❛ i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that. ❜
𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬: no longer accepting.
Admittedly, she's not wrong. Shadowheart, as far as Gale's concerned, is her own one-man indomitable army. In fact, the wizard's of the thought that she could reap an army—and through wordcraft alone. Through blades? Have mercy. Looking at their foe, Gale quells the Weave that throbs his fingers. His skin cracks like a vase held together by ink, and for all his kindness, his needless generosity, his blight-bitten arteries burst like fruit. He scents thick ozone. And burnt, crisp flesh.
Gale turns. Before him, like some maligned, haunting, and impressive pillar, frightening Shadowheart stands and waits. Bravely, he, as hubris asks of him, holds his ground. She offers the sight of a wraith, a whisper dragged out the bowels of some taboo tale, but Gale's long dabbled in necromantic arts. Daring her, he hides his arm and steps beyond a corpse.
"I'm fairly certain, Shadowheart," he starts, "that it's no grave assumption to say you're known to abysses." Beside her, he lowers to his knees. "I won't rob you of whatever comfort they afford you, mind, but I find there's no chasm you need wander alone. As it were, to cast a brilliant shadow, one requires an equally brilliant light."
Witty. Gale smiles. He checks the corpse, pocketing an artefact that smells thick of magic. He's a vessel of thunder, a sizzling tempest in the still of night, and Shadowheart, reaper, doesn't fear penumbras—but Gale, companion, cares for her.
"I'm quite happy to continue lighting your way—if you'll have me," he says.
2 notes
·
View notes
“Hey- whoa man, you haven’t been this tiny in a minute. Are you alright?”
I am not alright.
I am half an inch tall, hopping from letter to letter on my phone, composing a text draft so dramatic it could be on par with Greek myth.
“I blocked Sam,” I say. My (comparatively) giant friend lights up. “And then I unblocked them. And then blocked them. I went back and forth on that til I was about a foot tall.”
“Dude.”
“Now I’m trying to text them and man, the phrasing, it’s-“
And with that, I’m snatched up by two fingertips taller than me. They’ve always been gentle.
“Okay, you’re staying with me til you’re over your ex, buddy. And til you’re a bit taller.”
(And they’ve always been firm, when they’ve needed to.)
They set me on their shoulder, ignoring all protest as they grab my phone and delete the poem I had been composing. My swears don’t even phase them. I know it’s for the best, but dude, that took me like, an hour of cardio to type.
163 notes
·
View notes