#burmeciasprotector

   A light dust of pink dances across the hunter’s face. He wasn’t expecting Freya to lay a kiss upon his cheek, but D appreciated the kind gesture nonetheless.

FOR EVERY 📝 RECEIVE, I WILL POST A HEADCANON I HAVE ABOUT OUR MUSES @burmecias-protector 

Archer doesn’t like Freya. He is civil to her and keeps the illusion that they might just have some semblance of what looks like a bond with motherly tendencies, but his personal heart isn’t there. Freya is, to him, a power that only exists.

Even if he was to spend an absurd amount of resources (which he doesn’t want to, doesn’t see the point) to remove her from the picture, it’d only end up with someone taking her place, and him in more trouble with the people involved with her. As long as she doesn’t overstep her territory and leave his city alone, he won’t get angry at her.

The horseman aspirates into existence before the ageless warrior, puffing his pipe and exhaling the toxic fumes into the air around him. The plague he smoked today was of a rather specific variety. New and ready to wreak havoc on the world at his whim. Why he chose instead to smoke it here around someone it more than likely wouldn’t affect? one couldn’t say, simply guess.

         “Aww—how’d ya guess?”       Maybe it’s the stupidly wide smile stretched across Guzma’s flushed cheeks as he stumbles around Freya and tries to point finger guns at her. Needless to say, he’s way off target. “Miss sight for sore eyes, ya know me too well.” Cannabis and alcohol’s a stench that clings to him ruggedly, and it’ll definitely infest the elder woman’s hyper senses as he invites himself into her personal space by curling his arm around her shoulders. Along with all his weight.

          Freya can manage, but Guzma’s not exactly easy to carry. 

   “Shittiest bar your boy ever crashed, yo. Free beer though, scheck it.” He whips out a bottle of some cheap bullshit brand and and shows it off to her ‘fore popping off the cap with his teeth and chugging. He says it was free, but his smirk says you fucking know I stole this. 

   As he was often burning away his endless time doing, the Hand of Death had once again found himself absorbed into a book, alone and in silence. Yet..unlike his usual moments of peace this home was not his own..the tea brewed now sitting upon the table, the book in his possession, all belonging to a certain seducer of beasts.

    He came here with a purpose, the intent to follow up with the woman and her abominable offspring, actively keeping watch on them and alerting Death of anything worth his attention. Yet, as he arrived, the rather overly lavish abode was found empty..and as any undead being with infinite time would do, he made himself at home as he waited patiently. 

“I don’t need your pity.” 

She means to make herself sound dismissive, cold, but the reality is far more pathetic. Max can barely speak to begin with. All Freya will hear is a hoarse, stuffed complaint, not nearly forceful enough to stop the older woman from setting a cup of hot soup between Max’s trembling hands. For a second, she contemplates pouring it over her skirt. It’s an ungrateful thought. The right thing to do is to say thank you and drink this damned brew. Max can’t bring herself to even look at Freya, though. Doesn’t want to see the softness smoldering in those unnatural, wise eyes, doesn’t want to feel like she’s in a position of weakness next to someone who has so much more than she ever will. Freya may be kind, her intentions genuine, but the fact stands - or sits - that Max is currently stuck in this stupid, lush, pristine bed of fine sheets while Freya most likely wouldn’t even set a single foot into Po Town.

Although the rising steam beckons her senses until her stomach cramps in hunger. It smells so fucking good - and yeah, it’d make her feel a lot better, too. Max holds the cup a little tighter and continues to ignore Freya’s expectant stare. How long she’ll sit sulking, nobody knows. A part of her doesn’t want this soup to go cold. When she finally raises the cup and takes the first sip, she refrains from groaning in relief - the heat soothes her sore throat at once, even clears some of the congestion in her sinuses. But Freya doesn’t need to hear just how much Max has needed this. To be - taken care of. Later on, she will shudder in disgust at her own patheticness. Will erase the memory from her mind with a pill or two and push on. 

For now, she will try to enjoy how soft the cushions feel when she sinks back into them, placing the drained cup on the nightstand. Will ignore how much this room reminds her of the house she grew up in. Not home, no - never home. It’s merely an act of pliantness until Freya gives her some space.

♕- He doesn’t turn when that pain turns into fire before his very eyes. Their exchange had long since skirted the edge of what served as one of her deepest sorrows. Not even he comes fully prepared for the unconscious hold of his breath for that tension to burst, to escape the grips of rhyme and reason in order to scream out the very agony that plagued her. A pained clutch of his heart punctures him as those eyes widen, a step back was take, the shock across his face evident as the strength of her emotions incited a reaction. What she endures is a pain he couldn’t begin to fathom.

Truth be told he fears with every ounce of his being to that aspect of reality one day coming to pass. He could feel the corrosive flames that emanated from her heart, exhausting out for the sole someone that’s seemingly forever beyond her reach. An unconscious move by his hands caused his hands to reel in to form those pained fist that ached to find their own ground. “...!!” A shaken breath stirs within his mouth is held, applying every inch of being he had to not cry out for her sake. “Amelia..” His voice wavered as a grim realization stirred in  darkening pool of his mind. Difficult memories from trials that cost his own existence as a price to be paid.

‘Did.. I make her feel this way at one point?’ A flit of scarlet hair dancing among the corner of his vision, guilt formed into a ghost that served as his reminder, of what his failure in a way inevitable became for the girl left behind that day.

Sora didn’t come to realize that streaming down his face without a sense of embarrassment were tears. The aching sorrow to reunite with someone you love, to try pushing from an impossible reality only to see that the steps were superficial from the true goal... A choked sob eased from him as there wasn’t a moment spared. One step follows the other, all too quickly does he find the distance closed between them, his arms wounding the young woman’s shoulders in a mean of support. He practically crashes his body against her, unable to stop his heart from speaking the untold truth that her impassioned burst of anger attempted to cloak.

“It’s okay to miss him Amelia! It’s.. Okay to...”

"You.. don’t get strong to escape that feeling. That’s not how it works at all. You love him.”

“And he loves you.”

Everything within his being refuses to let her be alone during this. The grip of his embrace held that silent plea to disclose that to her, to let her know that something like this never has to be restrained or locked away. Who wouldn’t want to use every ounce of their being, every ounce of their heart in order to change a tragedy like that, no matter the price? The weight bared upon her shoulders wouldn’t be handled alone within this moment. She now carries a friend who isn’t afraid to stand alongside of her anguish.