i am / i was.

                              he was naught but a storyteller;     epics relived in his MIND, tragedies to play over each act and with tears to follow the audience would CLAP, cheer for the anguish their protagonist had felt, cry the way their LEAD had once done, holding their hearts on their sleeve whilst actors took their masks down and bowed to their spectators.     ( his was but a different kind of story. )     he stuttered;     lost at WORDS and trying to find the ways to show it. he paused;    inhaling DEEP memories that left him scarred and frightened of the dark that held their monsters. he breaths;      as to not forget the way his lungs would fill with air and try to RELAX.     a storyteller would never live his TALES, but he would know the way their heroes would cry, just as he had done. 

━━ ━━  HOW COULD HE LIVE LIKE THAT? 

                                every recollection was but a knife in his chest, SMOOTH SLITS across his skin where scars were born that decorated flesh once so pure.     UNTAINTED by the violence that he kissed him, loved him, and never left him. a love that took what it wanted and never gave back. his fingers could only graze over plastic limb where the ghost of an ARM had once been, his feelings scratching, preaching for a pain he had longed for.     he would soon stop, breath hitched in his CHEST when the words could no longer push through his lips and their consequences would play in his mind like GAMES when eyes closed.     ( he never wanted to close his eyes. )     the gaze of a man who had seen too much BLENDED with the fear of reliving it over and over again was naught but terrifying through the eyes of those who knew no terror.

 HE HATED THIS.

                                  but then he’d carry on     –     smile radiant along his lips that spoke no VIRTUE, tainted with his trauma that he had hoped to never bring.     ( did this mean he trusted her? )     a look of sympathy to cross his sight and      –     `o, he hoped she wouldn’t pity him. it wasn’t a beg for COMPASSION but a plea for reassurance.      to what?     not even he could answer. he would simply look at her, benign features to soften from the severity from the words once spoken through the same mouth, and pray that QUESTIONS would be avoided until his heart-rate slowed down and his blood would soon warm. 

@relodae

                she remembers the ambush. the sounds of her communications link crackling with static in her ear as her sister calls out for her, telling her to run. telling her she’ll be there. she remembers the way her throat burned from the smoke, and from her hoarse screaming, desperately on deaf ears for the faintest signal that she would forgo the foolish mission and come back to her. she remembers the way the fire licked at her feet, and pain shooting behind her eyes as she barely managed to escape with broken ribs, and deep gashes in her legs that nearly became cause for amputation. she remembers her comrades — her friends’ bodies strewn about the crumbling base, knowing when it’s safe that they’d come back for them. she remembers it all.

                there are too many apologies on her tongue, too many memories embedded into brain ----- too many and too much of everything that pulls at her heart and makes the pain feel fresh in the wound again. the feeling of a heart beating in her chest, and the odd sensation brought upon her when she thinks about it, every time it raced when a deafening bomb sounded off, and for every cursed moment she watched a newfound friend slip away through her fingers.

                in her dreams, when they did not plague her with ash and fire, she friends cradling her in their arms, reliving those fleeting happy moments. but as the days go by, she wills herself into a bleak sleep, one with neither nightmares nor sweet dreams, but rather, of a total blackness. a void. nothingness. 

                she reaches to him, carefully grasping his own hand ( a whisper of a touch, but there nonetheless ), for she knows not his reaction if she took the other within hers. with eyes closed, she tightens her grip for but a single moment, her simple action speaking more than her untrustworthy voice can. with utmost care does she speak, slowly, cautiously. 

                                 ` i was . . . how do you say it ? given up -- ? for adoption days after i was born, but my parents were good people. they just couldn’t afford keeping me, and within a few months, i was adopted. but, ah, my adoptive “family” never cared, only wanted to have a prize, not a child. i ran away as soon as i could, and i did some things in my past i’m not too proud of, but i joined the military soon after . . .   ❜  though her gaze seems to meet his, it’s unfocused.  ` i lost someone i called my sister in the war — she . . . she was announced to be M.I.A., and  there’s been no sign of her for the past year and a half.  ❜ her voice is soft, deceivingly so with the sting of memories brought forth like a tidal wave. ` i was the only survivor asides from two others out of twelve soldiers from the mission. but they, well. they’re not here with us anymore.  ❜ a clearing of the throat, and she labors on to continue her own story.

      ` honestly though , i wonder if that ranger was totally sure that there weren’t any wolves in the area -- ❜ a tiny quirk of her lips as she leans against him whilst sitting in their shared tent ; however , as nonchalant as her actions may seem , the hint of a playful smirk begins to show as she turns her head to glimpse at him as she begins to unfold the blanket she insisted on bringing. ` you aren’t afraid . . . are ya ? ❜ a plethora of giggles send her shaking ever-so-slightly before she covers her mouth to yawn.

                       ❛    woah ,  woah –––  wait up !  we’ve gotta take a picture to celebrate !  juuuust budge up ,  don’t question it .    ❜

@relodae​  –– ♥︎ ,  d - va !

                            ❛  do you maybe need some help carrying those bags? i wouldn’t MIND lending you one?  ❜

@relodae

light. thank you very much for informing me ! i’ll fix it as soon as possible – i had seen him say in his f.a.q. that use of his work as long as it was credited was okay, but i never saw the updated one ! thank you again :>

i did see that oc blog before, and i really do appreciate you caring about this ! i’ll go look for another fc then, thanks !

BOLD ANY WHICH APPLY TO YOUR MUSE. ITALICIZE WHAT THEY LIKE. REMEMBER TO REPOST & NOT REBLOG. FEEL FREE TO ADD TO THE LIST

fire. ice. water. air. earth. claws. fangs. wings. gold. diamonds. grass. leaves. trees. roses. metal. iron. rust. rain. snow. lace. silk. cotton. sun. moon. stars. blood. dirt. mud. silver. steel. sugar. salt. lavender. glass. wood. paper. wool. fur. smoke. ash. ocean. bruise. scar. laceration. brand. burn. wind. spices. light. dark. paint. charcoal. wine. hard liquor. sweat. dust. bare feet. canine. feline. coffee. tea. books. scratches. petals. flowers. thorns. hay. glitter. heat. cold. steam. frost. candle. sword. dagger. arrow. hammer. shield. spikes. sand. rocks. roots. feathers. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. herbs. waves. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. clay. stone. brick. marble. fruit. meat. poison. medicine. snake. bird. horse. swan. clock. shell. leather. chain. ribbon. heart. spade. map. boot. mountain. vintage. mirrors.

@relodae

                          “we don’t get many teacher assistants nowadays.”

        his hand cradled his head, as crooked glasses analyzed the page in front of him. in all honesty, he was too tired to focus on the words. they seemed to be digested… but meant nothing. much like a computer, it seemed. even his words were robotic, although he tried to be enthusiastic as possible… finding assistant teachers who were also able to speak other languages fluently was difficult to find, he really didn’t want to lose her to a competing school; even if it was just elementary.

                           “at least, not those who are fluent in so many languages, it’s really impressive. where did you learn?”

       she sits straight, pencil skirt smoothed against stocking-clad thighs. hands clasped rather loosely in her lap as she subtly takes in the way he reads, noting how lethargic his body language seems. a soft `mmh` is emitted in response to his initial statement, the slight sensation of butterflies in her stomach from curiosity to see if she’d land the job.

                          “ ah, thank you – i was taught at home and in military academy. but some were self-taught. languages fascinate me, much like education does. ” 

                   ❛    so . . .   ❜ sanguine smile , bright eyes half-lidded , pretty lips coated in rose - gold gloss . a daring rusty - red dress above the knees , paired with a frequented black and gold souvenir jacket , the sleeves pulled up to the elbows , fingertips tracing the pretty wood of the poker table . she barely touches him , instead , coming close , voice like honey dripping from gold .  ❛    you want someone to blow on y` dice . . . ?   ❜