#wilder verse; main

[acesfight-archive-blog]

@voxcomentumultis

Wilder easily caught the boy’s arm and sent him tumbling to the floor. The lad had spirit, he’d give him that. “Don’t hold your fist too tight, thumb on the outside. What’s the point of throwing a punch only to break your own fingers? Get up. This time try to stay up.”

[acesfight-archive-blog]

✰ - … My muse’s best friend (Wilder)

send me a symbol and i will write a drabble about my muse from the point of view of…

When Meeran brought him into the Red Iron Amalda thought the old man had finally been hit in the head one too many times. A human kid, no fighting experience, no money, no equipment. What a fantastic idea! It pissed her off. Couldn’t be more obvious that Meeran was desperate for battle fodder: warm bodies to throw at the enemy to stall them for the real fighters to get there. Amalda bought the kid a drink. He deserved some small comfort before he got offed in an unceremonious fashion.

Six months later, the kid was still alive. He wasn’t a natural with the blade. If anything he was weaker than the other recruits. Couple days a month he couldn’t even get out of bed. Migraines, he said. But the days he could he fought with the determination of a starving rat. He survived, not because he particularly loved the life he lived, but out of spite. He never turned down a challenge. Never stopped for a moment unless the pain forced him to.

A year later, he was still alive. The kid was fucked up on the inside, Amalda decided. A genius in some areas, wounded in others, and in others still completely immovable. The kid could memorize just about any song after hearing it once. He could recite recipes and scripts and speeches at a moment’s notice. He had charm, strong instincts, an analytical mind. But despite being with the Iron for a year and a half he had no friends. He pushed people away, snapping at the slightest bit of condescension. On jobs that took them away from the city, forced them to camp out, he didn’t sleep a wink. He stayed awake through sheer determination and chewing on dried deep mushroom. Other soldiers had comrades. The kid had potential enemies.

Another few years passed. Wilder wasn’t a kid anymore, but Amalda still called him that sometimes just to get on his nerves. Someone needed to remind him that his pride wasn’t as important as he thought it was. Wilder had steadily risen through the ranks of the Iron. He was the one buying drinks now. They talked more these days. Never anything too personal. Mostly work and hobbies. Amalda knitted and hit things with her sword. Wilder had a huge variety of interests and never hesitated to fill the silence when Amalda ran out of things to say. She didn’t usually like chatty people, but the kid wasn’t used to having friends. She remembered what he said. The look on his face when she referenced something he said in a previous conversation was too good not to.

Ten years almost to the day after Wilder joined the Iron, Meeran brought that mage and his brother in. Amalda watched her boy (because Wilder was and always had been her boy) fall head over tail. She watched him break his own heart. She’d never hated his habit of hurting himself before others could do it to him more than that year when Wilder was desperately, painfully in love.

Amalda wasn’t quite sure how many years it had been. Wilder was still alive, so that was good. She was also still alive, and Mol had wormed her way into their world somehow, thank the Stone. She was better at feelings than Amalda and Wilder put together. Always knew what to say, what questions to ask. Wilder told Mol things in the first month of knowing her that Amalda had never heard in all their years together. Like that the other men in the company made him feel like he had to prove his masculinity through force. That every time he looked at his reflection he looked a little more like a man he refused to call his father. He never cried, but Mol reacted to his words as if he had. Amalda thought that maybe that was enough. Sympathy.

It wasn’t too long after that that the city burned. Wilder insisted that the Red Iron go to help. They had to get the apprentices and Tranquil away from the fighting. By the time Wilder slammed the door to Meeran’s office, fuming, Amalda had already gathered the soldiers that were loyal to her and her boy. Mol was right at her side, grinning ear to ear. Amalda strapped her shield to her arm and clapped him on the back.

“C’mon, Boss. Let’s be heroes, just this once.”

Wilder scanned the gathered mercenaries with his eyes, then turned back to Amalda. For the first time, she thought she saw tears in his eyes.

“Yeah. Big damn heroes.”

[acesfight-archive-blog]

‘ NOT ON MY WATCH. ’ (Neil @ Wilder)

Vine Starters

Wilder quirked an eyebrow. He knew very well Neil’s distaste for him but for him to suddenly shout upon seeing him was just ridiculous. The boy must have some odd ideas about him. Might as well give him a few more. He smirked, leaning against the door frame like he owned the place.

“You’re so insistent that I stay away from your brother... makes a man think maybe you want me all to yourself, eh lad?”