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RE: Frostmourne; - Mauja - 05-19-2015
He's getting tired of his heart swinging this wildly.
It just goes from one place to another, but it doesn't go smoothly, no—it tears itself from one thing to another, hurtling itself through fire and smoke and blizzards and fucking walls, so it's no bloody wonder it's a mess. But there it is again, straining against its cage of ice and fucking whimpering in tune with her voice (no no no, but his pulse hums death, death, death) because he's causing this, isn't he? Because there's this chill seeping out the cracks in his body, and when Ginnungagap widens there's no heat—not that there ever is any heat in Nifelheim—but the darkness between them swells with the warmth of his body as he takes it away. The moon and stars are very cold.. did you know that? They're distant and cold, silent spectators in our lives—they shimmer and twinkle but they're so impossibly cold. They've seen much.. too much. They've seen what happens when you sleep in the dark. There's blood everywhere, Elding. Everywhere. "There's blood everywhere," he said into a span of silence, the words slipping out of his mouth a little awkwardly, like a thought, or saliva, sort of dribbling out between his lips and backed up by the vacant expression in his eyes. There's blood everywhere. He wasn't really seeing her—he saw something else. Something colder. Something.. deader. Just snow and blood and bodies going stiff and chilly as the north's razor wind howled across their corpses. “But there wa’ somethin’ before,” and it was like she snapped his head around or something— —there was something before— —I don't want to be a monster— —but you know nothing of my fucking murders. She was wobbling and he started forward (who the hell dug me up from my grave) and there was just this thing exploding in his mind (heart) but she was still talking, so he kind of just jumped forward a pace before going still again and (I pulled you out and fucked you up)—and staring, his eyes wide but for another reason. There was fear in them as he stared at her, but it was fear for her, not of her, because she was fucking tilting and she might fall any moment and it was bound to hurt— —so he had to be there to catch her. “…am I losing you?” Her eyes closed—his mind spitting out images of her falling over; dying. Under any normal circumstances he would've said something, or whispered, because her voice was so fucking small it made his heart stop—freeze up in some kind of panic (devotion)—but instead he yelled, "NO!" —and threw himself at her, all of his fear oozing from his mouth (his eyes) as he gurgled the word over and over, head tossed over her back, spine jutting into his throat as he clung to her— —I'm not going anywhere I'm not going anywhere I'm not going anywhere I just don't know where to fucking find myself but I won't leave I'm here I'm here I'm here— —it hurts like hell but I'm here— —and it was true because it felt like someone had shocked his system full of some kind of shit and driven a handful of daggers through his heart, and breathing? That was a luxury he couldn't afford when his heart sat in his throat and did its best to choke him. Because she was crying. Because she was afraid. Because she was Elding and she looked like death and like she might fall over at any moment and it didn't matter who the hell her parents were (that was an odd thought; she was a creature with no beginning and no end) because.. because. Because somewhere, somewhere, she was his. His heart hammered in his chest, too hot and too wild, feral with the panic seeping through him (don't go, don't disappear) because it felt like she might turn to smoke—or shadows—any moment and just disappear, slip through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to hold on— —could she feel his pulse roaring through their chests?— —and there were these things sticking to his lashes, trickling down his cheeks, her fear made his fear and everything was such a mess he couldn't even feel it because there was just this huge, dark thing obliterating everything (Roskuld). Don't go don't leave I— [ @[Roskuld] ] lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet walk him down the hall, repeat and when he's strong enough to stand alone you'll notice what big teeth . . . RE: Frostmourne; - Roskuld - 05-20-2015 Roskuld & Zchiraxicon Where there's no Law tying my heart from the start..
--‘m sorry I fucked up just please don’t leave me— RE: Frostmourne; - Mauja - 05-21-2015 time's getting cold, now the leaves all turn hard and blue It's just this—you can't explain it. It's just this thing sitting in your mind, in your lungs, in your—in your chest. And it sits there, like, it's trying to choke the life out of you, but in some way, beneath all that crap, it feels good, too. It's just so intense it's like someone strangling you, and it—it has nothing to do with.. with anything, with.. with bodies. It just. It just is. And that's why I can't explain it. So just forget about it. Just.. forget it. (This is what I suspect they've never understood about me.) So.. there was a moment when everything stopped—the world, his heart, his breath, his vision. A moment when everything in the world went black, but not silent, a low-key roar starting in the back of his ears, there were only two things he could, physically, feel (because his heart had shut up, remember?): the warmth of her body, and the warmth trickling out between his lashes. Then the world rocked back into motion. And he could feel the panic clutching at him—shit shit shit shit—and how it reduced his mind to a beast, unable to think, unable to.. unable to do anything but just stand there and clutch at her and she's falling through my grasp— (Why the fuck am I crying now?) "No no no no no," he kept mumbling into her back, straining, large hooves planted in the soil as if he could somehow brace her—as if he could keep them both from falling, but horses weren't meant to stop one another from keeling over (like they aren't meant to drag three-quarter drowned ponies from the sea, either). It was an uphill struggle and a losing battle (just like everything else), but damn it, that wasn't—he fought anyway, because he had to, because the outcome didn't matter.. the reason did. Because in the white-out, in the blind panic strangling the life out of his veins, she had pointed out that he existed. That he was real. That there was more to him than scars and snow. That—that he cared and that was real and it had to mean something. It had to be sign of.. of something. So that's why he clutched at her while she was tilting away from him, muttering the word over and over like a mindless prayer until— —until the balance shifted too much. She began to fall, and he—he fell with her, awkwardly tumbled to the ground like a tower finally pulled down. He sort of pitched over one shoulder, legs going out from under him as he fell, too hard, onto his side, a sickening lurch going through his heart like what if I fell on her but—but there was just the cold ground beneath him, and the stars above, and he couldn't see her but he could feel her close by, hear the sound of her breathing (the tick of her heart). Who are you? he wanted to ask, but he didn't know what kind of answer to expect, so he didn't. Just stared vacantly up, now that he'd stopped mumbling because it was too late and they had fallen and laid there, pitifully cast down onto browning grass in the shadows of the trees. I guess I finally got to lay down. The corner of his mouth curved up in a humorless and bitter smirk as he traced the patterns of the stars. This was too familiar. It was so familiar it stung, so for a moment he forgot about himself and her and the whole bloody war and just imagined the feeling of blood freezing on his skin and snow blowing up to cover him as the stars wheeled, deathly cold and quiet. And then the first light of dawn had come.. and with it, voices. And life had begun again, but part of him had been left to die in the snow. Frostheart. "Do you still want to know why?" he asks, quietly. [ @[Roskuld] ] lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet walk him down the hall, repeat and when he's strong enough to stand alone you'll notice what big teeth . . . RE: Frostmourne; - Roskuld - 05-21-2015 Roskuld & Zchiraxicon Where there's no Law tying my heart from the start..
--ow my ass-- RE: Frostmourne; - Mauja - 05-21-2015
It was—well, had been—kind of comfortable on the ground. It was cool against his shame-hot skin, solid and so real to the trembling of his spirit, and.. and when his mind reeled and stormed and spun about, the dizzying blur of stars didn't threaten to make him fall to his knees. Because, y'know, he had already fallen down.
But then it got less comfortable because someone crawled halfway onto him. Her scrabbling forced a grunt out of him, knees colliding bluntly with his legs and chest and ow, suddenly there was this dead weight sprawled over him and a burly neck blanketing him. Protecting him from the stars. She would never be able to cover all of him—physics denied that. But her soul covered his, and in the back of his mind, he figured he'd rather wear a cloak of Roskuld to his grave, than a cloak of snow. Snow was cold and sharp and bit deep into bleeding wounds. Roskuld.. Roskuld was warm. And heavy, but nevermind that. It wasn't an important thing in that moment. The important thing was that she was laying on him and it warmed him and it warmed his soul but he wasn't sure if he was just mentally winded or if he'd frozen up again. The world seemed so crystalline, so.. so sharp and fine-edged and.. his thoughts were too calm, too collected—there was none of the terror and the despair and the guilt (you're my ljós, my light, my compass) but.. there was none of the lethal cold either. None of the I don't give a fuck. Because he gave fucks, apparently, though he wasn't sure when it had started happening. "I don't," he began, then frowned; actually.. he had no idea why things had happened as they had, at all. "Uh..." And if it's something that is to be said about trying to think when you feel like you're gonna fall apart again at any moment, and your brain has run a mental marathon, and someone is lying on you so it's a bit hard to breathe properly and ouch because it's pushing your shoulder in a kinda uncomfortable way— —well, it's just not easy and somehow he kept distracting himself by thinking of her tears. "Actually.. I don't know why it happened in the first place..." And he gazed up at the stars—did they know? He was beginning to see his own breath as a cloud rising in front of his face. Winter wasn't far off, now. "They didn't do it to conquer and gain more land—they moved, almost all of the herd. I.. well, I dunno. Maybe the grass in the Falls was greener, or they still had their marbles and gave a fuck about deities and figured the Moon wasn't all that peachy." And his calm voice dripped with subtle things—bitterness and anger and the hurt of loss and.. things, things he had no name for. Just things. "The Basin.. the Basin was going to make Midas 'pay for his ignorance'—she said it was justice, some kind of vengeance, for the 'crimes committed against' .. well, myself, and the rest of the herd. That's.. that's the big why." Theoretically, this was laying his head beneath the axe, right? If she decided he was an idiot—no you didn't, shut up you didn't—would.. there wouldn't be any more Leos, would there? She would.. well, damn, he didn't know what she would do but he figured that laying on top of him was among the last of it. Unless he was dead, of course. "She said my skill would be welcome, if I wanted to avenge my former herd." And how the fuck do you say no to that. You don't. You don't, when you've got a twisted sense of morals and honor—who's that evil?—and when you don't stop to consider violence or.. or the guilt of those involved. Who said the Edge had more of a right to the throne? Who said Midas wouldn't have shared? Who said the Falls, as a herd, had to be put through that kind of trauma because of Midas's stupidity? Didn't this mean that Kaj and Archibald, clinging to their power as Kings, were in the wrong here? They did to the Falls what Helovia once did to me. In hindsight, it was so easy to see, when his world wasn't reeling with one, single, non-violent encounter with Ophelia, and when it wasn't reeling with the revelation that (this slug lying on me is her daughter) Elding's name was Roskuld and she was more than likely half a god (you can fly, bastard) and—and when Kahlua wasn't here to be protected and.. he was restless and.. when someone lifted the blade with his name carved into it, he didn't ask questions. Swords don't ask questions. Swords just cut through flesh, obedient and silent. They do not pass judgment. They just go into murder mode and think it's pretty damn neat to not have to take responsibility for yourself, because someone else said it was a-okay to go do bad shit. "I—my life—I'm desensitized to violence." And his ears flipped back as his voice slipped out again. "I'm.. I don't stop to think. I—" He drew a breath. Was what it he had told Kahlua? I am a sword drenched in the blood of those my wielder calls enemies. It was the confession that would reduce him to nothing. The confession that would prove that the hollows in his heart were filled up with stone and ice. The confession that hammered the nails back in into the coffin with his name on it. I don't exist. Fuck your honesty, Sarazheha. "I'm.. a tool. A sword. Someone grasps the hilt—my loyalty—and I answer the call. I don't think, I don't question, because.. because I'm just a thing, meant to be used." And it was back—the quiver in his quiet voice, the wide-eyed terror. "Because I'm soulless and empty unless given purpose and that always ends in violence." And there you have it—you're lying on a husk stamped with the name 'Mauja' but there's nothing underneath the skin. Just a restless void. Look how far I've fallen. [ @[Roskuld] ] lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet walk him down the hall, repeat and when he's strong enough to stand alone you'll notice what big teeth . . . RE: Frostmourne; - Roskuld - 05-22-2015 Roskuld & Zchiraxicon Where there's no Law tying my heart from the start..
If I were paying attention I probably could’ve been clued in that he was kinda uncomfortable underneath me—I mean, I didn’t blame him, I had just sorta flopped my ass on top of him as soon as I was able, as fast as I was able with the least amount of muscle function necessary to move myself. But I still wasn’t even trying to pay attention to my surroundings; the warmth of his skin and the steady beating of his heart right against my ear and my neck and the whole piece of my body touching his was lulling me, pulling me back into that sinking sand of sleep while tucking me in with that velvety darkness the world pulsed with, studded with stars and other things. RE: Frostmourne; - Mauja - 05-25-2015 but we're dancing with the demons in our minds —and I don't even know how to start this, how to.. how to eventually get up again. Get off this cold, sodden ground, and out of the shadows the stars cast—these prison bars of leafless branches and the deathly pale glow of marble—how to get up again, when there's more than just memory tying my heart to the ground. When.. when all I want to do is to just.. wake up in the warm wash of early morning sunlight, and.. just all of this shit— Because it's where his mind fled to—some old memory, one he couldn't place, but it was.. it was perfect. The memory of that feeling of having had a good, long sleep, and just slowly being teased back into consciousness, waking up lying down in grass—dew-laden, glistening grass—with pleasantly cool sunlight lighting up the thin rim between his eyelids, and.. and just that feeling of oh so slowly slipping back into the waking world, a light feeling of weightlessness, of.. of peace.. with no anxiety chasing his heart to up its pace, no start of black, throttling despair to cast him into wakefulness. Just.. peace. But this wasn't that—this was lying on a cold autumn night's ground, all shadows and distant, stark starlight, with.. with a pony sort of toppled on top of him. She had moved, though, somehow wriggled off his chest to just lie nestled against him as his voice cut through the air and I have damned myself— It had been true then. It was true still. Maybe he hadn't been born damned but he had well and truly fixed that over the course of his life, jagged lines drawn like criss-cross scars over the covers of his history book. Out where the dreams all hide, He wasn't sure if she was still listening, or if she'd fallen asleep—she was so quiet, just breathing sort of awkwardly in the vicinity of his neck, her dead weight propped up against his chest in a way that was both comforting and a bit.. alarming, almost, like what if the reason she fell off was because she died but there was that slow, subtle ticking of the bomb in her chest and the rhythmic way her ribs swelled with breath so she wasn't dead but she was so quiet until he started speaking those quiet, bitter words that fell like poison from his lips (but it was too late to spit it out now)— And somehow she was sitting up, planted on her arse next to him and sort of towering over him, and it would've been terrifying (because of the things coming out of my mouth), some kind of otherworldly judge peering down on him (and he had this moment's mad urge to just bite her long forelock tendrils and yank them to pull her back down to the ground) and listening as he spoke The Only Truth That Mattered, the truth that explained everything and made him forget everything else—all the things that he had decided, all the good things in life, and how natural it felt to be wrapped up in Kahlua's embrace— All these little things, swallowed by the cold infinity of stars and drowned in the shadow of long-dried tarry blood, and his ears were slick against his neck as he forced it out between blood-stained teeth and her repeated attempts to make him stop by saying that name— There were more traces of diluted blood drawn over his neck, just faint ones, silver in the monochromatic night-light—but they were there, little things that would remind him of this if he could just see them, but he couldn't, and something in the back of his mind fell to the ground when he was done, defying the fact that he was already on it. Because he had finally said. He had finally spat it out, into the ruined perfection of a late autumn night. Into the fucking void between his cold precision and her raw-hot passion. His head laid flat against the ground, and his heart too, and he waited—he waited for her to rise, and to disappear, like smoke or snow blown about, because.. because now she knew the truth. (It was truth, right?) It felt like truth. It smelled like truth. It tasted like truth, when he said it—and it looked like truth, reflected in his pale, wide eyes. But she still just sat there, her breath washing against his neck, anchoring him in his fear with her touch because any moment—any moment that spot of warmth would turn infinitely cold as she would let the night swim back in to claim him (and I want to let it). Haven't we been over this? a voice whispered in the back of his mind—in the back of his soul—every word spoken with a kind of razor delicacy and dripping snow and blood. It was Irma's soul-voice, always slow, always careful, sentences crafted with such precision and care, the edges and burrs in it smoothed over with even more cold things— You not alone, came Diego's darker echo, something in the depths of his tone accusing— "I'm sorry," he whispered, in the midst of something—Elding's looming shape a blur in the veil of his hot tears, her voice a broken mess in his ears because he couldn't understand what she was saying—it was far-off and distant, trying to make its way through his ears to his brain but the brain wasn't listening because maybe they had been trying to help but it was just another thing poking guilt at him and— —“…that all came from you, didn’t it?”— —“You can’t be empty either, cuz I’m feeling something right now.”— —“Your heart’s still beating.” And it was, a painful ticking in his chest, a violent shudder through his veins with each beat it took—her words hot and knife-like, shearing through the sludge and the darkness and—and baring a truth that was more painful than the other truth. You still have a heart. You always had a heart. Because it was there, in the fucking glacier, first entombed by armor and shields and duty, loyalty, and then left out in the snow to be covered by blizzards and ice and blood frozen in delicate patterns all around it— —and then just sort of forgotten there as bit by bit his fragile mind took over and eradicated the connections to it.. one by one.. until the only thing existing outside the sanctum on his thoughts was this confused, raging blizzard. "I have a heart," he croaked through the haze, not quite sure whether it was a statement or a question—the most pathetic, sorry question he had ever asked in his whole, damned life. And it just slipped out of him, like a little piece of hope, like it was suddenly the most important thing he had ever asked—because he decided it had been a question—and the look in his tear-veiled eyes as he stared up at her was.. it was desperate. It was helpless. It was begging. [ @[Roskuld] -- auditions are over, time to post again <3 it could've been longer/better end, but I got a phone call just before the last paragraph it messed me up a little :x ] lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet walk him down the hall, repeat and when he's strong enough to stand alone you'll notice what big teeth . . . RE: Frostmourne; - Roskuld - 05-26-2015 Roskuld & Zchiraxicon Where there's no Law tying my heart from the start..
It was an idea I had already hashed in my head once, when I had stumbled across that weird, smarmy, sexual guy who Pa had sent to give me Chico’s egg—back when I was realizing why time scared me even though I was born from it, even though a whole quarter of me was sprung from its depths. RE: Frostmourne; - Mauja - 06-01-2015
[ Sorry x 10000 ]
It almost seemed cruel, to pin every hope on her—a creature not bound to him by anything other than the fragile links of light between them, a creature with no obligation to ( But she was there, anyway. Unasked. Like he had happened to be there for her when she fell apart. Except he didn't fall apart—he just became this frozen mess of pieces, hairline cracks and missing chunks. Where she had exploded in a cloud of crystal dust and shards, he grew still; where the pain had come flooding out of her eyes like a violent torrent, his tears were calm and composed. She wavered in the wet focus of his gaze, the bright spark sitting in the middle of her eyes— —it seemed to flash— —and her lips turned into something, and he clung to the silence, too afraid of her answer, of.. of what it would do to him. If.. if it would be the last blindfold torn from his frost eyes, the last cover blown, there deep in the maze of his chest—if it would cast him out into that chaos raging around the temple of his wicked thoughts. All those things.. he had forsaken. All those things, he had ignored—all those things that had been too difficult, and instead of handling them, he had denied them, and, of course— “Yeah. You do.” —that means that you get confused, because you're putting a lid on your own compass. And of course you can't know where north is if you're not looking. I.. do..? He.. had a heart. Frostheart. Deadheart. And suddenly, there was no going back—there would never be any returning to that pallid, ice cold armor he had fallen out of. There wouldn't be an Ice King anymore, because—because.. because he had a heart. Because Sarazheha had been right. Just because Roskuld said it was that way. Because.. the lightning bolt, the light she had provided far in the frozen north, said that he had one. Because it was a painful truth spelled out in his veins. He didn't say anything—because there was nothing to say. He just laid there, but something in him compelled him to shift, just a little, so that that rock didn't dig into his shoulder quite so painfully anymore, and to stretch out his crooked hind leg so it didn't cramp the same way— All these little things to make it more comfortable, because worth had been reinstated on his soul. She settled back too, a warm shield against the cold darkness of the night—a flame against the desolation of the stars. They were bright in his eyes, too bright, as he just laid there, staring up with a fairly vacant expression (because there's nothing underneath there's nothing underneath there's nothing—), too shocked and dumbfounded and confused to think anything at all. He tried, but couldn't; goaded himself by whispering I have a heart in his mind but like something that's too painful to touch he shied away, found himself thinking of other, inconsequential things— —little bits and pieces of another life— —and her soft voice pulled him, gently, from the roads his mind roamed. "Yeah," he echoed her quietly, the word almost a sigh falling from dark lips and tired lungs—and something in those pale eyes sharpened again, swirled and spun and settled on her. Hearts. "It's alright." But it isn't. "Everything.. is going to be alright," because it was never about me and now I can forget, forget, forget— Bury the knowledge beneath the surface of the snow, and wait for the wind to blow and smooth it out, until no one would know what he knew and— It's not how I want to live, came the small, terrified voice in the back of his mind. But it was the only way he knew how. ".. hey," he went on, still tentative, still soft, "what.. what's eating you?" Don't lie sleepless over the evil I've done, and it felt like it had to be more than that. Or maybe he had just forgotten that he'd asked her before, that night—lost the answers in the haze. [ @[Roskuld] ] lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet walk him down the hall, repeat and when he's strong enough to stand alone you'll notice what big teeth . . . RE: Frostmourne; - Roskuld - 06-02-2015 Roskuld & Zchiraxicon Where there's no Law tying my heart from the start..
He…he didn’t really shatter when I answered his question—well, okay, maybe he did, but it wasn’t the shatter I had been prepping myself for. But that’s the theme, isn’t it? Me, figuring out everything isn’t ass-backwards like I am; that, sometimes, some things don’t have to make a lot of noise and break a lot of stuff in the path of their bleeding, beating heart. And he laid there and there were still tears in his eyes—but he shifted underneath me, just a little, and he looked at me and he forgave me for pulling his hair so— RE: Frostmourne; - Mauja - 06-03-2015
It was just, she was the single fixated point in his world at that moment—the owls had never been strong enough to ground him when the storm came rolling in; their hearts were snatched up along his, pressed to his, but they twisted and turned with him because he was supposed to be their stability—their.. shield. (Just another thing he had never been good enough at.)
But with the torrent of his wild-edged, unrefined emotions howling just around the corner, just outside his skull in the thin lining between bone and skin.. she was there, and he didn't know if that bright electric light was outside in the tempest, or if it was somewhere inside his head—he just knew that it was something to focus on, something to drown in, blue swimming before his eyes and worry devouring his heart like a black beast. Something in the back of his mind told him he had already asked—that he'd already tried to figure it out—that he had no reason to pry and that if that had been the only reason she wouldn't look better fifteen minutes later because she still hadn't eaten or slept. It was just one of those moments when logic fails because you backtrack desperately, looking for something to hold on to, and her pain was the most tangible thing around. “My Ma—“ Pristine, holy Ophelia. He was beginning to have the incredibly uncomfortable notion that she wasn't at all who he had thought she was. That he had been utterly, unforgivably wrong about her. Or maybe that was just what time did. Maybe once she had been all that.. gentle and kind and steeped in a marble kind of perfection, something nearly religious about that pearly white coat of hers and the impeccable bloodstains in her hair— He had come back after years, expecting to find her the same. A fool's hope. A fool's notion. It lay like thick, black sludge in his mouth, in his throat, despair crawling through his veins in choking ranks, in time with the slowly increasing breath he heard rattling out of Roskuld's lungs— Who is really the monster here? Beneath the pristine white of her mask.. what lay beneath? What lay beneath the bone white of her skull? What lay in her heart? She had so many ghosts, so much bitterness, and with the fleet-footed fear running through his system he began to suspect another thing: that she had done something unforgiving to Roskuld. (The name suited her better than Elding, he thought.) “I thought my Ma left me the first time ‘cuz she hated the daughter she had...” Her voice was a verdict echoing across the fragile links of time. Was that what Snö saw in his eyes, every time they met? His own failure reflected there, the bitter and terrified poison—? Was that why her own eyes grew flat and hard, and her heart turned to such sharp and cruel words? Cold laid thick across his skin, like a blanket in the reverse; it nibbled at him, stole into the cracks between him and her, until suddenly she was sitting upright and it stormed in, threatening to tear him from the moment and throw him out into that thing that raged just beyond the border of his consciousness. Come back down, he wanted to say, it's cold, come back down, but he didn't say anything. It felt like the moment would be startled away if he did. As if this.. whatever, this pressure building like friction-static between them, would flee, and he would never know what sat upon her tongue, between her teeth, lodged itself somewhere in her throat and ran in circles but never came out. It ends up that way, the cold, patient voice in his mind murmured into the silence, when you let the skin heal when the wound beneath is still infected. There's no way to get the damned shit out of it without tearing it up again, and maybe that was what he had accidentally done—torn open her scars. She said his name—funny, how it had become that to him—in the smallest voice he had ever heard coming out of her mouth, the tiniest sound he could imagine lightning capable of— No, scratch that. He hadn't believed her capable of speaking with such soft terror, not when even her grief blasted shit to pieces. And he knew what she was asking, because he knew that Ophelia was her Ma and that her Pa was some frightening asshole and even though his memory of it was fuzzy, he was pretty sure he'd asked Ophelia if it was Spark who was her father— —and not to forget the wings. Not to forget anything about this outlandish, loveable creature. "You're Elding," he said instead, ears and eyes and voice pointed, fixed on her with some kind of intense focus— "Ljós og hjarta..." And his lips curved into a small smile, it felt so weird but also right, but—but there was something in his voice and eyes that said, I know exactly who and what you are. And I don't give a damn about it. [ @[Roskuld] ] lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet walk him down the hall, repeat and when he's strong enough to stand alone you'll notice what big teeth . . . RE: Frostmourne; - Roskuld - 06-03-2015 Roskuld & Zchiraxicon Where there's no Law tying my heart from the start..
You're Elding. RE: Frostmourne; - Mauja - 06-03-2015
“You’re Leos, though,” she shot back—though, it was more like a whisper, the echo of her heartbeat, and he knew in his bones what it was—the calm before the storm—a moment of reprieve before the shatter—
And something in his heart ached as she returned his enigmatic smile, because it was still a smile, so fragile, so honest. It.. well—everything she did came from the heart, didn't it? A golden heart in a cage of lightning. Sparks running along the metal wiring. And he couldn't for the life of him label the emotion running like a shock through his system, couldn't even begin to understand what the fuck it meant, or tried to mean, but— Yeah. I guess I have a heart. But what kind of heart.. that remained to be seen. He didn't want to think about it, because it made him uncomfortable, like there was some kind of truth beneath it all that he couldn't—didn't dare to—face yet. It could be anything, though. It could be nothing. It could be everything. And he knew that it wasn't this easy, that just because some shit had frozen over in his skull again and he threw it all to the wind because she was still in some kind of pain—that just because of all that, this wasn't over. It would never be over. This would come back, and it would haunt him, one wolf with its heart still in its chest, and one wolf with its heart ripped out. Her smile faded, chased away, lost—it fell to pieces and disappeared, and took his with it. No, he wanted to say, don't go, because something had felt so right, so good, when he'd teased that hesitant smile from her. As if.. something had been alright. Mended. Like his previous words had become at least partially true, despite the inherent lie nestled in its nature, —but what came after was so much more terrifying. It was something cold and harsh and merciless that snatched up that thing, his frozen heart, and held it in a way that threatened to make his vision blur, go dark; to tear up the trees and tear all the stars from the night sky and raze the mountains and raise the waves, and he was breathing that shadow. He was breathing her rank fear. He was breathing whatever— Shit, it was what he'd told her, right? It's when awake that I am haunted. And he could practically see the nightmare slipping out between her lips, a cloud of something dark and wicked that got sucked back with each inhalation, only to peek out again mingled with air and words as slowly, slowly, she spelled out some horrible story he wasn't sure he wanted to hear. It was like that realization from earlier—except now it was the hands of her child grabbing the porcelain statue and throwing it to the floor, and he was lying next to where it fell. There was nothing to save him from the explosion and the shards, and with a sinking feeling in his chest—he had only two names for that fucking thing, "terror" and "despair"—he listened. Drank in every word. Every pause. Every nuance of her small voice, every trickle of starlight in her tears. (Did you ever cry over me, Snö?) And somewhere, in the midst of the revelations hailing down upon him like sharp fragments, he pitied her—Ophelia. He pitied her, and the perfection of her memory, and.. well. It was just that, wasn't it? He pitied her because no one ought to be put through what she had been put through— —it was an old hate of his, old old old, older than his bones— —and a new flicker of flame, a new disease to scorch the backside of his breastbone, sprang to life— —but the rest of the situation was what was fucked up. (So let me get this straight: if the Moon, by murdering Psyche, had made it past Time and onto the first place of his 'gods I hate the most' list, Time certainly took that place back. Fucking rapist of a God.) He just lay there, again, neck cramping from being held up to watch her (collapse against him), mouth closed out of habit but in his mind his jaw had dropped through the floor. The.. incredulity ... like holy fuck, was this even real? Was he dreaming this fucked-up story? Was—was......... Was Elding—Roskuld—whatever lying next to him, having spewed out something that tore her heart asunder, crying with the soft kind of terror that made him want to set the entire world on fire and laugh as it burned—was she the product of rape, of a fucking God forcing himself upon a mare, and—get it, this is the best part. Torleik had, of course, put his big fucking dick in the middle of the shitfest that was Roskuld's life, like he thought he had a right to dictate shit around her— —FILTH. Yeah. Bastard. The stick in his ass was up deep, and suddenly Mauja found himself disinclined to do anything about it. In fact, he would rather punch it in further and hope it hit his fucking heart. And then, as if to make impossibly bad matters somehow impossible much worse, Roskuld whispered the most heart-breaking and untrue things he had ever heard: “I’m a rape, I'm my mother's rape.” "Bullshit," tore itself out of his throat at that, head crashing down to the ground because he thought he might accidentally incinerate her with the fire springing up in his eyes, (if Tamlin had ever known...). But—he wanted to say something, to.. make things fucking right, because she was lying on or next to or whatever him, crying so softly, because, because, because of all the things, Torleik (my fucking consort) had pinned it all on Roskuld. Like it was her fault the Time God was an ass. Like it was her fault she was born. Like it was her fault everyone had the communication skills of a limp dead fish. Mauja included, of course. He had ruined plenty of kids in his own time. "You are not responsible for anything your parents did," he finally said, still shell-shocked, trying to juggle what she'd said— —what she had revealed about Torleik, about.. about Ophelia. Had she even stood up for her child? Had she even told Torleik to shut it and get the hell out of there? She was in the Edge now. So probably not. Or she had but they had made it up, or whatever, but if anyone had yelled abuse at Snö— —fuck, had Torleik yelled at Snö when Psyche died, when he'd been out of his mind and unable to understand what the fuck was going on— —there were so many dead dogs buried in his backyard and he had no idea where they even were. "You—" he began, and something in his voice broke—hell, something in his heart broke, because he could just keep hearing what Roskuld had said that time in the caverns, that Phi's eyes went dark and more than he wondered what ghosts Snö saw in his eyes, he wondered if he'd ever looked at Tamlin that way— But Tamlin had always adored him.. right? So he couldn't.. couldn't have... Of course, he had told d'Artagnan, or something along the lines of it, it included me, after all. His mouth worked soundlessly, jaws opening and closing, the thing nearly bursting in his throat but he couldn't get it out— He couldn't say it— He couldn't phrase it— So he just curled up around her, best as she could, trying to drape his thick neck over her, and hold her—as if everything depended on it. Because he had the wild, terrifying notion that it did. [ @[Roskuld] ] lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet walk him down the hall, repeat and when he's strong enough to stand alone you'll notice what big teeth . . . RE: Frostmourne; - Roskuld - 06-04-2015 Roskuld & Zchiraxicon Where there's no Law tying my heart from the start..
*"You are not responsible for anything your parents did.”* |