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winchestheart  


okay so i’m currently experiencing cramps bad enough to kill a man, so iiii won’t be here tonight tbh–– catch me on my personal if you need me!!

 ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ɪs DARK ᴀɴᴅ CRUEL.

               ɪғ ɪᴛ ғɪɴᴅs ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ { smallest } ʀᴀʏ ᴏғ ʟɪɢʜᴛ, IT DESTROYS IT.

argentatephoenix:

Her shoulders seemed to gradually lower at his expression, his fascination with the now just slightly scarred skin. A fatal wound or almost was deterred this way and now there was less hurry to patch everything else. Still, his hesitation and obvious oddity with being treated like this well.

She doubted he’d get used to it in the three or four days she promised he’d be here but, was worth a shot, and the woman could put two and two together.

A languid smile curled her silvery expression and she looked back down to her human hands, rubbing the fingers together.

"Apologies, its been years since I last saw another person and contact refreshes what I used to look like." A mild explanation it seemed, though she looked down to his battered chest and angled those hands up now. Unlike the abdominal wounds where she just had to hover, here she had to touch and she looked at him for permission yet again before she initiated any full contact.

Warm hands anyway glowed dimly again though instead of an itch of mending skin it was a weight. Healing inner wounds took her much longer, and one of the reasons she couldn’t say he was good to go. However; when she pulled back she breathed an exhale. Whatever pain he’d been in would be less, his chest would still be ginger as the ribs were not fully tended to.

"Your legs are still in fairly bad shape, but as long as you’re careful you should be able to sit up with minimal pain now. You can rest if you wish and I’ll bring some food within the hour." A tiredness coated her tone now to some level as she stood from her side seat.

       This was one of those rare moments where he allowed someone to touch him without complaint (though, still it took a lot willpower to keep himself from flinching away; he doubted that he would ever be able to allow someone to touch him without some fear being involved). The healing process, however, had fascinated him. He had never seen someone with that much power –– not even the Princess had that much power, and she possessed quite a bit of power. 

       "Thank you," he stated quietly, something akin to a tiny smile flitting across tanned features. He was not used to someone taking care of him in any manner, but he supposed this was a special circumstance. However, that did not mean that he would not do his best to repay the kindness before he had to leave. He would not feel right if he left without so much as trying to repay the kindness that he had been shown. That was his way; he had been taught that it wouldn’t do to be indebted to anyone, and, even if he hadn’t been taught that, he would still do his best to repay people. That was the way that his world worked: Kindness was given kindness in return (at least, when people were nice to him).

      "Ah––" The tiredness of his benefactor was noted, brow furrowing in worry. "Does… it exhaust you to heal me?" Something akin to concern touched his voice; he did not want someone hurting themselves on his account. "If it does, you need not do so –– I will heal on my own… I am a survivor, after all." Something akin to a wry smile touched tanned features, his head tilting slightly to the side. "You have… already done much for me. You need not do more." 

      He felt rather guilty for having someone do something of this nature on his account: He was not worth it, as he was nothing more than a simple pawn. She was evidently something more, as she wielded such power, and he did not want someone like that exhausting themselves because of him. People of a higher rank need not do such things for him, he thought –– and everyone was of a higher rank than him, he had been taught. 

praerapidus:

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                  ❝It doesn’t matter that your job is dangerous. Mine is dangerous as well— but I still try to be careful and avoid fights when possible. It is reckless to get into one fight after another; especially when you are already hurt.❞ The warrior wasn’t in the mood for a civil conversation either— especially not after her friend’s reply. How often did she have to repeat herself?  Be careful. And I do not matter. Things she’d told him so many times she’d lost count— and yet, the blond didn’t listen.

        And— honestly? What right did he have to address her who hardly ever got into serious fights and suffered most injuries because of (admittedly reckless) training? Ninety-nine percent of the time, she got rid of assassins or attacks before they could as much as lay a finger on her.

        But it wasn’t about her. It was about Sheik. Sheik, who was injured again, and really had to be more careful.

                               She couldn’t lose him, after all.
                                                    No.
                              That’d be a nightmare come true.

       There came wry laugh, blond head tilting to the side. His gaze was almost
       a mocking one: Oh; she was calling him reckless? At least he was only 
       wounded in his line of work, whereas (from what he knew) she seemed to 
       only to get injured during training. She dared to call him reckless? "I am 
       the reckless one? The careless one?” His tone held a certain edge to it, 
       scarlet eyes narrowing. "I am simply hurt because of my work. That is all:
       I followed my orders and I got injured. You, however –– do you not only
       bring yourself pain when you train?
 His words were biting, his tone acidic:
       He was not certain as to why he was so ready to fight, why he let his emotions
       control him so freely, but he was ashamed to admit that it brought him a sadistic
       manner of joy. (Oh, what a terrible person he was to allow himself to feel such a
       thing at the expense of someone who was like family to him.) 

      “At least my blood is spilt only when it is necessary.” He realized that he was
      being self-destructive again, but he couldn’t stop it. He was like a ticking time-
      bomb, the seconds passing until he finally exploded. Perhaps that time had come:
      Not only was he getting into too many fights, but he was also pushing his loved
      ones away with cruel words and harsh actions. "Can you say the same for
      yourself?” 
he asked, tone derisive. "I think not." 

taoret-a:

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          ;;🌠 — eyes identical to the people of this land - lacking the
             crimson optics his own race had. however, they held a softness a youth
             was capable of bearing. but at the same time, troubles and worry seemed
             to be witnessed within his optics. his question was responded with a slow
             shake of the head, as well as half of his mouth curling up in a smile.

                          ❝ you seemed down - i figured i’d come offering company.

        There came a slight pause before the Sheikah spoke again, though
        in that time, scarlet eyes softened slightly, touched by a certain warmth
        not seen by most. “…Company is welcome,” he admitted, hesitating
        only a moment before patting the space beside him. “Come; sit.”
        Perhaps he was hoping that some companionship would alleviate the
        darkness of his own thoughts; he honestly did not know. Whatever 
        the case, at least some conversation would serve to distract him (or
        so he hoped). 

theduskmonarch:

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— ;;

She didn’t quite pay in to the notion that he would be alright; not the way his side was bleeding through the tattered remnants of his clothes. “On your back,” she ordered, though she did not wait for him to make the move himself. A forceful hand pushed on his chest, careful of the wounds he held. This position would be better apt for knowing what she was working with. Perhaps she could study the wound better in this fashion. Her left hand pressed tightly to the wound that was seeping blood, applying pressure where it was needed. She’d need rags of some sort. Something to staunch it. She snapped her fingers, a black cloth of sorts appearing. She set it to the wound, scarlet eyes harboring a touch of worry as she pressed it tightly. “That doesn’t quite answer my question, but I’ll take it, We need to get you to a proper healer.”

      There came a slight hiss as she pushed him down: He did not appreciate
      that gesture in the slightest. “I do not need a healer,” came his rather terse
      reply. “I can look after myself. I have done it before.” Perhaps his tone was 
      a bit too cold, given his current situation and what she was doing for him, 
      but he could not help himself. Pride decreed that he look after himself when
      he could, and he knew that he could take care of his own wounds. (Of course,
      he would have to be taken to his home to do that: That was where all his supplies
      and herbs were.)

      “If–– If you can help me to my home,” he started, voice slow and carefully 
      controlled, “I can tend to my own wounds. A healer is not… is not needed.”
      He wasn’t about to let a healer aid him: His tribe was not exactly welcome and 
      he knew that very well. Some healers might not take him as he was of the
      Sheikah tribe –– given their history with the Hylians, the animosity was to be
      expected.

polarliicht:

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Neither one of those names is familiar to me.
 but magic may always come in handy.
 perhaps you may aid in our quest, prithee?
 to find the sun and the moon, quickly.

 have you seen the highest of the high?
 that is where the moon is said to lie.
 and somewhere is the lowest of the low;
 down there to find the sun i must go.”

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       ”Ah, young one: I am afraid that I haven’t seen
         such places, but perhaps I can still aid you in your
         quest? You seek the find the sun and the moon,
         you say; might I ask what has happened to them? 
         Has someone stolen them away so that you must
         seek them out? Such an act is quite horrendous,
         I must admit.”

malxdovah:

{}     In her defense, she was able to hold it in. The shaking in her knees
            did not give way — like a doll held in endless pirouette, her perfect 
            pose would not fall until she was alone, where no one could see.

                      Inwardly, she was dying. This couldn’t, she insisted,
                      this couldn’t be real. Memories could be fabricated,
                      she supposed. Oh gods, was she the crazy one?

   ”No, no, no no—” the words came from her like a broken record, a small
   whisper from a small girl. No, this could not be real. It just couldn’t. 
   Images and details could be changed, but touch, the feeling of a calloused 
   hand grasped in hers, surely that could not be sown together by her tricky
   and cruel mind. Surely she was not as mad as Sheograth. Her friend could
   not just…. Leave her, cold and alone? 

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                 But then, he turned, and her perfect poise, her glass exterior shattered. 
                 What she prayed he did not see, what he did not hear, was her sobbing,
                 her dropping to the ground. A promise was a promise, and yet…. There 
                 was nothing she could do. If he believed so, then she should not try and 
                 force him to remember. It was just how life worked, Dovahkiin (the words
                 she could almost hear, perhaps from a passer-by who heard her tale.)

          Love had always been her way, love had always been what had kept her so
          happy; for it was love that the priests has instilled in her. Love all, for there 
          are those without it; hate none, except for those who only exist of hate. Why,
          then, would such a thing happen to such a kind one? All she had ever done
          was wanted comfort, could she not have even that?

                                                                    Fool, she called herself. What would her
                                                                    aunt think, dirtying such a dress? What 
                                                                    would her mother think, becoming so 
                                                                    ‘woe-is-me’ over a mere man? Though to
                                                                    her he is no mere man (a friend, a confidant,
                                                                    not like those who would beat and abuse her.)

                                         ”I-I’m s-sorry t-then…” Oh, the sniveling dragon’s cries
                                          were so weak. "I am s-s-sorry t-to have bothered you,
                                          Sheik.”

                 He heard her weeping, and though he knew, logically speaking,
                 that it should mean nothing to him, that she was nothing to him,
                 it caused a peculiar ache in his chest that he could not put a name to.
                 Why did it hurt? Why did her pain hurt  h i m ? He did not know her: 
                 She was a stranger and nothing more, but why did her agony cause
                 him, the perfect pawn, to feel the intense ache of what he thought 
                 might be a broken heart? (Why did she break his heart? Why did a
                 complete stranger make him feel things? Why did he want to comfort
                 her?) 

                               ❝ ––Tch. ❞ Delicate brows furrowed, the Sheikah latching
                                  onto that feeling of familiarity. He had to figure it out: That
                                  was all that was keeping him here. If it were not for that feeling,
                                  he would be long gone, carrying out the order that he had
                                  been given. However, as he tried to recall some reason as to 
                                  w h y  she might be familiar in the slightest, there came another
                                  sharp pain in his head, causing him to let out a muffled hiss of
                                  pain. (No; he could not show weakness in front of a potential
                                  enemy. Part of him, however thought that she wouldn’t hurt him.)

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             ❝ Who are you? ❞ came his abrupt question, hands curling into fists as
                 he tried to ignore the pain in his head.  ❝ How do  y o u  know my name
                 He could not accept that they had been friends, as she seemed to think: 
                 Surely, he would remember having a friend. Something like that would 
                 not be so easily forgotten. However, he could not remember, and any
                 attempts to do so simply gave him a sharp pain in his head. All that he
                 knew was that she was familiar; outside of that, he could only recall a
                 lonely existence. He had no recollection of any companionship of any
                 sort, only fighting, weapons, and orders. There was no reprieve: Only
                 the reality that was his life. (Oh; how he had longed for a friend, but he
                 had never had any. Only solitude and sorrow: Those were his only constant
                 companions.) 

                         ❝ Do not say that we were friends, ❞ he added, tone slightly cold:
                         ❝ That is simply a cruel claim. I have no friends: I have no one. 
                             The last part slipped out against his will; he had no intended to 
                             say that much. For some reason, however, he felt comfortable
                             around this strange girl (Maliinah, she had said her name was). 
                             That was dangerous: Being comfortable around someone was 
                             dangerous. It gave them the upper hand, and that would not end 
                             well, he knew. 

               ❝ Tell me the truth, so that we might both move on  from this misunder-
                   standing. ❞ He was anxious to get away from her, honestly, though 
                   he did not know why. He was confused; he both wanted to know the
                   truth, but he also wanted to get away from her. She caused him to try
                   to remember something that wasn’t there, which then caused him pain:
                   However, he also wanted to know why she was so familiar when he had 
                   never seen her face before.

                                 Hands curled into fists, the Sheikah turning about to face her.
                                (She was on the ground, she was weeping. He wanted to go 
                                 and comfort her, but something held him back.) Tanned features
                                 were a mixture of something –– of confusion and determination ––
                                 though he fought to keep them composed into his normal façade
                                 of control. Why could she get under his skin so easily? What
                                 made him stay? 

      “I need a drink.
       A drink, and a week-long nap,
       actually.”