#blessdsun

      𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌. essek was, as he had always called himself, a coward - too caught up keeping himself alive to worry for another. that had changed with time, granted... but it did not diminish his desire to keep on living, even in shame. his throat is tight & he found it difficult to swallow - to even look her in the eye. brow furrowed as a warmth spread across handsome features, & his exhale is in an almost agony.

@blessdsun​​    —    CAN  YOU  WALK? 

“Do you ever regret some of the things you’ve done in your past?”

Fjord realized how dumb that sounded as soon as he asked the question. He couldn’t think of anyone who didn’t regret some of the things that they’ve done. The past was on his mind a lot lately. He replayed events over and over, wondering how things would be now if he had done others differently. He shouldn’t. He couldn’t go back and change anything so why torture himself like this? But he couldn’t help himself. He just wanted to move forward. But it seemed like every time he did, something kept him back.

@blessdsun​​ said: ❝ should i be flattered, or worried? ❞

the spell was cast before fjord can stop it, but that did not stop him from lunging forward and wreaking a final blow to the enemy that had sent the spell at ashmenet’s figure. frustration and anger mixed in his body like unstable chemicals as his enemy collapsed to the ground, and then he quickly turned back to ashmenet. his brows furrowed together; her eyes were clear, it looked as if she were controlling zephyr, despite there still being enemies around them.

“ash—!”

it was a confused utterance of her name, but he decided to cut their losses anyway and rush forward, full body grab the woman, and proceed to rush off into the nearest usable shelter and hiding place. that happened to be a cave system, which proved incredibly easy to lose their enemies in. when that was done, fjord finally stopped, set ashmenet down, panic rising at the sight of her.

               𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇 𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄;  immediately  replaced  with  the  sun’s,  breaking through in feeble streams through thick curtains.  Fresh  blood  swiped  from  the  corner  of  his  mouth  transforms  into  tendrils,  mapping  the  texture  of  his  skin.  He  studies  it,  as  if  consumed  with  the  notation  that  he  could  bleed.  That  she  would  draw  blood  from  him.

    The  subtle  automatic  - click -  of  a  tape  recorder  doesn’t  go  unnoticed,  the  static  build  up  in  the  playback  preluding  what  is  to  come.  He  sneers,  a  low  rumble  coming  from  the  back  of  his  throat  as  he  holds  steadfast  to  his  meticulous  ethos.

“Well, probably like the rest of us.” Tim offered her a mug of coffee, noting how this woman was taller than him. It was rare that anyone was taller than him, so it was always a pleasant surprise. Maybe that shouldn’t have been his first thought, but he was used to cryptic and sad statements from strangers. He wasn’t used to people being taller than him.