#icmeme;answer

[stutteringsoul-blog]

Heal

Drabble List;;            Heal;; Emil will tend to Richard's wounds--

   ”I’m not going to apologize, Emil.”

The blonde had been silent for quite some time. An action, the young king could only equate to the earlier battle and what had happened. Quiet staring at the gaping wounds that criss-crossed his body from battles past, some he would not speak about, and the new one currently being tended by the young one by a glare and a refusal to budge when Richard had insisted it had been fine.

Bandages were gently laid, despite the sour disposition, able to keep the other blond from shifting beneath his fingers. Salves used to help dull pain and senses as he pulled back from his work. “Emil.” There was no reply, only a head turning away from Richard, and he stood, folded, ripped clothing over his arm. Mouth set in a firm line as he stalked away on the other side of the fire to start fixing up the clothes that Richard tried to insist were fine.

Each time a word was spoken, eyes lifted, and an anger flickered in them that stopped words in a mouth, swallowing them back and instead huddling beneath a blanket to avoid showing his form any more than he had to.

It wasn’t until the next morning did Emil deposit the clothes beside Richard and his voice echoed the clearing — “You could have died.”

There was no stutter, there was nothing but a clear disapproval for what had happened. Richard looked up at him from the blankets, slowly moving to get his clothes and pull them on. “You could have as well.”

A sharp noise split teeth, causing Richard’s skin to crawl. Angry. Emil was so angry. “No." He spat out the word, turning on his heel, the feeling of pain, hatred, ripping through his chest as a dark red blossomed in his eyes, "No! You don’t understand anything!" His shoulders were shaking, tears collecting in his eyes. His voice dropping an octave as Richard tried to stand, tried to touch Emil’s shoulder.

He was pushed away, spinning on his heel, Emil shook his head, glowing eyes seen as Emil shook his head, slowly backing away from Richard. Crystal droplets staining his cheeks, mouth opened, trembling voice catching itself in the back of his throat as he saw Richard’s face. “I — I" The stutter was back and Emil clenched his teeth shut, slowly sliding down. Catching his knees between his arms as he curled as tightly into a ball as he could.

   ”Losing y-you … I c-can’t … couldn’t … “

Emil whimpered so softly, leaving the king there. Emotions, conflicted, building in his chest, in his throat, down at the boy before him. How quick he had been once Richard had moved in front of Emil to catch the guard of the monster. How a roar of anger spurred between teeth and his sword had been seen a second later, feet coming down on the things head, sword slamming between it’s eyes, crunching it into the dirt.

How vicious he had been … 

   ” … Emil.” 

He whispered the word so quietly before settling down next to the young summon spirit. An arm wrapping around quaking shoulders … had he been thinking about this the entire night? Quiet offering, to allow Emil a shoulder, somewhere else where he himself, could heal.

[stutteringsoul-blog]

Sweet Dreams

some fluffy drabble ideas;;            sweet dreams – your character falls asleep on mine

Emil was quiet. He usually found being quiet worked out much better than anything else. The rocking of the ship, weight leaning on the rails, head canted to the side to watch the horizon, following the movements of the sun for himself. Try to figure out, trying to do so before they reached their destination … He had to learn what had drawn him here. What horrible –or great—thing had forced him here? Had dragged him through a rift midst walking up the stairs to his home.

Silent huffing was all he heard, mumbling, grumbling, Lord turning over and ignoring him and his ‘loud noises’. Emil’s eyes lowered quietly, pursed lips in thought as lapping water splashed his cheek. The sea … it looked the same, as back home. It always did, no matter where he went, it seemed.

A hand pressed against the other’s shoulder, drawing his attention away from the warm, wet, water, oculars swimming with thoughts that seemed to drown out much of everything else. Blond hair, brown eyes soon taking up his vision, gently hands pulling him away, saying he should sleep. That there must be something to make him feel better –

Nothing was wrong though.

Words were uttered, attempting to convey such, but it was not taken into account, instead the man shifted, going about and trying to make Emil ‘comfortable’. As if he was some victim. A thing needing taken care of. Blank stares, confusion dusting features as blank stares did not seem to understand. How could someone try to be so kind to him? He saw the edges of tiredness wearing at brown eyes, saw the insecurity, the unsure movements, the questions behind lips which refused to speak. Emil having left quite a bit open to the imagination, keeping quiet to keep from being hurt.

Yet, there was a silence, soon, Richard also sat down, sighing a bit. Emil turned his head away quietly. “S-sorry…” He didn’t want to explain, speak, tell him more, but it was only met with a tired smile.

   “It’s alright.”

                                     { No … it’s not. }

Emil didn’t speak, even as Richard started moving to go away. Gentle fingers caught onto the other’s cape, nervous ones, green orbs staring anywhere but at the king himself. “…stay…?” Don’t leave me alone.

He wasn’t good alone. Never was he good alone. Always with Ratatosk or someone else, the feeling of having someone he was getting comfortable around, someone who tried so hard … Richard slowly moved, sitting down besides the blond once more. He began talking, and Emil listened quietly, nodding his head, expressing quiet interest to a conversation he knew nothing about until the king seemed to be drifting off.

A pause, unsure. Should he? There was a quiet movement and Emil leaned his head against the other’s shoulder, closing his eyes. Pretend to sleep. Pretend. This way, the other would feel more comfortable. Maybe, maybe if he did, then maybe Richard would also fall asleep. And sure enough, not more than fifteen minutes later, a head pressed against his, gentle breathing tickling his hair. Green eyes peeking open to glance up at a person who didn’t realize he’d been tricked.

Tricked by a non-harmful and giving other, but tricked none-the-less. A soft smile touched Emil’s lips before his eyes closed again. “I’m sorry…Richard…” For not telling you everything. For not explaining. For not falling asleep like I’d made you think. I’m sorry … I’m so sorry.

I hope … maybe one day … you can forgive me.

[stutteringsoul-blog]

❤ ( o ho )

Send me a “❤“ and I’ll generate a number

3. Richter just tried to D R O W N Emil.

It wasn’t something that was expected. The reminder, again and again how they were not friends only to be brushed off by Emil, not minding the other’s dismissal because there was this connection between the two. Even if the half-elf refused to see it, Emil knew it to be true and didn’t mind it one bit. However, this … this had pulled him away from the reality which he’d thought for so long to be true.

Gloved hands wrapped around his shoulders and a flash of red hair brushing over his eyes caused the boy to blink in surprise. Twisting, just enough, to see the glasses and outline of Richter’s face before he was shoved into the gulf of water. Pushed and held down, hands piercing water, droplets clinging to cloth and cloth clinging to skin as Emil kept his mouth tight-lipped, eyes wide. Body moving, struggling horribly beneath the surface before he finally seemed to get a break.

A grip loosened and Emil took it, forcing himself above the surface as he tried clambering away from the half-elf. Pupils dilated as he turned, staring at Richter, coughing, coughing hard. Spit, stream-water and snot all streaming down his face as hair remained stuck to his forehead. “R-Richter…?” The voice sounded choked, unsure of what to think of this. Because that was not Emil’s typical stutter that most found so endearing. No, this was a stutter forced from water that slid down lungs and burned his throat.

What was he to do? His hands were shaking and now, it was clear for all to see.

The cloth that hung usually so tightly about his neck now hung loosely, wet and sopping, bruises from an abusive uncle, the small man seemed much, much smaller now. Like a shaking deer caught in headlights, unable to decide whether it needed to bolt before the car struck or just sit there dumbly.

   “Rich…ter…?” It was a whisper, and the water that dripped from his hair down his face made it difficult, very difficult to find out whether or not he was crying before the boy pushed himself up, scrambling, feet slipping on wet stones as Richter’s shocked expression slowly turned to his hands. Twitching wet digits now unsure of what they were trying to do.