What the #?*!

Pounding. Drumming. There was a pulsating heat that was flooding his body, and Kalt felt like his veins had sent lava flowing through him. He couldn’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t...       The assassin had red edging his vision, pushing harder, faster, more and more intense by the moment as his hand tried and failed with the knob on his door. Theea wasn’t there, that much he remembered. The only sensible thought in his mind was that his daughter wasn’t there to witness his mind collapsing in on itself. That fucking... Why? He thought he was free of that fucking...mask!       Finally the door swung open, bouncing off the wall when he stepped over the threshold, not bothering to close it after he entered. Forget, forget, forget, fucking drown it away. He couldn’t see it, didn’t want to, but it was all that he could picture in his mind. For seventeen... For seventeen years that mask haunted him, built him, manipulated him, beat him, betrayed him. More times than he could count. No...more times than he wanted to try to count. He could if he wanted to; the curse of having an eidetic memory was remembering everything that sick, twisted son of a bitch did from behind that fucking mask. And now, it was back. Not only was it back, but it was Alistair who was wearing it.       He felt a wave of nausea cascade over him as he made it to the kitchen, spitting curses under his breath as he whipped open cabinets, forgetting the layout of his own house. His heart thundered in his ears, echoed off of his ribs, and he just wanted it to stop, to fucking stop. Why a mask? Why a gods damned faceless fucking mask? Of all things.       His hands were shaking, as he grabbed a bottle of weak liquor from a cabinet. Shaking and... He frowned at the blood he saw on his fingers. Why was there... Kalt held the bottle of alcohol, using his magic to change it into something a lot stronger, and putting it to his lips for a much needed drink.       The wall... That’s why there was blood on his hand. He took what felt like a slow breath, but was really no slower than the near panting he was taking part in. He clenched the fist of his free hand, tipping the bottle back again. He couldn’t feel his legs, but he felt steady in his stance which confused him. That didn’t remain in his mind for long, though. Blinking. Blinking had now become his enemy because every time he closed his eyes...       Gods, gods, he thought he was free of that fucking thing. He thought he was free of the gloves, of the mask, of the shadow of a god that he thought a fucked up father to himself for so many years. He cursed the sun then. Cursed the daylight and the people that were all around. Cursed his inability to throw a knife instantly into the man’s neck the second he caught sight of the mask. Why did it have to be a mask? He should have been thanking the light and the bystanders, otherwise he would have blood on his hands that he would be unable to wash off. But maybe he should! Fuck! Why shouldn’t he take off that night and rid himself of a second faceless mask? It would make his dreams a lot less hellish!       Kalt turned on his heel and hurled the bottle at the opposite wall without thinking, glass shattering on impact and liquor spilling everywhere. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. If he let himself care, he would be too distracted, unable to keep himself under control. He needed control, control, breathe.       The man took a deep breath, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter and raking his fingers through his uncharacteristically disheveled hair, closing his eyes and releasing a shuddering breath. What the fuck...? Ashetta Kalt I  am flesh and I am bone, i rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold i've got fire in my soul

The open door was enough to send a sharp spike of panic into Ashe as soon as fire blue eyes set upon it.    The assassin paused her approach to the house tucked away among the other domociles, every muscle coiling as magic snarled to life deep within her. No. No, no more of this, no more fear and no more faceless demons pushing them to the edges of survival and sanity. She wasn't going to have it, she wasn't. Ashe clenched her teeth and told herself that over and over again: no more fear, no more danger, they survived, they were free. She moved with quiet and rapid steps towards that opened door to Kalt's home, but the sound of glass bursting apart shattered her control. Kalt. She lunged forward into a run, crossing through the threshold and assessed rapidly - sounds from the kitchen. With a racing heart, Ashe was there in hardly a second and -    Kalt was alone. Alone, but... he was not okay. She blinked, frozen in the doorway a moment. She could count on one hand the amount of times she had seen Kalt like this without a night terror being the precursor. She blinked a few times, pulling herself back from that dead panic, throttling down the magic that had been roaring to the surface. She moved her feet forward and touched a hand to his shoulder first, smoothly moving down his arm to take his hand if he'd let her. With the other, she reached around to the other side of his face, slender hand brushing over his jaw before turning his head to face her.    "Kalt," she said softly, eyes insistent. Her own breath held steady, her eyes unwavering on him. She squeezed his hand, smoothed her thumb across his jaw. She could smell the alcohol on him, in the air - no doubt the source of the shattering glass. She had caught sight of the red on his knuckles, down his fingers. Kalt losing control never failed to unsettle her for how rare of a sight it was for her to see. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest, and she knew something had to be bad to dig this deeply into him.    "Tell me what happened," she commanded quietly, holding onto his hand securely if he let her, as if that would stop him from drawing away. ashe When all the days go by in the firelight We'll never fade out in the night

He didn’t hear her come in, the silent steps so normal for the two of them even in a dead run. He remained frozen where he was, eyes locked on nothing, as his fists planted firmly on the counter. His breathing was ragged, unsteady, as his racing heart was barely contained in his chest. His eyes flicked just for a split second to the woman, returning to the empty stare without any further acknowledgement.       Every muscle in Kalt’s body instantly tensed when her hand touched his shoulder, and it took everything in him not to flinch away, not to rip away from the slightest touch. He didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want any kind of contact with another person, regardless of who they were. He wasn’t okay, wasn’t grounded, wasn’t focused. His knuckles meeting brick hadn’t done shit for him, even escaping his mind briefly after it happened. He mentally mapped where his knives were, not paying attention to Ashe’s hand moving carefully down his arm. His mind tried to believe her fingers were made of blades, cutting into his skin, and gods, he fucking wished they were... He wondered if he could push her aside with enough time to get hold of his knives, but knew it was futile.       Her hand touched his face, and it took a moment before he cooperated with her encouraging him to look her way. His eyes refused to listen, though. When he met her gaze, the crystal clarity his eyes normally held had vanished, replaced by an icy glare in which she would recognize a hunger for bloody violence and a need for emptiness in a mind far too loud for him to comprehend.       ”What happened?” He repeated after her, a shakiness to his voice that he hated himself for. ”Saw someone today on my way here.” Kalt tore his hand away from Ashetta and stepped around her, his jaw feathering and lip twitching just slightly. ”Alistair.” His eyes remained locked on her. ”And guess what? He’s been accessorizing.”       Once again, he went fishing in the cabinet and pulled out another bottle of liquor that he - once again - used magic to make stronger. Kalt took a breath and took a long drink from it, pressing his lips together. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t form a solid train of thought no matter how hard he tried.       ”Tell me, Ashe,” he said, slamming the bottle on the counter and gritting his teeth, as his gaze returned to her, feral and clearly itching for an outlet to the rage boiling inside of him. ”Why the fuck is your ex-husband wearing a mask?” Kalt I  am flesh and I am bone, i rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold i've got fire in my soul

The open door was enough to send a sharp spike of panic into Ashe as soon as fire blue eyes set upon it.    When Kalt finally looked at her... Ashe's blood turned to ice.    She knew the look there. Her heart stumbled into a gallop, but she made her breathing stay steady, made herself hold that stare full of a cold, empty, furious hunger. She knew it well. His tone was expected with the way he looked, but the tremble to his voice shook her down to her very bones. He.. saw someone...? "Who-" But before she could even get the question out, he roughly tore himself away from her. She let him go without protest, but her body turned to follow him as he moved beyond her, her eyes still holding his, and..    'Alistair.'    She swore her heart stopped in her chest, hearing his name from Kalt's mouth. She was entirely frozen with wide eyes locked on Kalt as he dug into his cabinets, pulling out a bottle of liquor. Alistair. A wound she had been carefully ignoring cracked open in her chest, and she didn't understand why the assassin before her was suddenly so distressed about her ex-husband. He had never shown a hint of it before, never let on how harshly it ate at him. It couldn't have just been... seeing him that set him off, couldn't.    She watched him drink like he depended on it, and she finally shook her head, realizing that she had lost that steady breathing. All she could suddenly see in her head were dark eyes... so full of cold distance where there'd once been warmth. "What do you mean acces-" But she broke off with a faint flinch she couldn't help at the loud bang of the bottle against the countertop, her heart skipping. She flicked her eyes to the bottle and then back up to Kalt, and... all the blood drained from her face.    "Why the fuck is your ex-husband wearing a mask?"    "He... w.." She couldn't find her breath for a moment as the entire world suddenly felt very distant. Her eyes were wide looking up at Kalt, not quite grasping what he said. Alistair was wearing a mask. He had before, at the masquerade in Northaven.. it had to be like that, that's all it was. Just... just a mask. Her mouth was dry. "He.. what?"    She was overreacting. Had to be, she always was, it was what collapsed their marriage - her inability to just be. Her refusal to settle into trust. Ashe cast her eyes away, down to the floor, eyes darting from his shoes to the alcohol-splattered wall, to his heaving chest, to the window. Run. She wouldn't, but her leg feathered and betrayed the desire. Run, and run, and run. Her hands were shaking, and she wasn't sure if it was the energy that rippled from Kalt like heat waves or what he had said. It was nothing, nothing. Had to be. It was Alistair, not some faceless demon with smooth and seeking gloves or a cruel voice or a constant and hovering threat to their lives. That wasn't him, it wasn't.    She finally flickered her eyes back at Kalt, her brows pulled together. He almost never got like this, never.. "What the fuck do you mean, wearing a mask?" she asked, failing to control the tremor in her tone. ashe When all the days go by in the firelight We'll never fade out in the night

He practically cut her sentence off before she finished it, turning to her with a glare. ”What the fuck do you think I mean, Ashe?” He snapped at her. The man knew that he was projecting, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care, not when the man she had been married to was now parading around town with a mask. ”He’s wearing a full face, expressionless mask. Is that better fucking explanation for you?”       There was pain spreading through him, and Kalt couldn’t completely identify the source of it. No...no, he knew the source. He knew the violence that the sight of a mask - and gloves, that Alistair seemed to have started wearing, which he didn’t mention to Ashetta yet - drudged up in him, knew the anger and bloodlust that came with it. He knew it all too well, experienced it nearly every single day for seventeen years straight.       He hated himself... Well, he wanted to hate himself for the way he didn’t care about the tremor in her voice, about the slight flinch at the sound of the bottle hitting the counter, about the fact that this would have hit her just as hard as it hit him - if not likely even harder - if she had seen it firsthand. He wanted to hate himself for the way he really didn’t care, but he couldn’t. His mind was experiencing a complete lockdown, survival systems the only parts of his brain that were staying extremely active, possibly running on overdrive.       Breathe, breathe. He couldn’t, he fucking couldn’t.       Kalt took another drink, squeezing his eyes shut and putting the bottle down again, his forehead pressed against the cabinet over the counter. His hands were still shaking, and he couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think straight. His mind was fucking flying at the speed of light, and he needed something, literally anything to just stop it for a second. The man shoved his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing the extreme scarring that she would recognize from the Guild, but some of the scars were clearly fresher and painfully straight.       He didn’t look at her. Can’t breathe. His hand grabbed the dagger on his belt, and he slashed it quickly over the center of his palm. Kalt winced, turning away from Ashetta immediately. He knew she wouldn’t exactly be on board with the self-inflicted injuries, but he didn’t care. He dropped the dagger on the counter lazily and squeezed his left hand closed, blood seeping from between his fingers and dripping to the counter.       Breathe. He could breathe. At least the moment, but that was all that was important. ”A faceless mask.” His voice was lower then, more controlled, but still shaky if he relied on it for too long. ”And a new glove to go with it.” Finally, he turned to face Ashe with more pain in his eyes than ice. ”If that’s his twisted way of getting back at you...” He didn’t know what the end of that sentence was going to be, didn’t know anything for certain right then. He focused on the ache in his hand, centering him, giving him the ability to see through the haze in his vision. Kalt I  am flesh and I am bone, i rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold i've got fire in my soul

Is that a better fucking explanation for you?’ She remained silent then, words failing her entirely. Why… why would Alistair be wearing a mask? Kalt had turned away from her with that alcohol of his, and she grabbed for it herself with hands that didn't quite feel like her own. There was a roaring building in the back of her head, something dark and cold and smothering rising to life. She wasn't looking at him as she drank from it, uncaring of any protest or attempts at stopping her. She was startled for a moment by its strength, but she managed three large gulps of it down before the thumped it back down on the counter, letting that numbing burn tear into her and set her teeth on edge. A faceless mask. Alistair. It didn't matter, couldn't matter, he had left her, it shouldn't fucking matter.    From the corner of her eye, she watched Kalt roll up his sleeve, exposing the self inflicted scars he'd collected for all the time she'd known him. Her jaw feathered, and she flicked her eyes up to us face with her wildly racing heart. She realized his intention a second too late. ”Shit,” she hissed as she tried to grab for his dagger before he could, but within seconds there was bright blood dripping steadily onto the counter and the sound of a dagger clattering to the counter. Ashe’s breaths were short as she looked down at his bloodied palm, watched him close his fist around the bloody wound. ”Kalt,” she muttered, and she flicked her eyes up at him.    He didn’t even look at her. Her heart was racing so quickly she couldn’t feel it, and she was keenly aware of the sound of blood dripping slowly to the countertop. The assassin swallowed hard, watching him for a tense moment. Her fingers twitched with the desire to take his hand, to take care of that wound. Or maybe it was a desire to hit something, anything, until she couldn’t feel her hands anymore - she couldn’t tell which. She opted for reaching out and grabbing his wrist with quick movement, whether he wanted her to or not. SHe didn’t open his hand, but she wrapped hers over his closed fist - best not to open the wound until it could be stitched, and if he still took care of his blades like he used to? It would need to be stitched.    His voice was rough when he spoke again, quietly. Ashe never took his eyes off of him, and gods, this was something so small, so mundane to anyone else. A gods-damned mask. But to Silver Wing and the Assassin in Blue? And… And a new glove to go with it. Ashe pulled in a sharp breath and held it, and she shrank inwards on herself. Gloves, they’re just fucking gloves, stop it you idiot fucking girl, she was saying to herself, but something in her was shaking deeply. Her stomach roiled, and she had to focus on keeping that alcohol she’d downed from coming back up.    That cold, furious cruelty wasn’t singing in his eyes now as he looked at her, but her own blood turned to ice with what he implied. ”No,” she snapped, and her hand squeezed over his closed fist to keep pressure over the bleeding. Her eyes were sharp now as she looked at him, as she trembled before him. Mask and gloves. Mundane things, stupid fucking things that chased her from sleep with wild fear every time she slept. ”He’s not getting back at me, he’s not… that’s not…” Breathing was getting hard, and she looked down to his hand as her eyes nearly overflowed. She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. ”Alistair isn’t like that,” she said quietly, firmly. Her brow furrowed as she throttled down the swelling in her chest, the flickers of blue beneath her skin.    She suddenly snapped her eyes up at Kalt. ”And even if he was getting back at me, it doesn’t fucking matter,” Her gaze was blazing as her magic flared, flashes of light flickering in raven hair. It didn’t matter because she deserved every bit of scorn… but he wasn’t like that. He wasn’t. ”You don’t do anything about this, Kalt.” ashe Isn't it strange that love is in the way? It never goes away.

{/quote}

He didn’t stop her when she went for the liquor bottle, didn’t care to. Her drinking habits were the least of his concerns then and there. He didn’t care when she reacted to the blade slicing his palm wide open. There was nothing she was going to do for it, and he didn’t need to be taken care of. She grabbed his wrist, and though the instinct was to once again rip away from her, he held fast to the small, the truly fucking minimal amount of self control that still remained at that very moment. He held fast to the seemingly fleeting clarity that the pain in his hand was giving him. He wanted to do it again, to make the cut deeper, but he knew Ashetta would have his dagger - and his head - if he tried.       Kalt felt his lip twitch when she snapped the denial of his half-formed accusation. He felt her hand tighten around his clenched fist, but it didn’t even feel like his own. He wasn’t himself, wasn’t actually in his body, but merely observing from the outside. It was surreal, and he despised it with a burning hatred. He couldn’t focus on anything but anger, blinding rage that kept him moving, always moving. He had to move. Staying still meant certain death, and he had made it this far alive. But was he? Was he actually alive? Maybe not... Maybe he had died nineteen years ago. Maybe he had died the moment he stepped foot into the Keep with Harkon.       ’You don’t do anything about this.’     The words echoed in his mind, ricocheting endlessly and overlapping each time it started over. It was a warning to him, a warning to stay away from Alistair. Well, fuck that. For him, a warning was a challenge. Stay out meant there’s good stuff inside if you want it enough. Private property only lasted while the occupants were there. No warning ever stuck for him, and if she thought the flashing of lightning veins would be enough to make him reconsider, she had forgotten who it was she was dealing with.       ”Stay away from him?”He said, almost tauntingly, a flicker of a grin on his lips almost verging on madness. ”Stay away? Or what, Ashe? You could never kill me, and you know that. The only reason I don’t leave now to rip his motherfucking heart out of his chest is because of how it would hurt you! Everything I’ve ever fucking done has been for you!”       His heart was racing, thundering in his ears as loudly as a stampede, and he couldn’t think. Can’t breathe, don’t think, don’t think, breathe. Can’t, can’t, fucking can’t!       Kalt moved out of her grasp, taking a step back. ”Do you remember it, Ashe? Hm? Or have you shoved it so far from your mind that it fell out?” Every breath drawn felt strained, like breathing through a thick bedsheet. ”Do you remember the mask, or just the face beneath it when you killed him? Do you remember the gloves? Because I do. Do you remember them touching you, taking from you? Because I fucking do.” He didn’t remove his eyes from her, and his body was on fire, as shaking fingers began to unbutton his shirt, smearing blood on the fabric. ”I remember every bit of it, know why? Because Master made sure I knew. Every. Single. Detail. Of how he took from you and had you satisfy him.”       His shirt was was shrugged off and balled in his bleeding fist, so she faced the massive X covering the entire front of his torso. ”This was one time, Ashe,” he said, pointing to the crossing scars. ”I fucking fought for you, so you didn’t have to suffer him.” His voice was starting to waver, and he hated himself for the weakness that was showing. Kalt dropped his shirt and stepped towards her, showing her the numerous burn scars over his forearms from what could have only been a hot skewer. ”You never asked me why I have so many scars, and I thanked the gods that I didn’t have to explain because I couldn’t. I fucking couldn’t bring that part of your life up, but it’s time because this isn’t fucking acceptable. Not in the slightest.       ”You were a fucking...” Kalt turned away from her for a moment as his eyes began to sting and blur. ”Fourteen months...”His voice shook, and he turned back to her, his jaw feathering and lip nearly trembling with every break between words. ”For fourteen months... Fuck, you were a fucking kid. I tried, Ashe. I tried so fucking hard.” He didn’t feel the first tear escape. Didn’t feel the second. ”Fourteen months under the whip to keep him from going near you, but he had me locked up when he... I couldn’t...”       He brought his right hand up and wiped down his face, ridding himself of the stray tears as he looked at her again. ”I fucking tried, Ashe. I tried so fucking hard to keep those gloves, that mask from becoming such a dark hell to you, but I failed. My tattoo? Every spot in it was a time I fought Master in Northaven. Sometimes trying to kill him, sometimes to protect Theea, sometimes to keep him from you and the people you love, but I did it because it was a matter of survival. Fifty-three fucking times I fought him. When you finally killed him, it was such a fucking relief. Never again would we have to be faced with it, but Alistair...” Again, his voice trailed off, and he had to pause to breathe. ”Alistair has brought it to our doorstep again. We fought tooth and nail to escape that hell. I don’t care who’s wearing the mask or what his intentions are. This isn’t okay.”       Finally, Kalt stopped, to breathe or to think or to just fucking stop for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t know. His eyes searched her for some kind of answer, an indication of what was surely flooding her mind. ”How can you be so okay with the man you gave yourself to wearing the face of the man who would have raped you if you had been just a little less than his favorite weapon?” Kalt I  am flesh and I am bone, i rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold i've got fire in my soul

And just like that, the cruel gleam lighted in his eyes again, paired with a manic sort of smile. Ashe’s heart plunged and raced all at once, but she set her jaw and raised her chin in defiance. Her mind was moving faster than she could keep up with - she wouldn’t allow it, Kalt would stay the fuck away. She knew the assassin was right, she knew she couldn’t kill him, and he knew it too. And gods, she wouldn’t even consider it, she couldn’t. She curled her lip back to tell him that he was not to touch Alistair, not to go near him, but he was stepping back and out of her grasp, leaving her with empty, bloody hands. She set her jaw and leveled a glare at him, but then? Then every single part of her 3went very, very still.    No. No, no, no, she couldn’t remember, didn’t want to - she wouldn’t, think about it. Her breath grew rapid and shallow as she took her own step back and away from Kalt, away from the fury and those words, these things she had worked so hard to keep far away from herself - Do you remember them touching you, taking from you? She nearly heaved right then and there as her ears started ringing. She didn’t want to, but Kalt slammed a mighty grip on those memories she refused to acknowledge but for when she slept, and he jerked them forward without mercy.    Ashe shuddered visibly and took another step back, but her knee wobbled under her weight. Rapidly she was starting to not feel herself and too much all at once. Aware of each and every over sensitive part of her skin that didn’t feel like her own. She didn’t wanted it to be her own. That X was a jarring reminder, and she swore she could smell burned flesh, but… just one time. One time. The other scars. All those other scars. She was shaking her head and she finally ripped her eyes away from Kalt, had to. She turned away from him as she struggled for breath, feet that she couldn’t feel carrying her forward as she shoved her fingers roughly into her hair.    Shut up, shut up, shut up! she wanted to yell, but even her magic seemed to waver and flicker out, her voice following. It was only at the tremble in his voice that she turned her head to look up at him with wide, distant eyes. You were a fucking kid. She stopped breathing, and her shoulders caved inwards. A kid. A kid. She’d been thirteen. Her hands dropped down to wrap her arms around her center, holding herself together as every part of her threatened to crumble apart. Her fingers pulled and dug into her skin, as if she could tear it all away herself.    The raven-haired girl had been through many atrocities in her young life. Countless. The moments of peace, of any kind of happiness? Those had been so rare, rare enough that they stuck out like stars against a black sky. A vast, unending, darkness. Her life was smothered by it, so much of it carefully avoided in her head. But this…    How can you be so okay with the man you gave yourself to wearing the face of the man who would have raped you if you had been just a little less than his favorite weapon?    Something within Ashe cracked. Fractured. Her breath choked out of her, and she dropped her eyes down. The world sounded muffled she realized distantly, but she could hear her own heart loud and clear. ”Alistair isn’t… he..he wouldn’t,” her voice didn’t feel like her own, didn’t sound like her own. Her head was spinning as she tried to gulp down air, but there wasn’t enough of it. Looking around the kitchen.. suddenly nothing felt real. Like some kind of dream, and she would wake up the brutal cruelty of Guild. ”I never..” She couldn’t form any words. She couldn’t breath - she didn’t want to think about it, couldn’t, couldn’t, could not - couldn’t feel her own clothing that rasped against her skin now, it wasn’t soft fabric from worn training clothes, it was smooth hands that felt so inhuman she felt.    Her hands dug harshly, painfully into her sides as she clenched her teeth, her back to Kalt. Kalt. How many times had he saved her one more night? She didn’t realize she wasn’t truly breathing until she tried to speak and only a shallow gasp came out. She was going to be sick. She was going to collapse into blackness with the way her head spun. She was going to run, and run, an run. How could she be okay with the man she gave herself to wearing the face of the man who would have raped her if she had been just a little bit worse at killing people? ”I never told him. He doesn’t know the things I did for Master,” she finally choked out. ”No one does.” The moment she said the words, she felt whatever it was that had cracked in her split open entirely… and her breath evened out.    She’d never acknowledged it out loud before. Not once.    The room spun. She stopped feeling herself, she wasn’t in herself, everything she was diving down, and down, and down, fleeing this - this.. whatever this was. The vile, rotting pit in her chest where all of this festered, where her soul was eaten bit by bit for all the things she had done, had allowed. She blinked slowly as her breath swept out from her lungs, and her grip on her sides went slack - she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore. Everything stopped. She stopped being, entirely. ”He knew about the mask, few other things, but not - “ she broke off and had to lift the back of her hand to her mouth all of a sudden, and a single hand braced her against the counter as she leaned forward. She breathed through the urge to empty her stomach. She just kept hollow eyes left on the table. ”I can't,” she said in a hollow, distant tone. ashe Isn't it strange that love is in the way? It never goes away.

He watched her fingers push into her hair, watched her begin to actually cave in on herself. Part of him wanted to stop, wanted to push it all from his mind, to rid himself and herself of the deepest fucking scars of them all. He wanted to take her, hold her, tell her that he was sorry, that they didn’t need to face the past. The past was the past for a reason, and there was a reason that the assassins didn’t turn backwards. It was a trip down memory lane that could drudge up all of the pain and abuse that their childhoods, that the majority of their lives had been. To journey down memory lane wasn’t a decision that Kalt took lightly, and the reason why was right in front of him.       Her eyes were wide when she looked a him, but he wasn’t himself. He couldn’t feel himself, but everything felt so real. His voice wasn’t his own, he was watching himself from the outside, and he hated the lack of control that he felt then. Kalt took a shaky breath, watching Ashetta dig her fingers into her skin. He tried to reach forward, to take her hands and give her something to hold onto, but he couldn’t. He remained where he was, remained still and cold and statuesque, his expression a broken harshness that he couldn’t get rid of.       He didn’t care that he wanted to reach out, didn’t care that she was being broken by the words he spat at her. But that wasn’t true. He did care. He cared too much, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t care. They had to talk. They had to fucking face this. It was necessary because they were always able to fight together. Any time they fought together they fucking won with flying colors, but the last time... The last time they had the opportunity to fight together, they hadn’t. They hadn’t, and he ended up in a cell, while she ended up on the run like a common criminal. So yeah... They had to fucking talk about this shit. But then...       It felt as though his breathing had stopped with her words. His brows pulled together, and he heard his blood moving through his veins. She hadn’t... She hadn’t told him? Nothing about that? But they had been married! How could she not have told him that major fucking detail of her life? Kalt struggled to understand how she could keep something like that hidden. How much hadn’t she told Alistair, told her mother, anyone? How much did her family actually not know of who Ashe was?       He watched her press her hand to her mouth, her other hand bracing herself against the counter. Still, he remained where he was, unmoving. He didn’t know how to move. Kalt felt as though every muscle in his body had stopped functioning, and yet, he found himself moving forward with numb legs. His arm would slip around her shoulders, pulling her against him, his uninjured hand running through her hair.       His eyes fell closed as they once again began to blur, and his breathing was shaky, but he forced his voice to come out evenly. ”I need you to promise me something, Ashe,” he said quietly. ”And I need you to know that you’re promising it.” He would pull back from her just enough to lock eyes with her, to hold her gaze. ”Don’t hide from me. You know you can trust me. We don’t hide from each other, so I need you to promise... No matter what it is, talk to me, come to me. I don’t care if you think I won’t like it or I won’t approve. Do not hide anything from me. Can you promise me that?” Kalt I  am flesh and I am bone, i rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold i've got fire in my soul

It was time to go. Time to run. Ashe’s fingers twitched and her leg feathered towards the door, but Kalt was standing that way. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel him there, all that crackling energy triggered by the sight of a mask. She wouldn’t have been in much better condition if it had been her to see it, she knew. ’Just because we aren’t in the Guild anymore doesn’t mean the Guild isn’t in us.’ Alistair and Dev and her mother knew the.. Generalized story. She carefully glossed over what her life truly was in Northwind whenever she told her story. She never spoke of the training, the punishments when she got rebellious, the way Master handled her, the things she was forced to do that stretched so far beyond killing the people she had been paid to kill.    How was she supposed to tell any of them about those things? Why would anyone want to hear those kinds of things about her? She had tortured people to their deaths, had done terrible things to even Kalt, things she wasn’t sure she would ever forgive herself for. What was she to say about the cellar and the atrocities that she commit down there - those chains in the walls and the knives that dragged so smoothly through skin and the way she smiled when she did it? How was she supposed to explain the way she had known what would happen when she opened her bedroom door that night with that masked demon on the other side? Just thirteen.. knowing what he wanted... and she had opened the door anyways. The way she followed every order, cast her eyes away from that mask until she was commanded otherwise. The way he never removed his gloves, or anything else, when he put his hands on her. The way she would spend her night retching when he had his fill of her, curled up on the floor, wishing more than anything she were brave enough to end herself. How was she supposed to explain that running had never been an option before? And that the moment it was, she just never stopped.    She had been condemned for her running. She had betrayed her husband for not being able to tell him why she was running. For not waking him to come with her. For running at all, for not letting him coax her back to sleep with him. She had been damned for not being able to face this with Alistair… and now he wore a mask. He wore gloves with it… but it wasn’t his fault. Nothing was, he did absolutely nothing wrong - she was the one that betrayed everyone with her running and mistrust.    She hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching her. She flinched harshly at the first touch of hands with a sharp gasp. Her spine locked up and she held her breath - but slowly she exhaled as fingers brushed through her hair, it was a violently shaking body that was pulled back into Kalt, head pressed to his chest. Her response was near instinctive, her arms clasping tightly around his middle and holding on like letting go would been a fall she wouldn’t come back from. Maybe it was true. She stared up at him with a raw gaze - he had stripped her down to a part of herself she had kept smothered for two years. Gods, but he wasn’t okay either, was he?    ’Do not hide anything from me. Can you promise me that?’    She stared up at him with a hollowed out gaze. She had been unable to do that with Alistair, with anyone. She never faced this even on her own. She didn’t want to open up like this at all, to show the twisted, broken, rotted parts of her. It would hurt and it would throw her over an edge she wasn’t sure she would come back from. Would it be wrong to surrender to this when she hadn’t before?    ”I promise,” she just barely managed, but her voice did not feel like her own. She thought suddenly of the leather cord around her throat. The rings looped on it. Her brow furrowed and she cast her eyes down, pale and bloodless lips pressed together. Every part of her was trembling harshly as she went on with hollow exhaustion. ”What do we do, Kalt?” She didn’t know what to do with herself, with her arms that still clung to Kalt, with her legs that were threatening to give way beneath her, with any part of herself. Breathing was becoming a struggle as something began to rear its head in her, and she had to do something, anything -    She looked down to his hand, the one that still steadily bled. ”Stitches,” she said distantly. ”Where are your supplies?” She could steady her hands for that, because gods, she had to focus on something. ashe Isn't it strange that love is in the way? It never goes away.

The way that she looked up at him… That raw vulnerability he hadn’t seen in years… Kalt felt a blade pierce him more times than he could count. He struggled to draw a full breath without it feeling like he was inhaling shards of glass. But she promised in a voice that he didn’t quite understand. Regardless, she promised, and that was enough for him.       He wasn’t sure if her question was rhetorical or not, but he remained quiet. It was very possible that he willed his mind to interpret it in a way that came across as not actually wanting an answer. The man wasn’t sure he had an answer to give. What were they supposed to do? Was it back to looking over their shoulders everywhere they went, waiting for the mask to appear out of nowhere? Was it back to a life of hell, tortured by the ghost of a demon that they had already been haunted by for so long? The only other thing to do would be to rid themselves of the mask, of the man wearing the mask. Unfortunately for him, Ashetta was clear in her point of not harming Alistair, as much as he would have loved to do it at that moment.       Her voice was quiet, far away when she mentioned stitching his hand. Kalt shook his head, his lips tight and heart continuing to race. He looked at his bloody hand and took a step back from her, attempting to breathe through the lump in his throat. ”It isn’t that deep,” he said in a hushed voice.       A part of him was actually disappointed that the statement wasn’t a lie. His knives were his pride and joy, and she knew that he took incredible care of each and every blade. Since coming here, he hadn’t had the time to really set aside time every day to care for the knives, so several of them – such as the one he had just used on himself – weren’t in their best condition. Of course that didn’t mean they weren’t sharp, just not as sharp as they should be…       Kalt took the liquor bottle and drew a slow breath, then tipped it to his lips. ”Just needs to be cleaned. It’ll heal on its own.” He opened his hand and poured some of the liquor over it, wincing sharply at the sudden pain of the alcohol. ”Fucking hells,” he breathed in a chuckle through clenched teeth. ”Made that stronger than I thought.” He forced a breathy chuckle, taking another drink as he shook the alcohol and blood from his hand lightly. It was a deeper cut than he thought, but it didn’t need to be stitched. The chances of him tearing the stitches with his inability to just let them be were pretty high anyway. Kalt I  am flesh and I am bone, i rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold i've got fire in my soul

Kalt stepped away from her, out of her reach, and she didn't move. She felt his absence with startling clarity,  though the rest of the world felt so... distant. Muted. Ashe blinked and followed Kalt's movements to the liquor bottle again, watching him, listening as he explained that he was aparently fine. Unusual that it would be undeserving of stitches - his knives were his pride. Something in her reacted to watching him drink from the bottle again, reacted without any real thought. She reached for a rag sitting on the counter, pristine and white, and her shaking hand fumbled for it before had a real grip on it. Stop, she tried to command herself, but she kept shaking. Fine, she was fine, she was fine. She tried not to look up at anything, kept her eyes on the floor until she reached Kalt. She first took his hand, somehow managing to find it with her light limbs, her numb fingers, pressing the dry cloth over his palm without a word. She wasn't sure where her voice had gone.    She reached for the bottle then, pulling it from his hands swiftly and then.. she had thought she was just going to take it away, but her numb chest was on fire all of a sudden as she drank deeply from what was left in the bottle. She didn't finish it, her eyes and nose suddenly burning as she was forced to lower the bottle with clenched teeth. Her head spun briefly, but then she did what she had aparently been intending. The bottle slipped from trembling fingers, shattering on the floor, and she flinched at the sound that felt too loud in her ears.    Wearing a mask. How similiar was it to Master's? Did it have to be, was that even the point here? Alistair was not the Master of Assassins, demon and tormentor. They had nothing to fear from him. Just the.. the constant reminder. Would have raped you. Nausea rose terrifyingly face all of a sudden, face draining of color as she had to make herself breath very slowly, to keep her churning stomach from emptying itself. She withdrew further, started diving down and down and down, and she finally blinked up at Kalt.    For a sharp second, Ashe considered the glass on the ground, thought of how glass felt when it was ground and pushed into skin, deeply into muscle and tearing through shins and knees. The impulse passed almost as soon as it flickered through her head, her body not quite reacting fast enough as she braced and hand on the counter. "Your back, you.. you did that... all those times," she rasped, her voice barely there. The scars that matched hers. He collected his over fourteen months until ... until ...    She was thirteen. Just thirteen the first time it had happened. And would have been sooner if he hadn't... Her shoulders curved inwards as her entire body shuddered, and she kept her eyes firmly on the ground as everything dimmed and pulsed. She had felt the propriety in Master's touch that day, she had known exaclty what would happen when he knocked on the door. When she had opened it for that masked figure. She'd let him in knowing what would happen when she did... knowing what would happen if she didn't. Waited for rough, unkind hands clad in leather gloves.    Her foot moved back to maintain her balance, and her heel moved glass together - she flinched even at that sound, and she dug her fingernails into her palm. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, her words not quite clear as she looked down at the glass and puddle at their feet. She kneeled down with a spinning head, but she didn't pause as her unsteady hands began picking up shards of glass, placing them into her other palm. She wasn't sure if she'd cut herself or if the blood was still Kalt's - she couldn't feel her hands anyways. "I don't want Theea to step on any," she explained in a voice that just wasn't hers - it belonged to someone else, whatever body this was she was stuck in - and the words felt so distant. ashe Isn't it strange that love is in the way? It never goes away.

He grimaced slightly, concealing it well, as the cloth was pressed onto his palm. His fingers closed around it, keeping pressure on the injury to help slow the bleeding. His hand was echoing his heart in a dull throb, but he was accustomed to pain. A hand injury hardly held a candle to some of the injuries he had endured over the years.       Kalt watched Ashetta snatch the liquor bottle, drinking it and dropping it from her shaking hands. It shattered, and once again, Kalt grimaced, not out of pain that time. He would’ve looked for another bottle, but decided it was pointless. He would get some more later on, when his mind wasn’t telling him to get drunk enough to forget what was troubling his mind. Although he was fun drunk, he didn’t need that frame of mind when dealing with this bullshit, no matter how much he wanted it.       The man hated himself then, nausea flooding him in a wave that he couldn’t fend off. When she withdrew into herself, he had usually been there to bring her back, to remind her who she was. This time? This time he felt almost as shaken as she was. That mask haunted him, and now, when he thought he was finally free of it, there was a reminder around every corner.       He brought himself to the table and sat in one of the chairs, looking up just in time to see her brace herself on the counter. There was an urge to reach out to her, but his body betrayed his mind.       Her voice didn’t sound like hers, and he couldn’t tell if he wasn’t listening properly or if she just really didn’t sound like herself. Kalt leaned his elbows on the table, running his uninjured hand through his hair with his eyes squeezed tightly closed. He fucked up. He never wanted her to know that. Never wanted her to know the truth about his scars. Gods, he didn’t mean for to fucking know that, for her to have that in her mind.       It was his turn for his voice to not sound like his own. ”I couldn’t…” He couldn’t find the words. ”I couldn’t let him take that from you.” Kalt fought the blurry vision that burned his eyes, quickly closing them and willing the tears away. His body ached, feeling the phantom aftermath of the whip with which he had become so familiar.       He watched her sink to the floor, picking up the glass shards, and he shook his head. ”Ashe, stop,” he said in nearly a whisper. His hand waved over the floor, turning the broken glass into dust that could be easily swept. He turned his hand over, extended for her to take. He wanted to touch her, feel her, that contact which had become the only true and solid grip on reality for them. ”I’m sorry.” He had failed her when she was thirteen. Over a year under the whip to keep her from suffering Master’s twisted desires, and it had all been for nothing. So fucking sorry. Kalt I  am flesh and I am bone, i rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold i've got fire in my soul

Her eyes picked out every shard of glass with painful detail, the only sharp things at all in her vision. She had a handful of it now, her shaking fingers reaching for another piece and... it all crumbled to dust. She froze, wide eyes flickering over the piles of dust on the floor, closing her hand around the dust in her palm. She was blinking rapidly as she tried to register Kalt's voice, process what he said. Couldn't let him take... Her shoulders shuddered, as if her body was rejecting the memory, couldn't...    She reached her hand up, dust falling from it as she gripped the counter and pulled herself up to stand again. She needed to.. needed to focus, need to do something. Her heart was starting to skip over itself and into a quicker rhythm, and her teeth ground together as she tried to think around things she had fought to keep locked away. She couldn't breathe - he would have come to her sooner, would have taken what innocence she had left when she had been.. younger. Stop, enough, stop, stop, stop, she snarling at herself. Fucking stop. She snapped her eyes up to Kalt where he sat at his table.    He was reaching for her. She stared at his hand for a long moment, her lips parting as a choked breath left her. I'm sorry. Her eyes flashed up to him - sorry? Kalt did not apologize for things lightly, and never without meaning it. Her body moved forward, and her hand slipped into Kalt's grasp. The muscles in her hand feathered sharply, and her legs nearly folded under her, nearly sent her to her knees -    Her body wasn't hers anymore, not quite under her control. Her fingers held tightly onto his hand as she fought for balance - had her head had been spinning for a while now. "Stop being sorry," she said roughly, briefly focusing her eyes on him before they cracked and fell away again. His hand, his hand. Warm, rough fingertips and palms, broad, firm, sure - breathe. She had to drink down air, to try push away the dark that had overtaken her peripheral sight. Cold hands, cold.. cold everything, her face, her arms, her chest. Her blood had been replaced by ice.    Under the whip in punishment for keeping Master from her. Until... he had been away for a few days. Her ears started ringing. "Thank you," she murmured. At least, she thought she said it out loud. She couldn't feel her own lips anymore. She wanted to... wanted to go away. Out. Away. Her eyes flickered shut as she let out a shallow breath, her hand clenching down sharply for a second as she swore she felt rough, gloved hands slip over her skin beneath her shirt. His hand, breathe - She held tightly to him, but she couldn't quite focus. This wasn't her anymore, she wasn't here, didn't want to be in this wretched body.    "You...thank you." she repeated, but her words were slurred together with dangerously shallow breath - alcohol that was too strong or something different? His scars that she memorized like a map, they were from keeping him from her. She tasted something foul at the back of her throat in the same moment her entire body went numb, her vision flickered wholly black. She managed to catch herself, tried to take a plunging breath, but she had to keep her free hand against the table, fear rising like bile at the loss of control in her own body. It was worse when this happened, it made things worse, too much unknown; Don't faint, don't faint - ashe Isn't it strange that love is in the way? It never goes away.