#avispcn

His focus lay on something other than the masses and faces. Gaze traveling from clocks to split-flap displays in search for the name of the flight bringing back the mother of his child. It was crowded, no doubt. Loud and too full to even his liking. Nevertheless he heard it, that faint subdued voice of his boy clinging to his hand the entire time. Not that the man was not clinging back although giving his best not to grasp the tiny hand too hard despite the lingering fear of loosing his little one in the enormous tangle of walking people.

Cold, sharp eyes sank to watch the boy to his side before his features softened into a genuine smile. A smile many surely questioned whether he was even capable of, given his usual monotone attitude. Not around him. Not around his most precious one.

Big hand tightened around the tiny one gently before the man suddenly let go, yet only to lean down enough to lift the child onto one arm. Hœnir had considered asking first if it would be okay to do so and did not wish the boy to be uncomfortable or even embarrassed, being carried by his father like that. He did not, however, and instead gave the far younger one the freedom to complain afterwards if it really would be the case.

This way, with the boy on his arm he should be able to see better. See his beloved mother the second his father would.This way, sharing his own height with the boy he could give a rest to those short legs and calm himself at least a little too. Having him so close. Not accidentally trampled over by someone rushing by trying to catch their flight in the last minute. Not traumatized by someone thinking it would be alright to touch in inappropriate places, because all were too busy to notice. Because all were busy with themselves. How he would not be able to forgive anyone that…

“ Just a little longer. Hold onto the flowers till then, alright? I am sure they will make your mama really happy. “ With his voice low it is not a mumble nor a whisper he silently spoke to reassure his child. Slowly a free hand rose to carefully stroke some of the pitch-black strands aside to be able to see him better. How he loved this hair. It was just like hers.

Go anon and pretend to be my character’s child 

A wince, tearing the grown man out of any thought holding him inside the overwhelming void his mind was right now. Him startled like this being such a rare sight, his entire frame flinching at the sole, soft sound of his son’s voice. For a second he stood, tense. Posture as though someone held him by the neck. Grip of the long fingers holding onto his phone tightened, twitcht ever so slightly as if the man did try to hold  it even tighter when in truth it was his entire body trying his best not to start trembling. He could not. Not in front of his boy.

Slowly he turned; halted halfway

If not noticable by his nonnatural behavior it now was visible by his eyes the shock that sat deep in his bones. He was shaken. Concern knitting is brows as he had obviously trouble holding eye contact with the boy standing there asking for his mother. As if he had known.

How could he look at him now when he was to blame. When he had not been there, had not been able to protect her. Was he not expected to assure that they’d be safe. Assure that they’d be together. How was he to look at him and tell him that they could no longer.

His eyes started to burn. Now of all times. Did his body really have to betray him like this. Could it not wait just a little longer till he was alone, all by himself. Could it not grant him at least enough dignity to properly face his son and be strong enough at least for him?

Lips parted and he deeply inhaled. The next moment his gaze settled on the little one which made the hole inside his chest only gape wider. He turned to him fully and slowly crouched down, wanting to meet the child’s height at least as much as he could to be on his level. For a second he wanted to be the one breaking down, wanted to drop onto his knees rather and cling to the boy in utter frustration, burrying his face in the boy’s chest — crying.

Instead the tall man looked at his small son with a sudden cold painting over his previous unsettled expression another layer of stone. A single hand rose signing the child to come closer, so he could place both his arms around its body in an embrace. How great the effort was not to start clinging in pure desperation himself. This would be hard for him. This would hurt. Hœnir could only guess his little one’s reaction. He would probably deny. Struggle and scream and cuss him a liar.

—and Hœnirwished that he would be that macabre, that he could tell his boy these lies and it all was no more than a horrible joke. But it was not like that.

sentence starters: misc. romantic tension !

He had pretended to be asleep.

Took so selfishly advantage of her letting him stay. With his head on her lap resting together on her couch, cleaned from all the sweat and dirt and blood from before. All gone. The only thing visibly left of his emotional turmoil prior now hidden away behind closed eyes. She had been there for him, had taken care of him. Despite that slight indifference in sound.

She cared.Was this not already more than he deserved? After she had made him undress and had shoved him under the shover. After treating the wounds and going as far as allowing him to settle so close afterwards, covered by a single blanket with her hand in his winter hair. Caressing. Letting him hear her breathing and feel her heat, that eminent warmth coming from her touch both through fingers and thighs he had his head on. Sensation so soothing like her presence alone. It made him happy, made him relax on her lap and allow the stroking through his hair as he had closed his eyes about to drift off. All so perfect. Till she opened her mouth and whispered those words.What then? Why did she not continue? Why did she not speak what was on her mind so openly like she had began. Had she believed that he had been asleep? Had he understood her wrong…? Why would she not tell him directly if she was not being honest. Why would she lie when she was not sure whether he heard it or not. Suddenly his head hurt.

hurt meme.

It was unusual for anyone to join him at this late hour. Not that it was a given thing that anyone thought of joining him outside of every morning with him ministering, or other prayers he urged people to partake in. Nothing the Priest did complain about with every mass usually full to the brim only showing that repentance was stronger than ignorance.

He should know better than to look surprised at the sound of such a sweet voice singing to him about finding no absolution and sins; he should know better than question himself how someone so delicate could be involved with all of life’s ugliness as the towering male turned to grant all of his attention only to find not one of his lambs but a woman he could not remember seeing before — a woman with hair so black and beautiful it stole his breath.

If only for a second.

In his black robe he turned to finally face her fully, holding the garnet rosary he had previously prayed still in one hand and the twelfth decade waiting in his head.

No, she was not from here. He would remember if she was. Yet what was it she had done that she did seek refuge in this cathedral? What gruesome things could this woman have done that she thought her voice alone would not bring her the Lord’s forgiveness that she thought it necessary for him to do so instead? Had she not like many acted with a reason, which in his eyes was good enough to grant absolution if there was remorse.

Silent both hands rose, then intertwined as though preparing for a prayer with the rosary trapped inbetween long, thin fingers. Of course he could do as he was told. However somehow he thought it more helpful and rewarding for her if she would join in.

critical role sentence starters

Had this sofa always been this comfortable he wonders, sitting in the livingroom of her apartment with a beer bottle in hand. He didn’t even like beer but couldn’t stop himself downing it nevertheless. It always left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Did she mind him resting his boots on her carpet in front of- and underneath the furniture he settled down on. Perhaps he should have asked her if she preferred him taking those off when he had walked through the door. When was the last time he had been here, anyway. He couldn’t remember. Not that it had been many times anyway. Maybe once. Maybe twice.

The man’s focus was not on the woman even as she spoke. There was just something about looking at her that made him so riled up inside Hœnirknew it’d make him fuck up eventually. Which he really did not wish to do. At least not after just sitting down.

He did listen to her voice nevertheless. Found himself remaining silent after she was done in silent hoping there were one or two words she would add afterwards. Just enough to make him hear her once more, even if only for a second. Her voice…

How many times had he hallucinated hearing it sing in his ear when he had been outside and on his way, when she hadn’t even been with him. Unexpectedly at first, making him turn on his heel in the middle of the sidewalk or the street thinking she was right behind him. Him growing desperate as time went on, with them not seeing nor speaking with each other and the voice slowly dying down. The thought alone made him take another sip.

Hœnirknew honesty was a rate thing given his career, where he always had to make sure not to say the wrong thing — not to say the right thing and be too open about him and his personal life. Which didn’t particularly bother him. The singer was not much of a talker anyway and knew exactly how to pretend. Being honest was a luxury he did not have.

How he has to hold back not to reach up and grab her; how he has to refrain from pressing her slender frame against his own into more than a gentle embrace knowing very well it would break her. How his jaw clenches under her fingers as the Wolf swallows and tries his best to remain still when he really does not want to. How could he.

There she was, in front of him. The Lady Assassin. Gone so long and now here plunging that smile past ribs into his heart, teasing him with how gentle she was herself when he stood there wishing she wouldnot be. Wanted her to smack and scratch him — pull at the silver strands of his hair or wrap delicate fingers around his throat showing him his place and allow him to feel more of her than he felt now.