#lifelied

[cutfoot]

...        the  smell  of  a  bar,   unfamiliar  territory  that  had  forgone  exploration  since  tender  youth  had  wrapped  itself  around  his  brittle  bones        (        a  fraternity  of  grinning  mouths  and  college  days  blurring  into  summer  -  bruised  haze,   the  ache  of  a  mind  that  felt  shoddy  and  unkempt,   hospital  walls  bleeding  into  the  thrill  of  better  days        ).        his  hand  cools  itself  against  a  glass  of  water,   fingertips  staining  themselves  as  attendings  guzzled  down  beer  after  beer        ...       this  is  how  they  spend  their  mouth   :        laughter  unbridled,   gallow’s  humour  spilling  into  ancient  laps,   acting  as  if  their  youth  was  permanent. 

‘   they  convinced  you  to  come  here,   too?   ’        a  familiar  face,   one  not  warped  by  drink  and  childishness,   a  lifeboat  cast  out  and  sailing  towards  her  shores        (        he’s  been  dodging  overeager  med  students  all  night,   each  one  gushing  over  a  lesson  or  a  paper  or  far  too  ready  to  trash  -  talk  their  peers        ).       ‘   do  i  look  as  out  of  place  as  i  feel?   ’        @lifelied​

[scarfbond]

@lifelied​ ;   ❝ don’t even think about not coming back. ❞ // from hylia

          TOO LATE.           it’s almost funny, how the goddess seems to know what he’s thinking already ; that temptation to leave  &  never return ; be it by an enemies doing or his own ; or by simply abandoning his sacred position as the legend given breath. this was no privilege. he felt no grandeur in his work any longer -- only taking solace in the fights he partakes in, feeling pride in his skill & ability. he enjoyed it. perhaps far more than he should. 

          he casts a glance to the being, bright blue eyes dulled out by the shadow of his bangs, lips pulling into a faint, professional smile.   don’t worry.  link mouth the words, arms remaining at his sides, giving bare assurance to hylia. all knowing being -- you should know, already, he won’t abandon his post now. he’s far too worn.

[scarfbond]

@lifelied​ asked:  hylia hoists him up. throws him over her shoulder.

          goes limp. if you want to carry him you’ll have to deal with his dead weight. 

[mimicksyou]

@lifelied​​    for    frank.

𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎    𝚠𝚊𝚜   𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐    𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.   he    tries    to   remind    himself    that,   not    to    stumble   about    and    think   himself    a    person.   (    HADN’T    FELT   LIKE    ONE    OF   THOSE    IN    SO   LONG.    )    no   there    was    nothing   behind    his    cold   grey    eyes,    plaything   for    the    world.   frank    should    know   better    than    to   tread    as    close   as    he    does,   and    miller    is   just    as    much   to    blame    for   letting    him.    growing   comfortable    in    the   stead    of    quiet   talks    and    mourning   moments    lost    silently   to    ego    and   terror.    nowhere    to   hide    and    everything    to   lose,    they    both   learned    at    a    young    age   to    hold    their   cards    close    to   their    chest.    a    spark    of   something    that    ignites   in    his    chest   when    he    sees   him,    hears    the   familiar    gait    and   that    breath    behind   the    mask.    the   thing    that    lingered   between    his    teeth   is    something    to   keep    his    heavy   heart    heaving.    a    cigarette    between   his    split    lips,   plump    and    red   and    angry.    broken   by    another    killer   or    was    it   from    some    past   encounter?    (    HE   DIDN’T    WANT    TO   REMEMBER    /    THAT   HEAT    /    THAT   FIRE    /    LICKED   THE    WALLS    OF   THE    FRAME    OF   WHO    HE    WAS   AND    MARKED    HIM   DEEP    )    there   was    no    denying   the    fact    of   the    matter    :    he    was   fucked.    tried    so   hard    after    that   to    pull    away,   recoil.    the    world   wasn’t    safe,    and   miller    didn’t    deserve   whatever    comfort    frank    offered.    didn’t    trust   the    fire    that   kept    him    warm   but    always    held   it    in    his   gaze,    let    it   eat    him    alive   because    the    pain   was    something    he   knew    well.    yet,   couldn’t    help    but   come    back    time   and    time    and   again    for    more.   still,    he    watches   him    tread    closer,   and    makes    no    moves    to   escape.    (    YOU   KNOW    BETTER    THAN   TO    LOOK    AT   ME    LIKE    THAT.   )    cigarette    drawn   from    his    lips   with    one    hand,   partial    dried    gore   upon    it.    and   he    must    be   a    sight    to   see,    eyes    half-glazed    o’er,   palms    marked    with   the    gore    of   a    slaughtered    team    he    failed    to    save,    all    gazing    up   at    him    with   dark    eyes.    something   unsettling    about    the   way    his    eyes    can    switch    from   a    crack    beneath   the    surface,    to   his    crooked    grin.   q    ;    was   there    malice    there?        a    ;    perhaps    a    bit,    if   not    only    for   the    anger    of   a    once    more   torn    shirt    from   a    blade    in   the    other’s    hands.   with    his    grin,   his    lip    does   split,    familiar    taste   of    metal    in   his    mouth    soon   to    be    tasted   deeper    he’s    certain.   voice    no    longer   holding    fast    to    that    bite   of    snark    and   rebellion    that    makes   him    who    he   is.    a    pale   imitation    in    the   shaky    way    he   speaks,    and    the   way    he    gives   pause    to    suck   in    air.    bites   back    the    pain   while    he    awaits   his    end    there,   slumped    up    against   the    wall    on    the    floor.    𝚜𝚘    𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍,    𝚒𝚝    𝚠𝚊𝚜    𝚜𝚘    𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍.     god   only    knows    where   the    hatch    is,   but    he’s    staring   at    the    only   god    in    this   realm,    and    knows   well    that    he   deserved    no    such   mercy    from    him.

                      ❛    frank,    baby,   're    you    mad   at    me?                                I    feel    like   you’re    mad    at   me.    ❜

(    OF    COURSE   HE    IS    /    MUST    BE   /    HATES    YOU   HATES    YOU    /    JUST    LIKE   YOU    DO    )    worthless    dog   beneath    his    blade   he    is,    and   he    welcomes    the   way    his    skin   is    soon    to   break    under    his   lethal    touch.    offers   up    some    half   spent    cigarette    to   him,    hoping,    selfishly   for    the    touch   of    those    fingers   against    his    own   if    only    for   a    moment.    wonders   if    he    knows   his    taste    by   now,    if    he   even    cares.    but   there    was    nothing   there,    he    insists,   not    in    the   way    he    wants   him    to    taste   his    blood    on   his    cigarette,    on   his    lips,    his   tongue.    there    was   nothing    there,    and   even    if    there   was.     𝚑𝚎    𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝   𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎    𝚒𝚝.

[godskill]

𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙳  𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁      :      @LIFELIED      ―      ******

❝    you  don't  owe  me  anything.❞

blood  coated  hands  out  in  front  of  you,  furrowed  brows  and  a  snarl.  that  thing,  it  follows  you  everywhere.  like  a  reminder  that  you  will  never  be  free  from  that  town.  you  know  why  it's  here,  you  know  what  it's  done  and  what  it's  capable  of.  it's  helped  you,  but  it's  also  hurt  you.  

you  scoff  at  it  and  step  back,  wiping  your  palms  on  your  vest.  of  course  i  don't!  how  could  i  ever  owe  you  anything!  anger  buzzing  inside,  but  you  bite  it  down.  (  not  now,  cheryl.  later.  )

❝    don't  you  got  anything  better  to  do  than  puppy-guard  me  the  entire  trial?  everyone  else  is  dead  but  you  left  me,  again.  whatever,  i'm  going  to  the  hatch.❞