thrumuraugu
Thorson | God among men, Man among gods
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skymade:
She’s not bothering him at all?
It’s the only thing that makes her endless stream of speech stop, splutter. She freezes, stares up at him, big large gaze, and then her teeth are sparkling. Wool coat bumps into his arm, her hand goes to link around his, as if already forgetting his prior aversion to the touch. ( She has! Completely. It’s evaporated from her mind by this point. )
“Ha! You’d be the very first, then!”
Eryk’d loved her, so had Momma, but they’d all admitted – Willow was very bothersome. It was why she was like, totally alone, and shit, right?
“Then how’d you know they’re cities? If you’ve never heard the word. Lots of people say words I don’t know, but I normally don’t know what they mean, y’know? Anyway. Uh. If you’re still with me tonight, I’ll show you. I promise. It’s way more stellar at night. Ha– literally! But, anyway. Super promise. Crossing the things, or whatever! And, uh, if it’s stellar, it’s magic. Definitely. That’s how I’d call it, anyway. I mean, like, why not? Who’s gonna be able to say you’re wrong? Well, lotsa people will say, but who can prove it? Ha.”
The abrupt silence was weird after a near constant stream of noise from this girl. It was like someone had reached out and stopped her completely in place for a moment, but it doesn’t last very long at all before she’s beaming at him and grabbing his hand excitedly.
Had she really forgotten already how touching had gone before? At east it was just his hand this time, but Thorbjorn still had to fight back the grimace that wanted to take over his face at the sudden grasp.
“The first what? Person to not be bothered by you?” he asks, finding that to likely be the most believable thing she’d said to him so far.
The tree wasn’t too far away now, and at least with her hanging off him like she was, it would be easier to stop her where he wanted. After all, if he was going to show her how the bow worked, they didn’t need to be right up on the tree itself.
“I took a guess,” Thorbjorn replied noncommittally. “The way you used it made it sound sort of...I don’t know, big? But with people around. So...cities. Bigger than most places, but they’re populated. Same thing, right?” he shrugged, eyeing the distance between where they currently were and the tree before pulling them to a stop. “You really do like to talk, huh?” he couldn’t help commenting, attempting to let go of her hand so that he could grab one of the arrows she’d brought.
“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine. Sound like a, uh...stellar deal?”
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neomacaught:
It felt like a dream.
Smiling slyly at Thorn’s comments – raising a hand to him in return as he and Bjorn disappeared. Closing her eyes and breathing in the world for a moment. It was damp, something only Skyrim had truly taught her of. Damp and dead leaves. Somehow cold. Somehow sweet and somehow rotting, as well.
She breathed in the silence of the evening. Everything seemed still, seemed unmoving.
So the noise of a breath was like the roar of a fire enveloping the forest, and thus, Neoma was on her feet in moments, warhammer in her hands and slung towards the noise.
Neoma’s hands were always steady to deal out the death earned – always poised to stain and slay. But today, just before her hammer could lob at the neck of the stranger that’d somehow crept by her side, she’d slowed, just slightly.
After all, what if it was Thorn again? What if she hurt him?
Logic would tell her he couldn’t be back yet – and if he had, Bjorn would’ve jumped in, barking, announcing their arrival. But the smallest thread of doubt was now sewn into her, and it stayed her hands in the slightest of increments.
Just enough.
It was that hesitation that was used to overtake her. Those that surrounded her felt no similar concern, of course, and her momentary slip in the beginning spelled the eventual outcome of the battle. She fought, of course. She fought hard. But it didn’t seem to matter. She was bound to the law of their fight, bound from her first slip.
Bloodied warhammer left on the ground. Packs left relatively untouched. Fire dead.
Ropes burned into her sides, tied into some cellar that must not’ve been far from where she was taken. She woke with the taste of blood and failure in her mouth, against a dry, heavy tongue.
“What do you want of me?” she asked, as though whoever had taken her could yet be reasoned with.
“We want information on the boy you’ve been traveling with. We hear he’s a god. And we hear you’re a Dragonborn.”
“And what? Walking up and saying ‘hello’ is outdated?”
“Ah ha… You must be the Dragonborn, with a tongue that silver. How did a Dunmer such as you gain mercy with an aedra?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.”
It did not take long to learn that her captors thought they could weaponize Thorn, in some way. Perhaps attempt to ensure Alduin’s success. Perhaps they believed if Alduin alone could not stop her, the help of an aedra in a physical form could.
It didn’t seem to matter what she told them – or even… what she wouldn’t.
She fought again, for of course she would, and they taught her what that sort of fight would buy her. Broken bones. Strips of skin worn off with a knife. Tongue tied against her lips so she could not use a thu’um to free herself. ( They may need her dragon voice yet, she heard them whisper. Do not permanently damage it. )
At some point, pain became more prominent than anything else, but she was used to pain, used to the expected, horrific ache deep inside of her, and thus, staying steadfast was not impossible. ( Hard? Of course. But not impossible. And even in her ragged mind, she knew there was no other option. )
She sat in the corner of a dingy cellar, amidst a pool of her own blood, stripped bare, breathing slowly so as not to disrupt any new wounds, and thought only of Thorn and Bjorn. It was a comfort to know they were together, at the least. It was a comfort to imagine them safe, with one another. Perhaps traveling to a town, settling down…
Though that logical part of her brain told her such a mundane life could never be in Thorn’s nature, she knew one thing almost as a fact: they would, most likely, never find her. Perhaps instead he’d take up her own crest as Dragonborn and stop Alduin as he knew she’d been fighting to do. That was the hope, after all.
Those dreams were nursed in stead of further hope of escape. If only her children would, this time, be safe… perhaps dying would not be so cruel.
It hadn’t taken long for the trail of blood to eventually stop. Whoever had taken Neoma wasn’t a complete fool -- that, or they didn’t want her dying before they reached wherever they were hauling her off to. Neither option was a good one, and all Thorbjorn cared about was that they could still find her even without that easy, if gruesome, trail to follow.
Bjorn was focused, though. The big dog could probably find Neoma in a blizzard if he had a mind to, and his loyalty and determination were something that Thorbjorn had to rely on heavily here.
It was early morning by the time they reached the captors’ den. It looked like some old, abandoned fortress built into the mountainside. But, clearly, it was meant to look more abandoned than it was. Thorbjorn could feel the growl rippling through Bjorn’s body as he messed his fingers into the dog’s thick fur, making sure the dog stuck close to him as he observed the fortress.
Fight smart, not hard.
He had a feeling he was going to have to do both here, just to get to Neoma, but he could at least do her the favor of trying to fight smart for as long as he could before it came down to going all in.
Taking in a deep breath, Thorbjorn let the air rush back out of his mouth in a puff of steam as he nodded to himself. “Okay. You know what you’ve gotta do, right?” Hell, he was talking to the dog now like Bjorn would understand him...But, all he needed the dog to do was what he’d been doing: track Neoma down. So long as Bjorn could find her, Thorbjorn would make sure that the bastards that had taken her wouldn’t be a problem on the way out.
Of course, all Bjorn did to acknowledge anything that he’d said was to snuffle at his hand, but Thorbjorn was willing to take that as an affirmative right now.
“Right. You, stay...uh...here. I’ll whistle when it’s all clear.” A pause, and a very serious look passed between the two. “Don’t you ever tell her that I’m talking to you like this.”
A doggy huff was his response, so Thorbjorn took it and started off towards the fort. There was no one outside, which he assumed was for the sole purpose of not drawing attention to themselves. Whatever the reason, it gave him the chance to slip in easily enough. Glancing around and not seeing any sort of guard, Thorbjorn whistled for the dog, holding his breath afterward as he listened for any sort of movement inside.
No one came, and the clack of Bjorn’s claws on the stone floor allowed him to relax a little now that he wasn’t completely on his own. He let the dog get his bearings, and followed close by when Bjorn started off down a dark hallway. A growl and a short bark was his alert to an oncoming foe, and Thorbjorn was quick to take the lead and catch the man in surprise with a short end at the blade of his ax. The man’s body clamored to the floor, and he knew that more would come to this noise, so he urged Bjorn on to keep tracking, keep looking for Neoma as they began their fight through the halls of the mountain fortress.
It felt like it too much too long fight their way through to where Bjorn started to get extremely restless, his barks echoing harshly off the walls as they started to come across cells instead of just other rooms. Thorbjorn didn’t want to stop anywhere for too long, didn’t want to let his body focus on the exhaustion creeping in or the pain of accumulated wounds from clashing with Neoma’s captors. He was trying to be smart about it all, but anger made it hard to use his head in a fight, and he was brute-forcing his way through more often than not.
“Neoma!” he shouted, breathless, blue eyes darting around through every alcove and cell for her familiar form.
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neomacaught:
The empty hand closed to a fist, fell to her side. She breathed in, slowly, so that by the time her eyes flicked up to Thorbjorn’s face, they were a little less loathful.
Just a little, though.
“I’m not drinking myself into a ditch.” Ancestors, she sounded tired, even to her. Tired, and too fed up to fight in her gentle cadence. “I’ve never done that any of that. You’re seeing someone else where I’m standing.” Wondered who, vaguely. Could she imagine his nature-loving, hopeless romantic mother drinking herself afloat? He’d not even spoken of anyone else enough to even come to mind.
Another breath, and she was forcing the hard lines of her softer, forcing tension in the air and in her tendons to hiss out in a sigh. A hand moved forward, wrapped around his arm. ( Still slightly damp from spilled alcohol. )
“I’m scaring you. I get it. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to. I’m just… mourning.” Eyes flutter, registering that admittance. It burned. “That doesn’t make me some big adversary, though, y’know.” Exhausted simper. “Spending a night in a tavern doesn’t mean I’m going to be… whoever you see.”
She seemed to deflate, looking horribly tired on top of self-hating and depressed. It was...hard to see her like this. Neoma always looked for the good, and the kind and the light in things. Thorbjorn tended towards the opposite, more often than not, and it was strange to have them switch positions.
If it were anybody else -- anyone but Neoma -- he wouldn’t ever admit that she was right; this was a bit scary to see happen in front of him. She’d been such a grounding force ever since she saved him from the wolves, it was like the world had tilted and skewed when Neoma came back like this; closed off and full of darkness.
“...Maybe I am, but I’m also not seeing you as you are, as I know you to be. I’m not...trying to judge you for how you’re choosing to handle whatever happened, but I want to help -- I don’t want to see you hurt yourself. You wouldn’t let me do it, and I’ll be damned if I let you show me up all the time,” Thorbjorn huffed out a weak joke, blue eyes meeting her troubled gaze.
Even when he was the one trying to help her when she was suffering, Neoma worried too much about him. He didn’t truly see her as anyone in particular. Over the course of his life, he’d been around plenty of people who drank too much. They were all different; some were jovial and too familiar, others sad and full of a loneliness that surprised him from beings that lived for only so long. And, of course, there were those that got violent and angry, spouting curses and throwing punches.
He wasn’t seeing any of those people. He was seeing her, just...not how he was used to seeing her. It wasn’t any sort of old trauma, it was simply worry for her.
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mun vs. muse!
tagged by: @neomacaught thank you for exposing the similarities between me & my dumb thunderboi
tagging: steal away!
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neomacaught:
“Not thieves if I give it to them. And other people’s cruelness is no reason to be cruel yourself.”
Evil, because others offered it? She couldn’t get behind that mentality. An eye for an eye left the whole world blind, right?
“I’d rather they ask and ‘rob’ me than actually hurt or kill less fortunate people for what they need.”
A thought to Altair, attempting, spiritedly, to explain why it was alright to rob people, why it was necessary to their survival, as she stared at her guar. Are you even listening to me, Ne? No. Then why am I even arguing with you about this? You tell me.
An eyebrow raised, at the comment about his ego. “No comment.” Bjorn seemed to know they were talking about him – sat up on his haunches, wagged his tail, delight in his gold eyes. “He’s not going to wander off.” A glove over his shaggy hair. “Fight smart, not hard. Be safe.”
Those words should have been returned to her. Perhaps they even were, but to vain. Bjorn would notice it first, on their walk back. He was being more or less civil, tongue lolling, jumping at shadows and biting at leaves. He’d smell it in the air. Tentatively drop his stick, sniff at the air again. Bark, and take off running towards the camp. He wouldn’t stop – not even when they returned to the camp, to find blood splattered leaves, embers trod on. Neoma’s warhammer, carelessly left next to a tree stained red. All of their supplies still there, bag still open.
No Neoma.
Classic Neoma argument there, and as usual, it left no room for him to stick to his point without sounding petty. Not that he really cared. People were cruel, and more oft than not, out to save their own skins than to help others -- Thorbjorn wouldn’t pretend like it was otherwise. Neoma just happened to be one of those rare, odd few who stood above it all. She saw the good, even if it was covered up by a nasty mess.
“I suppose...,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes at nothing in particular. He knew well enough that he’d never win this fight with her, and when it was time to drop it for the day. “Right then, guess me and my furry babysitter will be off. Don’t let the fire go if you day dream without my wonderful distractions around to keep you focused, ‘kay?” And with that, Thorbjorn whistled for Neoma’s dog, the big mutt already at eager attention while they’d been talking, waving a hand at her as he turned his back to start down the path.
It was a relatively quiet trek back to where he’d left his pack. Bjorn trotted back and forth along the path, chasing squirrels and Gods knew what else among the weathered foliage. Thorbjorn let him go off out of sight, but never outside of immediate hearing range, calling him back as soon as he stopped hearing the frantic rustle of paws in the fallen leaves. It didn’t take long to find his things again, as Bjorn was quick to sniff out the smell of meat packed away in his bag. Grabbing it up before the dog could try anything, he dug out one of the tightly wrapped packs, glancing around as if Neoma was there to call him out, before tossing the dog a strip of the lean meat.
As night started to settle in, the air became chilled, and Thorbjorn tried to hurry them back to camp. Bjorn followed along happily enough, totting a newly found stick for himself. Only, when they were just a bit away, he dropped it, wet nose twitching, before he took off at a dead run, barking his head off.
The first thing that popped into Thorbjorn’s head was damn it, thinking the dog had gone and done exactly what Neoma said he wouldn’t, and run off. But, that was abruptly followed up with the odd, dropping sensation in his gut, like something was wrong. Boots slipping on damp leaves, he ran after Bjorn, breath stuck in his throat as he reached their camp.
There was blood spattered all about, dirt and leaves scrapped about -- not from their own activities. The fire had burned low, nearly dead, burnt wood kicked from the small pit. Their supplies and things were all there still, nothing taken. Neoma’s hammer lay on the ground, bloodied, not taken care of -- something she wouldn’t do, even if she were trying to get him back for what he’d done earlier.
Thorbjorn wished that were the case.
“Neoma?” he called out anyway, blue eyes shifting from one tree to the next, heartbeat hammering in his ears as he strained for any hint that she was merely hiding. “Neoma!”
Nothing. Save for Bjorn’s frantic barking somewhere out of his scope of panicked attention, it was silent. No birds, no bugs, nothing. Neoma wasn’t here, and this wasn’t a trick.
He dropped his pack immediately, scrambling to find his own weapon as he tried to call Bjorn back. Whoever did this couldn’t be that far, right? Bjorn could find them, he could track Neoma. They’d get her back. They’d get her back, and he’d make sure they never did anything ever again in their pitiful lives. Anger was quick to spark up in the aftermath of his fear, the sky going black with storm clouds as he bolted off after the dog.
“Find her.”
#neomacaught#[🗲] Horizon's Edge | skyrim#[i have returned to my son!!!!]#[& i'm crying already because i remember what was going on in this thread]
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#[🗲] Turn it up | music#[thANKS MY HEART HURTS]#[i need a willow tag...]#[🗲] Like Wind Through the Trees | willow#[there we go]
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neomacaught:
She was silent, holding him, listening to his fear declare itself. Lips pressed thin, sad, grateful for the cover of night to let herself go, slightly, let face go sympathetic without fear of his reproach.
“Better late than never, Thorn. You’ll meet them again in the next life. I’m sure they even know of your progress now.” A firm believer in those words. No hesitation, no wavering. Leaning forward, a bit, holding him near her. A hug. A semi-awkward pat, still as though petting Bjorn or a guar.
“Do not begrudge yourself for your journey. You are where you are meant to be. And you cannot change it, either way. And don’t put too much faith in me.” Small smile. “If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been something else.”
He seemed so… self-loathing, now. Where was that young man who scoffed at her assistance when she’d saved his life? “You can have a balance, you know. Of modesty and confidence. It’s not ought to be one or the other.” Mostly teasing, but a bit concerned at this switch, as well.
Thorbjorn knew that her beliefs were different than his own, at least, in some ways. She always spoke like the people that had come before her were still watching, still there in a manner of speaking. That one should do honor by them in their life as best they could -- that had, of course, been one of many points that they argued on when they first met.
He wasn’t really sure he wanted people watching him from beyond the veil of death. It was harder to hide your flaws from dead watchers than the living.
“I suppose,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders wearily. Better late than never didn’t have the best ring to it, and he truly wasn’t sure if another life was in the cards for someone like him. Thorbjorn wasn’t even entirely sure he could die like a mortal in this life, let alone if he had done anything to even deserve another one after.
Neoma’s words had the ring of truth to them, even through Thorbjorn’s stubborn loathing. A bitter pill to swallow now, maybe, but he knew she wasn’t just trying to smooth over his feelings with sweet lies. That wasn’t something she did.
He tried to ease her worry a bit, speaking up again with a tint of playful sarcasm, “But who else am I supposed to idolize here? Bjorn?”
Truly, he did owe her quite a lot. Even when they butted heads something fierce, she had taken the time to correct him where he had genuinely gone wrong, and for all his cruel words or stupid actions, she was patient wit him in a way that his own mother had never been.
“I know, I know. Maybe I’ll reach that even keel eventually -- I know I have the time to -- but it just...got at me tonight, for some reason. Never a good feeling to look back at the things you’ve done wrong, and all the work you have ahead of you to be better,” he admitted, reaching blindly in the dark to pat at her leg, trying to assure her that it was simply a temporary despair. “I have a good teacher, though.”
Everything would look better in the morning sun.
#neomacaught#[🗲] Horizon's Edge | skyrim#[thorn vc: its okay i just realize how Awful i am but it'll be fine in the morning!!!]
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i should probably post this up somewhere soon lmao but this is a side blog & follows come from radiantxhero, so if you don't know me ooc, that's...that's me
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neomacaught:
His words held the arrogance that they always did, that his heritage afforded him, and it made her somewhat sick. She was born a mortal – a regular Dunmer in a normal tribe, and only was told she held the soul of a dragon long after she had lost any shred of normalcy. Savior of Skyrim was a weighty title, one that she would prefer to feel uncomfortable under.
( But there was a firey part of her, a part of which she hardly approved, that loved it. Wanted to bask in it. And every time she felt that arrogance, she forced it down. She would not become like Thorn, like them, just because of what she felt. )
“What’s the help you’re trying to offer me? You think spitting in my eye’s a favor?” A little too bitter, but she’s not meeting his eyes. Staring, instead, at the hand he’d knocked the drink from. “I had to make a hard decision. Have to live with it, now. There’s nothing you can do to help.”
What’s the help you’re trying to offer me?
Frankly, it was a good question, and not one he had an exact answer to. He didn’t know what had happened to her on this job, and as much as he professed to wanting to help, Thorbjorn didn’t really have a plan on how to do that. She’d comforted him much more than he’d done so for her; he wasn’t sure where to start.
“...No, but it got you to stop drinking yourself into a ditch for a little while. Might not know what’s best for you right now, but I definitely know it isn’t that,” he muttered, scowling down at the mess of booze on the counter. “You’ll just drink, and wallow, and drink and wallow some more. That’s not the Neoma I know. You get knocked down, but you always get back up again! Life’s full of hard decisions, and we all have to live with them -- even some of the ones we don’t make ourselves.”
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neomacaught:
“Not sure. I’m hoping I’ll reach it tomorrow. Or the next day. Before I run out of food would be best.”
Bjorn was basically whimpering for whatever scrap of meat, preserved and folded in skins, she had for him, big wet nose snuffling at her, tongue licking at her palm. “Hey, down! Bjorn, sit. Nuh-uh uh! No dinner till you listen!”
Ah, ancestors. It sounded so much like something she would’ve said to scold Amila and Naith, in jest, to a chorus of annoyed Mas! But she didn’t let her face fall too severely, shift or mar in pain. She waited until he did as asked and offered the meat to him.
He ate it in one bite, maybe two, bit at her for more, which she offered – this one with a bone. He walked a few feet from them, sat down, crunched and dug into his meal. Neoma’s eyes closed.
A long day, and tomorrow would be an even longer one, she had a feeling, if her new companion had anything to say of it.
“Neoma.” A beat. “Is the name of the Dunmer you don’t like, but owe. Thought if you wanted to write any angsty diary entries about me, you’d need it.”
Bjorn coughed next to them – she fell silent, turned her head towards him, froze until it passed and he continued eating, licking at a bone he was already stripping.
“Take the waterskin. Clean out your wounds before you dress them. You could get sick if you don’t.”
Tomorrow or the next day.
That wouldn’t be too bad, right? Maybe not so fun on an empty stomach, but he could make due. This wasn’t a pleasure trip anyways, and had just become something more than just running away from someplace he didn’t want to be anymore.
Thorbjorn listened to the woman and her dog, the patter of paws in the dirt as the animal moved around excitedly before actually complying with her almost exasperated commands. He rolled his eyes, wanting to tell her that she was never going to get the dog to listen to her if she babied it like that. She was soft with it, which was a strange contrast to what he’d been told of the Dunmer since he was a little boy.
The sounds of teeth grinding against bone soon filled up the darkness, and Thorbjorn set aside his new supplies to settle on the ground stiffly. He honestly thought she was done trying to engage with him for the night, but she surprised him further by giving him her name. It was foreign in his ears and mind, not what he was used to hearing.
“Sorry, Neoma, I don’t write in a diary like a girl with no other worries in life but what others think of me.” It would be a waste of paper.
Still, they were going to be traveling together for a bit, so...
“Thorbjorn,” he tacked on after a moment, hissing under his breath as he picked ripped cloth out of one of the worse wounds he’d gotten. He kept his narrowed gaze focused down at the wound he could feel but couldn’t see, wanting to say no just out of a desire to be difficult. But, the Elf was right-- he’d seen what infected wounds could do to people, and even if he wasn’t sure it would even effect him, he didn’t want to test it on the first night out here. It wasn’t easy to do in the dark, but he eventually got the job done with some fumbling around.
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skymade:
“Well, I gotta know if it can hurt me, because if it can’t hurt me then it can’t hurt them – nah, just kill the tree, definitely. Show me how it kills the tree.”
As though she’d not recognized that… a tree would not die for such a wound. How would she know, for positive? It’s an alien planet! Anything was possible!
( Anything at all. Even the thought that someone on one of these planets may actually… y’know… like her… )
“Wait – you said magic! Do you have magic here? Do you do magic? Can I see it? I can do magic, too! Kinda. Not really. I can do a magic that some people will think is magic but it’s – it’s not really – it’s – whatever. You’ll see. Or not see. Wow, I’m really talking a lot. It’s been a lot of planets since I’ve been talking. Am I bothering you? Are you okay with it? I mean, you are leading me somewhere, but I’d–”
She stopped, took a breath, laughed out, tittering, breathless. “Sorry. Ha. I’m a bit – uh, me. Sorry.”
“If sharp, pointed metal hurtling at you is something that might hurt you, then these will probably hurt you,” Thorbjorn shrugged, not entirely sure what she meant by that, but answering as seriously as he could anyways. He was something else when compared to humans, but even an arrow was still going to hurt like a bastard if it hit its mark -- unless she had some sort of armor he was neglecting to see, it would be the same result, right?
“Yeah -- I mean, may not be all over the place, but it’s around.”
That was about as much as he could get out, as she just kept going and going; questions and other statements running into one another as they tumbled out of her mouth. It was sort of cute, but it did leave him scrambling to keep up with her verbally, his steps slowing just a little as he worked through the knot of words she’d tossed at him.
“Mm, not sure if what I do is exactly magic, but let’s call it that for now. Guess we’ll have to compare and figure that out later,” he mused, smirking sidelong at her. He’d admit to being more than a little curious about whatever magic-not-magic this girl was claiming to have. “Not botherin’ me at all. If you want to do most of the talking, I won’t complain. But...what do you mean by planets? I’ve never heard anyone call cities that before.”
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seafoamrisen:
put it in the tags!
what is your muse’s eye color?
#[🗲] Taming Skies | hc#[he's A20 or A17]#[I've been meaning to shove this in here for like....weeks]
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neomacaught:
He seemed so serious for one who also often seemed so young, and it brought a sad, melancholy crease to her face, forced her to press her hands against his back further, scoot until she was holding him in the dark with an arm around him. Perhaps he’d finally move, now that she was all but leaning onto him, but she knew of little other ways to offer peace.
“The way to forget what you did isn’t sitting up all night thinking about it. And I know sometimes that’s hard to… control. But it’s focusing on your future. What you’re going to do to be better. How you’re going to make it up to people you’ve felt you’ve wronged. How you’re going to make it up to yourself.” Eyes closed, for a minute.
“And… talking to people about it, I guess. I don’t know. That’s what Surya always said. Talk about it.”
So much energy and time talking to one who could thoughtfully respond, though! Sometimes it was easier to just whisper to wind, to animals.
“I’m not the authority, though, you know. Why – do you sound so discouraged?”
The embrace might have been a tad awkward, if only for the fact that he felt too old to need such coddling, but Thorbjorn rolled into the embrace in spite of it. It felt safe to do in the dark.
“...I know it doesn’t do any good...,” he mumbled, voice muffled. He hadn’t even really been thinking about it. It had simply...struck out of the blue, and then it wouldn’t leave him alone. “Some people I can...make it up to. Like you. You’re still here, so I can. Others...not so much.” He might have all the time in the world, but most everyone else was doomed to a short life.
Talk about it. Well, they were talking right now, that counted, right?
“Most people learn by this point, one way or another. I’m...Point to any human, and I’m probably older than them, but it takes you beating some sense into me to straighten out in any way? Doesn’t that just--” Thorbjorn cut himself off, making a face he knew she couldn’t see. “I guess I just don’t trust that I’ll really get any better without you around.”
And he knew that was hardly fair. He shouldn’t rest that on her shoulders, he should take responsibility for himself and his actions, but here he was.
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My first real, finished art piece ever! For @thrumuraugu, Will and Thorn’s reunion!
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While I was changing my lock screen to something amazing that my best friend made me, I noticed a ton of random stickers that were super Willow, so I made a chaotic, sticker-filled, purple and blue lock screen moodboard for another best friend, @thrumuraugu! And now I’m sharing it! Woo!
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skymade:
“No one’s nice.” She says it with a smile, but something about it seems forced. Something about all of this seems… hurt.
( Something, maybe in her eyes, is a little painted in pain. )
But she’s still a ball of raucous energy, so whatever ache was there, she’s ignoring in favor of leaning up near him, hands clasped over her chest in shock.
“W… woah! A weapon, huh? How’s that work? It looks like it’d be like… slow? And like – how do you – knock it? Why don’t–”
She’s too excited to be stopped, now, poor Thorbjorn. She was picking up the entire quiver of arrows, some of them slipping between her fingers, turning the wrong way, falling to the ground. Still, Willow holds it out triumphantly, eyes glassed in elation. “Show me! You can hit me with it!”
Bouncing, tittering laughs in joy.
Thorbjorn stilled for a moment, surprised by such sad words from someone who seemed so bubbly. “...A lot aren’t. There are a few nice ones, if you look long and hard enough...”
But, as soon as she’d said it, she seemed to be moving on. Everything about her was wild energy -- like a curious child.
“Slow? I mean, they may not be as instantaneous as magic, but they aren’t exactly--”
You can hit me with it!
He sputtered at that, staring at her owlishly. “I...I really don’t think you’d want to get hit by this, but I can show you how it works,” he agrees, giving the merchant a look when the man seems to want to interrupt. If Thorbjorn liked the feel of the bow, he’d buy it -- either for himself, or for this strange girl, since she seemed so excited about it.
“C’mon, there’s a tree just outside the market we can use for target practice.”
#skymade#[🗲] Lost in the Storm | undetermined#[thorn: i'll pay for this later]#[thorn & willow: walk off without paying]#[merchant: ....well fuck me i guess]
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