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eyeofmud · 8 months

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Some may consider a desert a graveyard in itself but standing in a graveyard in the desert the difference is clear. Moon shines full on the plump Broc flowers and Joshua could swear they smell like death, like they know the dirt they grow in is so good to them ‘for the bodies layin’ in it.

Joshua should know too, seein’ as how’s he was one.

He ain’t now and his momma raised him to keep movin’ on, keep towards that horizon boy, but just for a second. Just one moonlit moment. Would it be so bad to wonder how he got here?

That’s what the Doc asked him this afternoon when he woke up, fresh bullet scar not quite between his eyes and ain’t that lucky, what’s he done to wind up in a shallow grave. Well, Joshua’s mind’s never been the quickest but his mouth more than makes up for it and he spins his yarn for the Doc just right enough to not be a lie. Missin’ enough for it to not be the truth.

When he was younger, young, he’d’ve got in trouble for that, real trouble. Never did wanna lie but he knew his way around the truth well enough to make his momma’s head spin and make his daddy's laugh ring right across the ranch.

Not his Father though.

No, not his Father.

His Father would smirk, secret around a cigarette, a priest with a pretty mouth and Joshua was older for a choir boy but he was damn near the only boy in town free enough to help and he was good with his hands. Repairing, sewing, fixin’ up those little things on the Church grounds, he was older for a choir boy but not old enough. Not yet.

Cigarette smoke burns on its way down. Joshua knows his lungs are black as graveyard dirt with it, even if he ain’t smoked since.

Smoke burns but sometimes, just sometimes, fingers don’t.

His Father was a careful man, his burns never scar'd where anyone would find. Not unless they were tryin’ to leave the same kind.

Lungs full of the scent of Broc flowers, thick with nectar drained from the dead.

Just because the Church taught him to use his hands as well as his mouth don’t mean he can still keep them steady enough to smoke. Nah, Joshua stuffs a wad of tobacco under his tongue, tastes the nicotine bloom.

But this time he spits instead of swallows.

Leave those memories in the mud.

Good with his hands, good with his mouth, his momma raised him well enough to know the difference. Joshua grown’d into a fine young man, she told him so often enough he’d even believed her, and keeping his hands busy on a ranch is easy business. There’s always a fence to mend.

Cattle tend to be just as easy. Driving them across the Mojave with the ranch hands his daddy hired Joshua finds the desert alive. A campfire means a full belly after careful hands have tended to it, cooked on it, put a handful of chicory and coyote chew into the beat up coffee pot and let them simmer into something warm on a cold night. After a hot day.

It’s good work, honest work. A fine young man with a silver tongue and heart of gold could hardly do better. Even if his hands are rough to the touch, rumor has it they’re gentle too.

Some of those ranch hands, when their hands are wrapped around a coffee mug and they’re sitting, nearly touching, next to Joshua on a spread out Brahmin hide, ask him if those rumors are true.

If his hands are as gentle as his mouth.

Under that bright desert moon Joshua is kind enough to tell just enough of the truth for it to not feel like a lie.

He’s got good working hands, ranching hands, quick on the draw hands, and a mouth that knows how to be quiet when it needs to be too.

Only the lingerin’ streaks on gun powder on a ranch hand’s skin, his kindness without regret, Joshua wishes he could pull a steady man as well as he can a trigger.

Because Joshua he’s a crack shot, deadeye aim and quick, but he can’t sweet talk a coyote out of eating cattle and he can’t pull the trigger on a man who don’t deserve it. His momma raised him right, raised him good, and don’t you ever think you’re the one who can make those kinds of decisions, boy, only one man can decide who lives and dies.

And standing by his open grave in the desert, Joshua has a bible in one back pocket, and a black handkerchief in the other.

Wonderin' in the moonlight how'd he got there, and where he's goin' next.

#oops wrong blog post #my writing #joshua hendrickson #fnv #tw csa #implied but still there #hi anyway this is joshua he's captivated me and im rotatinghim in my head

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eyeofmud · 11 months

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Silent Shadows

Cicadas sing. Music in the not quite dawn spilling from the trees in the form of birdsong and insect buzzing. No light in the tent beyond the hint of sunrise, purple as deep and dark as a wound, outlining the horizon. Zevran prefers the shadows, the almost silence.

In the city there is always noise. Horses neigh no matter the hour and servants hurry with hushed footfalls in the dark corridors and bedsheets rustle no matter how slight the movement beneath them. Not all his marks share these noises, not even most, but it does an assassin well to know what sounds death can take. The rush of air out of startled, ruined, lungs when a blade slips between ribs. In the surprised glance before a muffled shout. How quietly a mark can be kept when death catches them in their sleep.

For all he is aware of death Zevran finds he enjoys the sounds of life far better. Cicadas and bird songs and snores drifting together.

No bedsheets rustle, the thick fur Ellanis prefers to sleep in caresses his skin and Zevran has no need to move beneath them. Not yet, not for a while yet. Ellanis’ arm is sprawled out under him, his chest rising under Zevran’s cheek, gentle snores moving enough for the both of them.

Shadows before dawn. Under the tent flap he can only make out the barest suggestion of purple, inside the dark blue hides them yet and his eyes tighten at the encroaching light. At the noise it will bring. Cheek resting against a slowly rising chest. Heartbeats.

So quiet Zevran almost cannot hear them. Even in the shadow, even in the almost silence. When did this sound replace all others? Why does the silence in between beats sound so cold?

Why did he start to listen for them at all?

Ellanis sleeps peacefully tonight.A quiet night between them is rare and perhaps the reason why Zevran counts heartbeats is simply because he is tired of counting sheep. There has been no nightmare, no screams, no soothing after. Just sleep. Quiet laughter.

The sounds of life. Sounds unfamiliar. If Zevran has any familiarity with the sound of heartbeats it's in waiting for them to slow. And stop. But here he waits on the verge of sleep for another of Ellanis’ heartbeats to promise to continue. Never to cease.

Cicadas mix with birdsong with snores. With the ever steady beat of his lover's heart. Almost silent and Zevran has never been more grateful for the noise. Dawn trails its fingers up over the horizon and his time is running out. A mark is never more dangerous than when they begin to leave their mark on you.

Matching the light Zevran shifts to place a hand on Ellanis’ chest and the thin fabric of his shirt does nothing to hide the heat of his skin nor the rise and fall of his breathing. Fingertips brushing aside the low collar so his palm can rest over his chest. Feeling his pulse as he hears it.

Not yet.

Zevran prefers the sound to the silence.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #zevran x warden #zevran arainai #ellanis tabris #sleepy boy hours #my writing #its 11 pm and u know me i never post at a conviniente time <3

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eyeofmud · 1 year

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first meeting

30 days oc challenge for mourning!

It's the slight tug that gives him away. Practiced enough not to be hesitant but not yet good enough to not be noticed by someone else in the business. Mourning grabs the wrist at his belt pouch and it's small enough in his grasp his thumb is nearly at the second knuckle of his forefinger. Kid should know better than to steal from someone like him.

Mourning had learned his lesson the first time he got his fingers broke. He hopes this kid never gets that far. Turning with a wide grin Mourning releases the kid's wrist, "Advice from a professional, make sure your mark is better distracted next time."

Must not have been expecting his reaction because the kid nearly falls over without Mourning's grip. A mop of curls covers his face but Mourning gets a glimpse of his eyes, knows how far they've sunk in. It's too often these days he sees memories. Ghosts in the making. Haunting him before they're gone.

He's not the type of person to sigh but Mourning's smile shrinks by a few teeth. There's no way to save every kid on the street, Mourning knows exactly how get mad if he tries and he even knows why, but that doesn't mean he won't try.

It's an easy decision to give the kid his cloak. There isn't another choice, not for him. Mourning tries not to watch the kid disappear around the alleyway but he shakes his head with a rueful smirk, he'll see Luthias again, one way or another.

#did not notice i posted this to main whoops #mourning sero

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eyeofmud · 2 years

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Dreams

Mourning is nine. Cold pavement under his quick feet, moonlight guiding him further into shadow. Running from a guard who has nothing better to do than chase after urchins with nowhere to sleep. It's cold and dark and all he wants is to feel safe.

The city streets keep him on his feet. They keep his stomach empty and the only purse he carries is one he stole. His hands are quick but his mouth is quicker, a good story told to a baker gets him a hand pie and a sharp whistle thrown around a corner gets him a purse cleanly cut. As long as he doesn't get caught.

It's only at night, when he finally finds that safe place to sleep, can he dream of somewhere, anywhere, else. Somewhere warm with laughter that doesn't fade and meals that aren't eaten on the run.

Mourning is twelve. His smiles are faster than ever now and they show more teeth but the streets are still cold and Mourning knows now he'll never have the magic to warm them.

But it doesn't matter when he can still swipe a purse better than the older boys who glower at him from the rooftops. They've been egging him on, trying to get him caught, and Mourning knows soon they'll ask him to join or finish their game. When he tries to steal from the gnarled old dwarf he's surprised when his hand is grabbed and when the dwarf pulls him close Mourning can only smile in fear.

Except the old dwarf offers him a dream. Tells him there's no time to waste they need to leave and Mourning, Mourning rides in the back of a wagon away from the streets of a city that wanted to consume him and looks up at the stars. Falls asleep under their light and dreams of nothing but a different future.

Mourning is twenty. Metal sings against metal even dulled for practice and Mourning meets Sero blow for block. Their mentor is fast and Mourning is gaining the speed to match them but he's still not quite there. Sero's trap catches Mourning's blade and he laughs while Sero gives him pointers.

As if Mourning wouldn't take anything Sero gave them. Sero's smile is stretching across their face and Mourning's own is growing. Maybe not every day, maybe not every time, but Mourning no longer smiles to cover up an empty hunger.

When he dreams in the Spire they're always about home. A friend who doesn't try to use him, a family he is growing into. Magic's lack is no hindrance here and Mourning's nights are warm.

Mourning is twenty-seven. This time the streets are on fire and the orphans are running but Mourning doesn't cower anymore. His back is straight and he ushers the kids behind him and his sword. Smiles in the smoke.

A letter came. It came too late and from too far away and when Mourning gets the second he wonders how much faster he could have been. If lives could have been traded for lives. But his smile stays fixed and his back stays straight and Mourning keeps his sword at his hip.

When he dreams it's of fire and Alassar steel. It's stained glass crunching under his feet as he runs from the pungent smoke to the center of the Spire. He's alone surrounded by family. And his smile aches on his face.

Mourning is thirty-two. He wanders a mud filled alley with the last member of his family at his side. Jokes with him to see his smile and tries to forget the way it used to feel. Neither of them are who they used to be and they're the last. The last things Mourning can hold onto in cold streets.

His feet are numb, his stomach is empty. Skies so dark and blue Mourning could mistake them for the sea overhead and it matters only because the horizion is so hard to see. Mourning keeps walking and he keeps smiling and he hopes his family can appreciate his good humor.

A thin blanket covers worn out dreams in a sense of longing. A safe place to sleep, a warm meal, laughter shared between family. Mourning dreams of what he had and only in his nightmares does he see what he still has.

#wayfarer #wayfarer mc #mourning sero #one down after. too much time typinf on my ohine trying to fix the awful thumb mistakes

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eyeofmud · 2 years

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Mycelium Commissions

Hello all!

I’m opening up commissions again! I offer two different styles of commissions, Ko-fi or Standard!

To Commission Me: Send me a dm here on tumble or send me an email at [email protected]!

Ko-fi commissions: I’ll be doing these in three levels, all of which will be SFW. my ko-fi can be found here, just send me the receipt with what you’re looking for to either my dms or my email!

1 Ko-fi: For 1 ko-fi (3USD) I’ll write you a 300-500 word ficlet, with up to three characters. Examples (x, x, x)

3 Ko-fi: For 3 ko-fis (9USD) I’ll write you a 600-1000 word ficlet, with up to three characters. Examples (x, x, x)

5 Ko-fi: For 5 ko-fis (15USD) I’ll write you an 1100-1500 word ficlet, with up to three characters. Examples (x, x, x)

Standard commissions: I’ll be doing these by word count! For every 100 words I will charge 1USD, up to 1,000 words after which it is 2USD per word, for a maximum of 5000 words (90USD). There is no limit on characters involved and I will write NSFW for an additional 50% of the total cost per words. Meaning if you want me to write 1500 words of NSFW the total cost per words is 10USD for the first 1000 words + 10USD for the second 500 + 50% for a total of 30USD. Both you and all characters in the scene must be 18+ for you to order any NSFW works.

SFW Examples: (x, x, x, x, x)

NSFW Examples: (x, x, x, x, x)

I will write: About your ocs! About your world! About canon characters! All I need is enough information about whatever idea it is you have and how you would like it, so references for OCs and world-building and what kind of tone you’re looking for.

I've done everything from character focused introspection to fast moving fight scenes to world building codex entries, if you have something you'd like written contact me! I'm also open to doing other types of writing, like poetry or contained flash fiction. Poetry commissions may be a different rate seeing as they are usually a fairly short word count compared to the time spent constructing them.

I’m open to writing just about anyone Dragon Age wise (except Cullen, sorry) and if I am familiar enough with the fandom I can write about those characters too (such as Baldur’s Gate or The Outer Worlds or Fallen Hero or etc).

I will not write: pedophilia, rape/noncon, gratuitous violence. And I reserve the right to expand this list as I see fit.

That’s all guys, thanks so much!

#commissions open

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eyeofmud · 2 years

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21C? :)

21- "i'm sorry i can't get up" C - "nighttime"

Forests in southern Nevarra grow thick enough to blot out the sky, trees with sweetly scented needles and trunks wider around than Noure though it isn't like the last of that is hard to be right now. A wraith flickering under the moonlight. White hands dragging on knobby knees made of bark leaving dark trails behind. Perhaps even the sweetness of cypress needles in the breeze isn't going to cover the sharp smell of blood.

Wet earth grips the bottoms of their feet viciously, selfishly, unwilling to let them go. Like Noure this time in how it clings to skin and chills to the bone.

Defining oneself in opposition and similarity. Noure looks up towards the moon and raises a hand, pale skin and thin bones and red blood and silver moonlight and deep dark sky. Figures they would find themself in a cemetery when they're dying.

They've used the last of their mana to get this far and it's running out fast. Bleeding out of them through the open wound of their chest. Sinking to the base of a cypress tree Noure drapes themself over a root with as much dignity as they can manage. Even with more blood on the earth than in their body Noure can muster energy for the drama of it all. Why go out with a whimper if you must go out at all.

Noure's fingers glow but their magic is dying too. Pain closing in around their vision to turn the corners rust red and run their breathing ragged. The cypress supports them upright but just barely. Just enough.

It wouldn't do to greet a friend lying down.

A new glow in the cemetery, conjured not by the moon nor by Noure. A true ghost walking through the trees. A voice carrying like needles shifting in the wind. "Why is it every time I see you it is because you have brought trouble with you."

It isn't really a question and Noure huffs a laugh, and when they reply their own voice is weaker than the apparitions. "Good to see you too Valor. I'm sorry, it appears I can't get up." They struggle to breathe now, the words taking too much out of them too quickly.

"I can see that." Valor reaches out and strokes their arm, less real than a breeze but it leaves the hair on Noure's skin standing up. Like a friendly stike of lightning Valor is, so unlike the way Noure burns. "Did you come here for aide or peace?"

Well if Valor is blunt and stinging too then there at least Noure can say they're alike. "I think it's too late for help now." Too late for many things, maybe too late from the beginning.

Valor's hand sinks through Noure's skin and instead of a breeze it's a storm. "Not necessarily but it will be soon."

Pain doesn't just filter through their thoughts it stops them from thinking entirely. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you have a choice, to accept my aide or accept the peace of death." Valor says it simply, maybe it is. Their presence rests under Noure's skin and warms them from the inside out. Keeping the chill of the earth at bay.

Once Noure would have said no without thinking about it. There was a time saying yes would have been too easy. Now though..

Sweet cypress fills their nose, mud hardens on their soles, blood drips slowly and weakly down their chest.

Noure uses everything to lift their hand and grip Valor's arm in return. "I accept."

prompt list

#sending this into the archive here #noure surana #dragon age origins

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eyeofmud · 2 years

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29 or 30!!!

ohhh these are both very good though........ awooga 29. sweat / 30. harsh whisper

Sweat stings in the cracked corners of their mouth. Noure licks their lips and the metallic tang of blood hits their tongue. Enough, let it be enough.

Four silver crescent scars on the palm of their hands meet the warm earth of a recent cremation. Once, a long time ago, their blood rent the earth here from those scars with a power that should have frightened them back then. Now it scatters to the ground weakly from their lips. Their power doesn't frighten them now, it binds them together all the rough edges and missing pieces, it holds them upright and proud and strong.

What frightens them is the thought it won't be enough.

Maybe it was never enough.

Salt from blood, from sweat, from tears, it hits the dark ashy earth all the same and Noure calls to it in a harsh whisper. Jagged words clear only because they're spoken a hair's breadth from the soil. A plea or perhaps a practice of absolution.

What rises isn't what they wanted -how could it be, what could have been enough- the eerie cold glow of shadows and raw magic pulse green and grey where Noure dares their glance. White hair framing the soil, a spirit's bare feet outlined in the ash.

If Noure breaks then it isn't because their power was too much for them. Not because the dead are gone and only shades can take their place. Not because the earth is still warm with the fire that carried the flesh and blood of their beloved into the heavens where they cannot follow.

Not even because Noure isn't enough now and hadn't been enough then.

No, no if they break at all it is because there is no going back. What else is left to do when the earth is salted with everything left inside and even the most desperate of prayers can't be answered. Will a hollow thing break when it finally hits solid ground or was it broken from the drop, so high in the air so perfectly whole.

Blood mixes with tears and the whispers turn to coarse shouts. To soundless sobs.

#😈 this too 😈#noure surana #dragon age origins

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eyeofmud · 2 years

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49 or 5 for the microprompts, whichever you prefer the look of or don't get first sndjfkg 💖

you're the first one so!! u get both <3

5. help / 49. nightfall

There is exactly one window in Solas' room. A narrow and tall thing of thick stained glass through which the largest of the moons was barely visible. Only the glow, faintly lighter purple outlined by its dark neighboring panels, gave it away in the night sky.

Idrilla stretches under no longer shared sheets not yet quite willing to open her eyes. Her hand curls over an empty, still sleep warm, spot where Solas should be though and the cool air against her neck and chest is enough to wake her more fully. Cracking open an eye Idrilla finds Solas sitting on the far edge of the bed.

Nightfall suits Solas. It clings to him in melancholic tones, his upturned face lovingly shaded in starry blue and the purple of the rising moon. Shadows are deeper where his eyelashes rest against his cheeks, strike on the hard angles of his jawline, moonlight shining on the tears clinging to his lips.

He's beautiful enough to break hearts like this, silent and seemingly alone. But Idrilla reaches out with a hand and gently wraps her fingers around his. A tender grip over soft sheets. Solas' breath hitches but he doesn't yet open his eyes, doesn't turn his face, only returns her grip with his briefly.

The quiet of shared nights takes over. A deep and understood peace.

It breaks when Solas opens his eyes and makes his way back to Idrilla, his exposed skin is cold where it meets hers but she pulls him close. "Emma lath," a whispered promise in the dark, tucked away between calming heartbeats, "let me help you fall back asleep."

He fits nearly perfectly inside her embrace. Has for some time. So close their breathing starts to match, his head nestled under her chin and well within kissing range, which means of course Idrilla kisses his forehead and rests her cheek on his temple. She knows tomorrow he'll slip away in the morning far earlier than normal and won't be back until the sun sets again.

But he will return, with an apology and question, and he'll need to sleep together with her through the night once more.

#and onto the writinf blog it goes #solavellan #idrilla lavellan #uhhhh do i tag by game i think so nav wise #dragon age inquisition

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eyeofmud · 2 years

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there is a place by the dam

under the bridge and through the tunnel

where the light glows gold and turns green

here dirt is soft, leaves rustle, and the air is warm

here trees grow tall and mud lies low

here the path is winding

travelling over earth and sky

there is a tree

fallen over the dry creek bed

cross it to the tender green grass beyond

stay and rest in the soft earth here

fall asleep in the embrace of the secret paths, stay awhile

stay asleep, stay here

mushrooms and frogs and gentle breezes

here the path circles and climbs and creeps

there is a bench

it is not on the path

it is not made for you

rest here for a moment

rest here for years

there is a bench

made of old wood and crawling flower vines

there is a place

down the river and through the woods

there is a path

through bramble and earth and orb weaver

stay here

leave here

welcome

farewell

#poetry #my writing #unreality #just in case

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eyeofmud · 3 years

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i write poetry when im hungry;

food for thought about oranges and pomegranates - always something i do not have

i fear i will always be hungry for something i cannot consume

#poetry #except not really im juat eating dinner and had a thought #baking bread tonight and eatin leftover meatloaf tasty tasty #fragment

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eyeofmud · 3 years

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i place a grape in my mouth, the pop as it slides past my lips perhaps is holy

truly how i understand why Dionysus is worshipped

what madness is better than a love of a fruit

#poetry #im pagan but not Hellenistic so this isnt technially worshipping dionysus #but i did eat a grape with awe so i think it counts for something #fragment

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eyeofmud · 3 years

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i loved her

like rot loves the forest

like a virus might a healthy cell

keeping myself apart and other and distant knowing

knowing always knowing

like salmon swimming upstream

her hand belongs in mine, both of us needing the other

#poetry #my writing #been in rions headspace a bit which is fun but also i want to bite glass

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eyeofmud · 3 years

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Aidan doesn’t pace, he’s never found anything soothing in wasting motion back and forth over and over again. No, Aidan’s thoughts don’t need his feet meandering aimlessly to be in total disarray. Instead he fidgets. Leans against the hospital wall and worries a dark stone between his thumb and forefinger in a habit nearly as old as he is. Even if the habit isn’t anywhere near as old as the stone. It’s always helped him focus before and now with the rough texture under his fingertips his thoughts circle around exactly what he wants to ignore.

It’s been days since he’s seen her. Days in which he couldn’t bear to do anything more than wrap a hand around the door handle never once turning it. How could he? How could he go in to face her again?

With a sigh Aidan brings his worry stone level with his mouth, thumb still working on its smooth side. He needs to talk to her, needs to know she’s alright. Needs to see Nat like he needs to breathe and right now his chest is aching with the absence of both. It should be frightening how deeply it hurts but Aidan’s fingertip brushes across the stone and he’s more afraid of how much he doesn’t care that it frightens him. She’s worth it, she’s more than worth it.

“Does the wall no good to have you lean on it like that.” Vieno’s voice startles Aidan out of his thoughts and he pushes himself off the wall with a small jolt. When had Vieno come over to this wing of the hospital?

Actually when had he learned to sneak up on Aidan seeing as Vieno isn’t exactly known for his stealth? Grimacing Aidan rifles a hand through his hair, the corners of his mouth tugging further downward at how dry his scalp is, he must be more tired than he thought. “Good morning to you too Vieno.”

Scrunching his bushy eyebrows together, Vieno gives him a strange look, “We’re well into the afternoon boy.”

Oh. “Ah.” Abandoning the little propriety he had at the moment Aidan rubs at the back of his neck shooting Vieno an askance glance. “Lost track of my thoughts, I think.” Or got lost in them more like. Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, especially not when his thoughts seem to revolve around Nat.

“Well don’t get lost on your way through that door there.” Vieno continues to prove himself a straight forward individual, gesturing at the door to Nat’s room.

No, he couldn’t get lost there. Aidan sinks back against the wall and shakes his head before pausing his response before it can get started. He can’t call Vieno a close friend, not really, they’ve only met a couple handfuls of times but. Well Aidan thinks he could call him that one day, and from the way Vieno is standing, waiting, for him to either walk through Nat’s door or tell him why he isn’t going to do so, Aidan wonders how soon such a day could come.

Friendships don’t start by themselves though. “Can I tell you something Vieno.” Picking his gaze up off the floor Aidan levels it at Vieno, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he does. Vieno raises an eyebrow and Aidan takes it as permission to continue.

“I don’t think I deserve to walk through that door.”

Surprised sprigs of lemon balm bloom across Vieno’s unruly hair but Aidan doesn’t lift his gaze. “It was my choice, Vieno, my choice is why she’s in there at all.”

If he were to close his eyes Aidan knows he’d see it play out before him again, a loop he can’t do anything to stop from replaying over and over. Aidan grits his teeth and keeps his eyes open. The past isn’t something he can change, it’s making the same mistakes in the future what he’s most afraid of. Making the same choice of an order over her.

“How can I tell her I’m sorry if I can’t promise not to do it again?” Aidan wraps his tongue and his teeth around them like poisonous pits, nearly choking on them before spitting them out.

Vieno’s hand claps down on his arm harshly, startling Aidan out of his thoughts. “You don’t.” It’s a flat statement, brooking neither argument nor room to doubt. A single begonia springs out from behind Vieno’s ear, complimenting the frown on his face.

“You don’t.” The words ring through Aidan’s head like a church bell early in the morning. Crystal clear and breaking the fog. Of course, of course he doesn’t. Here he is agonizing over a choice he already made when he knows he can’t make it again. Oh what an idiot.

Slowly Aidan’s jaw unclenches, his shoulders smoothing out, “You’re right.” Not that it’s an easy choice, nor one Aidan wants to make lightly, but turning his worry stone over in his hand something in Aidan’s chest relaxes. His lips turn up and this time when Aidan’s eyes crinkle it’s because a smile is beginning to stretch across his face. “Vieno, thank you.”

Pocketing the worry stone Aidan nods, to himself and to Vieno, and the corners of Vieno’s mouth turn upwards before he continues down the corridor.

Alone again but this time just for a moment. His hand on the doorknob but this time able to open it.

Aidan takes a deep breath walking through the door unable to stop himself from a split second of worry. Fumbling over his words the moment he finally has them. “Nat, I-”

“Aidan” Nat’s voice is soft over his, pulling his gaze up from the floor. “I missed you.” Her words fill the empty hollows in his chest, lifting some unknown weight from his lungs. Propped up on the bed Nat smiles at him still lingering in the doorway and Aidan can’t think of any sight more beautiful.

His own words dry up with his mouth, tongue heavy and thick behind his teeth. It isn’t enough to simply say, “I missed you too.” But he means it. He missed her like a seedling misses the sun, desperate and reaching.

Nat stretches her hands out towards him and Aidan nearly jolts forward. Stepping across the room is his first apology to her. He takes her hands in his, calloused palm to calloused palm, and bows his forehead to the back of her hands. Whispers against them, a small prayer of thanks falling from his lips. Nat doesn’t rush him, she never has, she waits until he’s ready to raise his head and softly smiles. Cups his cheek with her hand covered by his and lets her nails gently scrape behind his ear.

There isn’t any helping it, Aidan leans into her touch without even thinking. “I should have come sooner, meant to but-”

“Well, you should have,” Cutting him off smoothly a teasing light appears in Nat’s eyes. “What kept you?”

Another deep breath, this one steeling the racing of his heart. “I didn’t have the right words, but I do now and I’d like for you to hear them.” Nat raises an eyebrow at him but sombers when Aidan doesn’t drop his gaze. “Nat, I need to apologize.”

She opens her mouth but this time Aidan is the one shaking his head, “Let me, please.” And it is a plea, he needs to tell her. Tell her in the way he can. The words he can’t say locked away behind his heart and the ones he can’t stop now spilling from his tongue. Nat sighs but she curls her fingertip around the shell of his ear and Aidan shivers.

“I chose to protect Agency interests over protecting you. You got hurt because of my choice, and I know, I know you don’t want me apologizing for that Nat. So I won’t. I’m apologizing for not doing it again.” His voice shakes harder than his hands do and he forces himself to loosen his grip on her hands, not wanting to hurt her. “And I know you can protect yourself, or heal quickly when you can’t, but Nat you shouldn’t have to. From this time on if there’s a way to handle things where no one gets hurt, that’s the way we take. From now on you come first Nat.”

Aidan’s voice cracks wetly and he shakes his head. “I’m not choosing the agency over you again Nat, I’m sorry.”

Gently, so gently it’s as if she’s afraid he’ll break, Nat strokes her thumb over his cheek, through the salty track marks lining it. She doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t have to, simply pulls him forward till his cheek rests against hers. If both of their cheeks are wet, both their hands held too tightly in the others, both their breathing shaky, neither says anything.

Not for a long while.

When you love someone, sometimes the only way to say it is to not say it at all. Aidan holds Nat to him and is held in return and for the first time, this time, it clicks deep in his heart. Sunshine bleeding through his ribs. It should hurt and maybe it does, a little, but it’s the warm ache of growing pain.

Opening his eyes, he isn’t sure when he closed them, Aidan decides something else too. He clears his throat and pulls back, finding Nat’s eyes look as puffy as his feel. A smile breaks across his face and a small laugh escapes him. “I said you don’t need any protection, and well fire is different than lightning a bit but.” He straightens up, letting her hands go only to reach behind his neck and unclasp the necklace he’s worn there for nearly three decades.

It’s a small piece, a thin golden chain with an equal four point woven cross hanging from it. “Natalie Sewell, if you would accept it I would offer you this necklace. My father gave it to my mother, and my grandfather to my grandmother before him, to bring good luck and protection to the one who wears it.” The old words come naturally and are easily remembered from what his mother taught him when she gave him the necklace so long ago.

Nat’s mouth falls open with only a quiet gasp, her eyes falling from his to the necklace only to raise back again. “You’d give this to me?”

He can only nod. An unspoken everything.

A smile to match his own spreads across Nat’s lips. “I accept, Aidan.”

And this time, oh this time, the burning of his eyes is more than welcome. Nat leans forward and Aidan reaches out in the same moment neither one looking away. How could they? Aidan’s heart skips in his chest and she’s there in the circle of his arms and how was he ever afraid of being worth this? He can’t undo his choices but maybe, hopefully maybe, he’ll make fewer and fewer choices he’d even want to regret. And this could never be one of them.

Closing the clasp of the necklace Aidan smooths the chain over the back of Nat’s neck. Soft skin and cold metal. Breathes in the clean scent of the hospital soap to replace the one of burning flesh. Nat’s hand on the back of his head twists in his hair and for a second Aidan’s heart stops in his chest, her touch grounding him to now instead of then. She’s not going anywhere.

Thankfully tears can’t tarnish gold.

Even if Aidan doesn’t deserve her he’ll spend all the time they have together loving Nat. Earning her love, it isn’t his decision to make for her but if she chooses to love him Aidan will make it worth it for her, too. If he can’t protect her from harm he’ll stand by her while she recovers. He’ll stand with her, if she lets him. For however long he has.

Pulling back only far enough to rest his forehead to hers Aidan shuts his eyes. Wet eyelashes sticking to his cheeks. Nat’s hand drifts from his hair to his cheeks and she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to, not with him.

He doesn’t kiss her but her breath ghosts across his lips and Aidan’s whole body trembles. Grounded only by the press of his forehead against Nat’s, their noses touching in a contact more intimate than any kiss Aidan could imagine. Her hand cups the side of his face holding him close and the unspoken ‘We’re here, we’re here, we’re here, together’ echoes between them. A quiet space of lips not yet ready to meet.

#good morning >:3 #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #n x detective #nat x detective #n sewell #hurt/comfort #romance #dragon age origins #aidan mac braoin

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