nobody's son.

ya’ll: no don’t leave you’re an inspiration

me: attempts to interact again

years feel like lifetimes and moments feel like years—a second without the other is a long, thirsty drought only to be cured by the rainfall of company. in another life, there’s a him which looks upon the scene with disgust, urges the swooning scout to run back to his family and get on his knees and apologize. beg for forgiveness. 

it’s his own stubbornness that allows him to ignore that scout, and asher’s presence that allows him to drive the soul into the ground. he spends a moment musing, bathing in pride.  then the man appears below him, and the whole world stops. 

      “ —quit…quit fuckin’ around. “

he speaks, sending words stumbling, shaking to the earth. the brit lures out that worrying side, the side saying that maybe this is a trick or delusion of sorts. maybe that’s the reason behind the tears brimming at blue eyes—or maybe, just maybe, he’s happy.

      “ i-i swear, ash, if ‘dis is a joke… “

Hell would have no furry like the man denied a husband, denied the domestic of life of which he found a craving in the pits of his soul; to be without was akin to starvation, to find not the Scout beneath his fingertips was a sentence to be burned alive for all eternity, begging desperate for the loving relief of Jeremy-- to be held, kissed sweetly, to know that the world could pass the two by in the blink of an eye and Asher would harbor no resentment to it all, so long as he had the man between his arms.

“A man should never joke on his knees, this one certainly doesn’t.” 

He’s a thousand things he shouldn’t have been to be a Forrester, but the one that he was would be held higher above the heads than anything. A family man, truly, never desperate to love, but always ready for it. Once more, he’d offer the ring out, it was no better symbolism than if Asher cut his chest open the very moment and gave the beating, bloody mush to the man.

The jest was met only with a wry smirk as Fang adjusted the pack on her shoulders and pushed on across the heated ground. The water supply had dwindled but she kept her eyes peeled for any little trick to find it in such a climate.

“Save your strength, big guy. You’ll need it later once we get to where you wanna be I’m sure.”

“Ouch, an insult to the reserves of my strength. For your information, my dearest Fang, it is in an endless supply.”

Her brows furrowed.

“You were never one of father’s hounds to me, Asher. You’re my brother. You’ve always been my brother, and I’m proud to call you my brother.” Is that what he thought of himself, thought that it was what Talia viewed him as? With a broken heart, she placed a comforting hand laying upon his arm. “I love you to death.”

“Aye, but the past can be cruel with the way she kisses remembrance.” 

While Aerius was capable of noticing the differing accent - something he perhaps hadn’t come across yet, at least not within any sort of recent memory - that was ultimately a factor he felt mattered little for the moment. “No.” Wow, as if that wasn’t predictable. “Only merchants and couriers can walk mostly without fear. You have intruded within Legion controlled lands, during a war operation.”

Perhaps the profligate could see why being a gun for hire and here was likely a significant problem. It might be expecting much.

“I walked across a piece of land, nearly stumbled into a cactus with that bloke over there,” he’d jab his thumb to a particularly blank-faced legionary, “Waving his spear around like he’s a notice away from shoving it up my arse.” He looked exhausted, more with conversation than the physical, placing a hand on his hip for fingers to idly tap against the dulled top of his hatchet.

tom is but squinting at the fancy garments, brown eyes looking to the brightly-colored attire with confusion. of course he’s seen them worn before, particularly flaunted by noblewomen whilst he worked away in king’s landing, but this doesn’t help the coal boy to understand the meaning behind them. 

however, as the forrester speaks, tom’s eyes squint in a smile rather than doubt. 

     “ might need a bigger size, m’lord. but you would look dashing. “

“I know! I do have my sisters formidable hips.” 

The Forrester second son gives a nodding ode to the dress he knew would become a forgotten, moth eaten piece within his sister’s wardrobe; though not peculiar with dress, there were some pieces she shy away from, gained in the days when boys were attempt to gain her hand, and gain Asher’s fist to their jaws instead. 

            Lùcio has to wonder if he’s suicidal or something, this wouldn’t be a huge deal if he was sober —- but as drunk as he was,  Lùcio had to wonder if he even knew which way was up and which was down.    “ … alright,  only if you promise to come down after.”