
johana’s lost soldiers before. good people, people she’d laughed and cried with for a tour or two before the skyllian blitz. losing all of her friends during that siege while defending elysium to her dying breath was tough, but she held out because she knew her teammates -- her friends -- wouldn’t have forgiven her if she gave up. receiving the heart of terra after that day felt hollow, because so many good people should’ve been at her side receiving it as well.
after that day, johana vowed never to lose another soldier again if she could help it.
it was difficult to keep her distance with people after the blitz, but for a while jo did exactly that. if she lost someone again, she didn’t want it to break her heart. she wanted to surround her heart in a protective shell, near impenetrable, so that she never had to cry at night and miss the sound of someone’s laugh again. sure, with her barrier she’d still miss someone lost to fighting, but it wouldn’t be debilitating.
johana is a people person, though, and she’s not meant to push people away.
the normandy crew was special, she knew that from the moment she stepped foot onto the ship. she felt connected to this crew in a way she hadn’t since the blitz, and despite herself she let herself get to know her crew once again. she let herself get attached to people who could easily be lost on the fight against saren. ashley and kaidan were her first true friends aboard the normandy, and she often spent hours speaking with them about things both serious and nonsensical when none of them could sleep. on occasion, their alien squad mates would join in, or joker would poke his head into jo’s quarters with a drink and a story to make even wrex crack a smile.
kaidan and ashley, though... they were special. they were the first in her crew -- her crew, no one else’s -- and she was loathe to part with either of them on virmire. the salarians needed an extra hand, though, and ash was the stronger soldier. kaidan had tech experience, so keeping him with the bomb made more sense.
see you on the other side, kadian had said before they all parted ways. little did jo know that wouldn’t be the case.
picking between leaving kaidan and ashley on virmire while the rest of them flew away was an impossible decision. they didn’t have time to debate, though, and saren’s forces were pinning both of them down. she wishes she had deliberated more on the choice, but the truth is she picked which would live at random. leaving either of them behind would be painful enough, and she didn’t value one of their lives more than the other.
it’s the right choice, kaidan said as she, garrus, and liara ran to ash’s aid.
it doesn’t feel like the right choice, johana thought in response, turning all her attention on fighting so she wouldn’t break down in the middle of the battle field.
she barely held it together in the meeting room, the explosion on virmire still clear in her mind every time she blinked. she barely held it together as ashley lost it in the comm room, and she barely held it together as she made her rounds to make sure everyone was okay. it wasn’t until she got back to the privacy of her quarters and saw a holo of herself, ash, and kaidan on her desk that johana shepard finally allowed herself to break down into tears, once again mourning the loss of someone special to her.
never again, she vowed once more. little did she know that the universe would have other plans.
it takes him a few days to gather his forces to trudge up the hill to the old manor. quincey strums a tune on the way, bishop marches at the head of the party, and the pair straggling behind is a masked man named fitzroy and a fellow occultist by the name of seguier.
bishop glances at regulus as the heir walks beside him. regulus doesn’t even turn an eye to him, focused solely on the house ahead of them, and it leaves a low, uncomfortable curling feeling in his chest.
it feels like something ill awaits them here.
( and of course, he is right, he has always been right. the feeling intensifies, twisting and coiling when they come up to the ancient, buried door underneath the old manor, half excavated and abandoned. it gets worse when he spies the manic, hungry look reflected in regulus’s eyes. )
he does not remember much of the journey past the door. he cannot remember it even if he tries, and he doesn’t try to remember -- there were twisted iron monuments, jagged arches depicting the symbolism left around the manor, cultists in robes and golden helmets with twisted mutations along their skin --
he thinks about it, and he drinks. and he wonders what in the world regulus was looking for down there.
he hears quincey’s laughter and he remembers again: twisting shadows, curling tendrils and blinking eyes, multiple awful, blinking eyes and a twisted body and --
a shuffling horror, a shambling nightmare, grabbing them and curling around them and quincey’s laughter, high and piercing in his ears as she stabs and slices and stabs and --
she’s still laughing. high-pitched giggles, counterpointed by tears running down her scarred face as she presses her hands to her face and shudders to pieces in the corner.
it is just the two of them. the occultist and the bounty hunter lay beneath the manor, bodies left behind as the pair of survivors and the heir fled with a relic of the former lord and a trio of strange stone torches.
quincey is still laughing. and somewhere across the hamlet, regulus plots to return.
Francois’s first breath of London air sets him coughing. Heclutches at the lapels of his coat and ducks into the nearest bar to grabsomething anything to wet down histhroat. It’s been a very long time since he’d last been to London. The Clock Towermade sure of that. Francois remembers the days before the Clock Tower. Francoisremembers when people fought with swords and died under the pretense ofchivalry. He smiles and raises a glass to a man that’s been dead forfour hundred years now.
A stranger slides into the seat next to his and jerks his head atthe beer. “Celebrating?”
“Human progress,” He confirms, jerking his head back at the cloggedstreets outside without a hint of irony. “Can’t even see the sky.”
“Can’t even see the street.”
Francois laughs and calls for another drink for his newfriend. The beer tastes like piss, but it’s better than the air outside. “It’ssome kind of city.”
“Some kind of city.” The man confirms. “What brings you allthe way out here? That accent’s… What? Italian?”
Francois shrugs and takes a good look at his drinking buddy.He’s a large man, covered in dirt and grime just like everyone else in thiscity. His face bears a nasty scar. He wonders briefly how he got it. “I’mlooking for someone. Chased him across a continent and a half by now. You knowa man named Makiri? Zolgen. Old guy. Not very pretty. I was after him in theEast, but by the time I got there he was already out here.”
The man goes stiff. The entire damnplace goes quiet as hell except for a buzzing that’s growing louder by thesecond. Francois sighs and drops payment for his drink on the counter. “Nevermind.I think I found him.” And then everything’s black and he knows no more.
✰: My muse invites your muse to dance to Christmas songs.
With interlocked fingers, and the soft blare of an old, slow Christmas song playing from Jimin’s shitty speaker, Jimin pressed himself closer to the taller, breathing in the way he smelled, how solid he felt against him – it felt the most right than Jimin has felt in an extremely long time – at least his heart and his body was in it, but his mind kept telling him that everything he felt was fruitless, and that he shouldn’t let his heart beat for a boy that was unattainable – too young to really know what he wants – which Jimin doubts is him of all things – the hyung that opened his arms and door for him when he needed a friend to lean on – Jimin was trying his hardest to convince himself that that was it – even if the ache in his chest told him otherwise.
Jimin regretted his next actions of looking up and locking eyes with the younger – with his sparkling eyes, that seemed to ooze a soft juvenile aura – that he’s been through way too much in so little years – Jimin could see some of that pain in the younger’s eyes too and he wanted to wipe that clear and leave only the youthful glow behind. He wanted to touch the chiseled jaw, strong and sharp under his smooth skin, he wanted to kiss rose lips, he wanted to be the reason for the smile that seemed too big for the mouth it belonged to. Jimin wanted a lot of things from Jeongguk. Too much.
His mind had told him he was being unrealistic and thinking about it seemed to make him emotional because before he knew it, the tightness of his throat and a slight blur of his vision was alerting him that he needed to detach and get himself together. He did so, no matter how perfectly Jimin’s fingers fit between the other’s. He broke whatever bond they were having and turned his face away, “that’s enough cheese for one day, brat” he joked trying to keep his voice simple and steady, he hoped he was convincing, “I have to finish grading papers before winter break. I will get my ass chewed out by the board. Do you think you could go get my bag out of my room, pretty please?” he asked, and when the younger disappeared, he used that short time to let his cheeks dampen and dried them just as quickly.
Or rather, that is what he would claim if anyone would question him and his drive, demand to know why he would put so much damn effort into everything he did, demand to know why he was driving himself to an early grave for something as inconsequential as volleyball.
Q: Why do you do this, Oikawa?
A: It’s my worthless pride that pushes
me forward, to make me work myself
to the bone no matter what it is I’m
striving for. If I chose it, I’m going to
die for it.
He claims it is his selfishness, this pure egocentricity that has him clinging to his ambitions--and perhaps this is true. Humans are multidimensional, after all, and Oikawa has reasons upon reasons to do and behave as he does.
His pride has him needing to reach success after the thousands of hours he’s poured into his work: what person would be satisfied with failing something that they’ve poured their blood, tears, dreams and hopes into? When they’ve dedicated their entire life into it? It’s his belief in divine reciprocity that has him demanding his right to win: there has to be some reward for all the toil that he’s gone through.
Oikawa is good at what he does.
And yet, deep within, there is a scared whisper that pleads for people to notice him, to validate him.
Oikawa is good, but there are others whom are better.
He’ll never measure up to them.
He’s never going to surpass this figurative barrier that has him labeled
mediocre and others as quality.
It’s this voice that has him stay up every night, eyes strained and body lethargic with stress and responsibility, crouching over as he desperately tries to get better, desperately needs to get better. It’s this voice that has him grinning, a smile blossoming upon his face like a mask to draw people in like bees because if people want be with him, want to be him, he hasn’t messed up yet, right?
He's confident in two ways: truthfully (because he is good, and he is great, and Oikawa is a figure of envy and awe) and falsely (because he is falling short, and he is not enough, and Oikawa is forever lacking in something that has his rivals drawing far away to a place he’ll never reach).
He’s painfully ordinary--he knows this, accepts this, but it’s something that weighs upon him nonetheless.
Why should he have the gifts Oikawa has spent years to gain?
Why could he get to the top with enviable ease, oblivious to the
hardships Oikawa has been through to get to the
same point?
It’s easier to cover up insecurity and anger and desperation and fear and all of the other emotions that come entangled with inadequacy with pride as his reason.
