#smokeswirled

@smokeswirled​ gets a surprise letter from keyleth. 

Dear Percy, 

I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but I saw the stationary on your desk and thought... well... it’s not like I can say these things to you out loud, so why not write them down? Pike’s too nice to read your mail, Scanlan probably won’t be interested enough to, and Grog probably can’t read half of these words so... 

Hi. I know, I should say something else, but hi feels pretty good. Hi, I miss you... Hi, I wish I was going to bed in your arms tonight. Hi, you smelled really good this morning. Hi. 

I’ve never written a letter before. I hope I’m doing okay. I have no doubt you’ll have pointers for me, and a lot of things to teach me. I suppose I have a lot of learn still. 

Hi. I miss you. 

@smokeswirled​ said:  ❛  they don’t deserve you—  I don’t deserve you.  but at least i’m aware of it.  ❜

           𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 for percy to self-deprecate. he’s always been especially good at doing that –– somehow battling a royal sense of privilege with a kind of self-hatred like she’d never seen before. percy is complicated like that –– his damage is familiar only in that the sharp edges feel a lot like hers some days. and keyleth... all she wants is for them to collide until they’re both bloody. 

she doesn’t want to fix percy. she just wants him to like himself a little more. ❛ shut up, percy, ❜ keyleth bursts out. her face is flushed –– this time from frustration. ❛ that’s not true. you know that’s not true. ❜ and hell, even if it was... which it isn’t... ❛ I don’t care, okay? I don’t care if you do or don’t deserve me –– you have me. ❜ her face crumples. 

no matter how she'd told herself this would be the last time, keyleth always found herself back here, exactly where she'd started. sometimes drunk. sometimes high. most of the time simply craving percy's touch so much if felt like she was both. here she was again, back in his arms and back in his bed.

𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, but the view before her didn't change. as she looked around the stone walls and the piles of bone in the corner, she breathed out a long, dismayed sigh. she was stuck in a dingy dungeon with a near stranger, and to make matters worse, she was pretty sure that red spray along the floor wasn't some kind of jam. swallowing, she turned to survey her new acceptance. her eyes landed on the many guns he wore across his body. her lone pistol ( lovingly titled, saving grace ) felt simple in comparison and the hand axes hanging from her thighs nearly primitive when regarded from a distance. at least until a closer look was taken.