#dernarrleid

It was meant to be a nice, lazy day, whatever that meant? Sailing down a river, the very same river he had created just for her to try and give her some comfort in his kingdom, as he lounged there, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, embodying a perfect image of deliberate indifference. He resembled less a man at rest and more a statue sculpted from salt and moonlight, impeccably positioned as if he believed the very atmosphere around him should feel privileged to bear his presence. He didn’t glance at Subaru; instead, his golden eyes were locked onto a far-off point on the horizon, as if he were imparting wisdom to the clouds about their lack of symmetry. To everyone else, he appeared as a splash of color in a lively world, but to Subaru, he was a constant, vibrating tension, a tempest held together by a delicate, fragile thread of patience.

"And what, exactly, is the nature of this grievance that has suddenly cast such a shadow over your expression? You want to, let me understand this, go home? But we are home, all of this is our home, I made it all for you, to make you happy? Is it not enough?"

He slowly inquired, his voice a smooth, carefully crafted melody that concealed a sudden, sharp surge of intensity. He didn’t turn his head, but his golden eyes shifted, pinning Subaru with a gaze that felt like a tangible weight. He huffed, a brief, sharp exhale that puffed out his cheeks for just a moment, a gesture that, for him, was akin to a volcanic eruption.

"I offer you the privilege of my company, the assurance of my presence, and the breathtaking view of the open water, yet you remain there, trembling with a silent, stifling discontent. Do you understand how deeply insulting it is to be seen as a burden by the very individual for whom I have carved out a realm of complete tranquility?"

I forgot the meme | @dernarrleid

"Is that why we expect things to go our way or how the day we expect, to go, and then it all comes to a different path?" He remembered waking up with good energy; which is rare considering past days offering a nagging migraine. No nightmares for once, as if the skies granted him a reward after many moons of unrest. He expected that day to run well. The end result left him turtling up in bed since every limb was killing him. "That windowpane showing all the flowers oooo~ look at the little lilies and bees showering the fields with pollens and buzzings. And then the daily mail boy on his stupid little bike, getting harassed by some goat knocking his wheelies over and over, and he can't escape. That's the real beauty; the unexpected strangeness."

He sips his drink.

"You're strange, in helping me that one time, all sprawled on the dirt, injured and stuff. But that's the beauty, as you said. You have your own strange beauty in personality. It's genuine, I'll give you that. No one likes a person who's themselves. It weirds them out. That's telling me they're weak-minded. Oh no, the honesty. How horrid."

Another sip; it turned into a full-blown chug to empty the glass.

"Stupid cowardly fuckers," He tapped his fist on the table. "hope you don't think that way of me, minus the beauty in genuine appearances. Other way around; past friends said I'm more — I don't remember, one of them was 'too much' I'm too much I recall."

'noticing trauma' sentence starters.

barton couldn't quite remember the last time that one of his 'blackouts' had been this bad... and by that, i mean the doctor had experienced losses of memory before (with lost time, in particular). what made this time different was that the last thing that he remembered was that he was with two of his kids, matilda and louis, and told them to stay behind to keep them safe while he went into a building to deal with somebody dangerous; ahh, that was right, it was someone who was trying to come after barton's business and they'd done it by getting to one of his kids (which was a very bad move if you know anything about barton). it was jack who they'd snatched like a bunch of cowards, considering he was the youngest out of all of them, but that was besides the point.

barton went in there to save jack, and he couldn't remember anything beyond three shots ringing out — one that unfortunately hit jack because the gang member had got him and the doctor shooting that same gang member, along with his right hand, dead. and that shot had hit his son in the stomach, which was a very bad place to get shot in. so, when barton woke up in the hospital with no knowledge as to whether his child was okay, he started to freak out. this was about twice as bad as usual as he noticed he was short of breath from the beginning of hyperventilating, so there must've been something wrong with his lungs; especially considering barton had awoke with an oxygen mask on his face in the hospital.

he was letting out wheezing breaths before he knew it, then, and an alert started to blast from the monitor recording all of his vital signs. it seemed like the first person on sight came into the room soon enough, and that was kenzou, someone he knew. it wasn't enough to stop him from hyperventilating, however, as the other doctor made his way towards him and attempted to get him to breathe properly again. kenzou told him to count his breaths with him right when he gripped one of the bed rails of his hospital bed, trying to tell himself to go to some kind of happy place he had to follow the other. it took up to kenzou counting out three breaths for barton to finally reach that place in his head next, but the important thing was that he was there, and he was breathing along with the other doctor now.

" Ha. . . Hahaha! " Blaise leaned back on the couch as one arm draped around the armrest. All he could manage to do was laugh at such a preposterous accusation. " Delusions? Délusions de grandeur? " He takes a sip of the beer he was holding, the amusement on his gaze still settled on Wolfgang. Hm, perhaps it was true. " Mm. . . I wouldn't call zis delusion, non non. " He gestured his disapproval by swaying the bottle from side to side. " When you 'ave walked ze streets I 'ave walked, when you 'ave looked into ze eyes of men who would gut zeir own mozzer for a fix. . . you learn somesing very précieux. " He takes another sip, crossing his legs as he places the now - empty bottle onto the table with a soft clink. " Zere are wolves, oh yes. But also, zere are sheep. " A mischievous little grin formed on his lips. " Ah, but zere are ze shepherds who wear ze wolf's skin and make both dance to zeir tune. " Another laugh, this time short - lived as he examined Wolfgang up and down, searching for weaknesses, for a little crack that he could later on apply pressure to. What was he truly hinting at with that? The words must have held some hidden meaning, but then again, Blaise was never one to explain himself.

" You sit zere, asking me about delusions. . . When ze real question should be: 'ave I earned ze right to zink zis way? " He tilted his head and leaned back, his golden eyes never leaving Wolfgang's gaze. " 'ow many bodies 'ave you stepped over to get where you are? 'ow many times 'ave you smiled at a man while planning 'is funeral? " The smile on his lips widened, showing teeth. " Because me? I stopped counting after ze first dozen. Zey all blur togezzer after a while. . . all zose surprised faces, all zose last words zey zink will matter. "

He spread his arms along the back of the couch before giving a shrug of his shoulders. " Ze only answer is oui. " Because he could get away with it, no matter the consequences. " I 'ave earned it. Every zought, every conclusion, every. . . indulgence. " A grin tugged at his lips, but this one was sharper. . . and far more intimidating. " Ze most interesting part? Eez zat I would do it all over again. Not because I 'ad to. . . but because I wanted to. "

He's never seen this villager up close—has only heard of how quickly and violently she collects men for her harem. It's amusing to him, though possibly because he's not party to these events when they occur. Or at least he wasn't. Things happen so fast, and she was so succinct it never crossed his mind that in those stories there were never mention of struggle. He would have heard about a scuffle between a man and women with how small his town was, especially if she was accompanied by hundreds of men. (Perhaps exaggerating the amount then, but with the size of the manor it appears to be just that many.) His clothes are worn from a day tending to farmland, only a few berries in his pocket he meant to feed the dog later.

/ for regalia!

What a nice little place .. it would be a shame if someone ruined it.

As she stood before this man and looked him up and down, her golden eyes tracing the dirt-streaked lines of his work-worn shirt, the frayed hem of his trousers, the way his calloused fingers twitched nervously around the handful of berries in his pocket. A slow, deliberate smile curled her lips, not warm, not kind, but the sort of smile a cat might give a mouse before deciding whether to play with it or eat it outright.

"Work?"

She echoed, her voice lilting like a chime caught between mockery and melody.

"What a quaint little priority."

Again she looked him up and down, big, strong, handsome, my oh my oh, but this one had substance. Not like the simpering nobles or the desperate mercenaries she’d collected before. No, Wolfgang carried the weight of honest labour in the set of his shoulders, the rough texture of his palms, the way his stance rooted itself into the earth as if he’d grown there. Her fingers twitched at her sides, the urge to touch him coiling tight in her belly. She could already imagine the way his calluses would catch on her softer skin, the contrast of his sun-browned hands against the pale silk of her wrists.

As she tilted her head, crop harvesting, how pointless. The very idea of labouring under the sun like some common beast, dirt beneath fingernails, sweat dripping down one's back for mere sustenance, made her lips curl in quiet derision. Was this truly what men reduced themselves to? Toiling for scraps when they could kneel before her instead, their hands filled with jewels rather than soil, their mouths whispering devotion rather than counting bushels?

“Then we are in agreement, these men will help you, put them to work and then, entertain me as you promised.”

hyperventilation and sedative prompts.

remind barton to never go out again on a bridge in the dark on his motorcycle whenever there seemed to be tons of traffic; and i say this because of the situation he was currently in. his right femur bone, which most say is considered to be the most painful bone in the body to break (the femur in general), had broke for him completely in two and his neck also had multiple fractures in it. though, honestly, if barton was able to think logically at the moment... he would at least be somewhat grateful that he was alive because of the fall he took from the bridge down to the main street. some jerk had hit his motorcycle from the back, as it was, and barton went flying off of it to the street below. that was what caused him to break both his femur and fracture his neck in multiple places at the same time.

which, let me tell you, caused him no shortage of pain. he had also gotten a bad bit of road rash as well as appeared to have some internal bleeding, after all, and it burned like hellfire the instant that kenzou had applied anything to the rash. so naturally, but unfortunately, barton thrashed about in the hospital bed that he was on and couldn't really think about anything else other than the blinding pain that he was in at the moment whilst trying to dodge dr. tenma's other efforts to help him. the doctor had all but been wailing whenever he came into the ER as the EMT's shared with both nurses and tenma that they were surprised that barton had stayed awake for as long as he did when that good samaritan found him, although it might not have seemed very long in retrospect (about 30 seconds). in any case, barton had just basically been pleading with anyone and everyone to make it stop, make the pain stop.

but he had been someplace near the hospital when it happened so they hadn't been able to give him painkillers yet. barton could barely register what he was saying through all the pain, but he thought it was something like 'don't put me to sleep, i'm scared, i'm fucking scared' because he had seen the look that kenzou had given him just a few seconds ago. but dr. tenma appeared to be preparing a sedative for barton anyway as he apologized to barton, the doctor breathing rapidly as he shook and tried not to begin crying again because no one was listening to him. though he let out another wail just as a couple of nurses, one male and one female came by his bed only to try to help dr. tenma with holding barton still to inject him with the sedative. one last 'stop' cried out didn't help him any, though barton still did it even as the needle was sunk into him.

Subaru's hands find their way around Reinhard's shoulders, not squeezing but a gentle rest. The blues of the person before him seem new with all the information he's gathered since their first meeting in the alley. Once everything came out in the open, his outlook on life brightened considerably. What a hero to have on your side. After a few hours of waiting and a few minutes of convincing (barely that, the man is so trusting) he managed to lead them away to the only part of the manor Subaru knows no one will be for the rest of the evening. He sat on a large box in the store closet near the earth dragon stables, flushed redder than roses. "D-don't think this changes anything—I'm still gonna crush you at this hero thing!" Subaru stammers, but determined to drive the point. "But—you helped me a lot... I, not that I'm a damsel but a hero should get as good as they give..."

He followed him and smiled at him as he thanked him. “You have my thanks for being my friend.” He said softly, genuinely with a tilt of his head that made his hair catch the dim lantern light like spun gold. "Your determination is admirable, Subaru." He said, voice warm enough to thaw the lingering chill of the storeroom. "Though I must confess, I never considered us to be in competition." The words were effortless, as if he hadn’t just unraveled Subaru’s entire premise with a single sentence.

Then his fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, not with the practiced ease of a knight drawing steel, but with the quiet reverence of a man acknowledging something sacred. The blade slid free with a whisper, catching the dim lantern light in a way that made it seem alive, like liquid silver given form. He held it horizontally between them, the flat of the blade reflecting Subaru’s wide-eyed expression back at him. "This sword." He said, voice softer than Subaru had ever heard it. “Has never left its scabbard for anyone unworthy." The weight of that statement hung in the air, thicker than the dust motes swirling around them. As he would put it back, only around Subaru, could he ever use this sword.

“It means, that at some point in time, we are both going to have to make impossible choices.” He said, for his sword, would only ever allow itself to be removed, for someone worthy, someone powerful, someone dangerous, someone that could kill him in battle. As his smile remained, despite his words, how he knew, in the future, they might not be friends, but enemies, depending on the choices they make.

“I hope we both, make the right choices, for the good of the people and this world.”

He lay there bleeding out, and the rain made it worse. The droplets hit his wounds with cruel precision, turning shallow cuts into stinging rivers, deeper gashes into pulsing throbs of agony. His breath came in ragged bursts. Too slow, too controlled for a dying man, and yet the way his fingers twitched against the mud betrayed him. Even the Sword Saint couldn’t hide the tremors of a body pushed past its limits. He felt Subaru’s hands as they shook harder. He knew he had seen this before, far too many times, but never like this. Never with blood bubbling between his lips in thick, syrupy strands, never with his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. He felt his fingers tightening in his ruined shirt, as he heard that his voice cracked.

He was upset, he wanted to know the reason. The answer was obvious. He always had a reason. Always. And that was the worst part.

A wet, rattling cough tore through his chest, splattering crimson across Subaru’s sleeve. The knight’s breath hitched, then steadied, too steady, like he was forcing his lungs to obey through sheer will. "Subaru." He murmured, voice frayed at the edges. He reached up, fingers brushing Subaru’s wrist, feather-light.

"I... apologize for the mess, but we both know .. the truth. We both cannot die, we are fated, to do this .. forever until we get it right."