#//he is not immune to the cosy feelings

[warncdandwiles]

While the first season of the Tabaluga series got retconned a bit and Arktos' menace was a little more potent, I'm going with the later version who wasn't responsible for Tyrion's death, and whose freezing doesn't kill. In fact, in one episode he unfreezes a thief on a whim to add to his scheme, and he's (physically) no worse for wear.

That says, it takes powerful magic to safely unfreeze anybody safely, and while he's not completely immortal, Arktos is still very long-lived and doesn't appreciate the fact that some of those statues have been stuck there for years.

[finelinefae]

sick bug [tattooH x innocenty/n]

synopsis: y/n works too hard and harry just wants her to be okay

word count: 3.5k

contains: fluff

a/n: hope u enjoy the first of many blurbs for flower !!

. . .

Y/N never ever, ever gets sick.

Ever since she was a little girl she had always had a strong immune system and even when she had the slightest hint of a cold, she’d gulp down a few pills and get on with her day. 

It was a trait within her family to never let anything stop you from working, not even a sick bug. She distinctly remembers the first and only time she had caught something during high school. She had been one of the last people to catch a bug that had been travelling around groups of students and it just so happened to be during exam season. 

Despite the hammering headache and the constant shivers, she went straight to school to complete her exams after her mother had given her herbal medicine she couldn’t seem to name- that she believed had some kind of magical healing properties- and a packet of ibuprofen. 

Now that she ran a flower shop most days of the week, getting sick was a total inconvenience. There was always too much to do and not enough days in the week, so getting sick would just be a waste of time that could be used to get things done.

That’s what she kept telling herself, over and over, as she blew her nose into a tissue for the third time in the last ten minutes and swallowed two headache pills to ease the throbbing in her skull. 

She was arranging flowers into vases as customers wandered around the shop. Her eyes could barely focus on the flowers she was cutting and arranging; she was constantly taking them all out and starting again. What was meant to be four vases of perfectly arranged flowers, was only one. 

She was uncomfortably warm. Even though she had layered herself with three jumpers, she did so only because there were moments when she would suddenly feel cold and shivery. The heating was constantly up and down despite the fact it was the beginning of spring. 

This was another reason she couldn’t allow herself to get rest. Spring was the busiest season, flowers were beginning to bloom and people were rushing to buy new flowers for the season to decorate with or send to loved ones. 

There was just too much all at once and being sick was not allowed.

The morning had gone by in a blur - literally. Y/N couldn’t seem to remember who walked in and out of the shop too busy thinking about not throwing up every five minutes. It seemed the only person who could gain her attention as he walked past the shop window, was her tattooed boyfriend next door. 

She quickly pulled out her purse and took out a pressed powder to powder her nose with, hoping it would hide the redness of it. She stretched her cheeks and forced the biggest smile she possibly could when the bell rang and Harry stepped in through the door. 

In his hand, he had her bento lunchbox that he had prepared for her the night before like he always did because she seemingly always forgot to eat whenever she worked. “Hi flower,” His voice was like warm soup that soothed her belly. 

“Hi Harry,” She walked into his arms and nuzzled her face into his soft, fuzzy sweatshirt. He smelt like pine and ink and all the things she loved that made her feel warm and cosy. Her arms wrapped around his middle as her eyes fluttered shut, she could have drifted off as his hands pressed against her back, playing with the ends of her hair. 

“Y’ tired sweet girl?” He murmured, “Working so hard?” 

Y/N squeezed him tighter, wanting to mould herself into him so she’d never have to leave the comfort of his warmth, “Not really,” She lied, finally looking up at him. 

Harry held her face in his hands and brushed the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone, “Remember we’re going out tonight so don’t work too much,” He warned her, knowing she was prone to working herself too hard and passing out once they stepped into his or her apartment. 

Y/N’s stomach plummeted. She’d completely forgotten that Harry had asked her to come with him to a birthday dinner down at a bar that evening. She had made a mental note earlier in the week to pick out an outfit but had completely forgotten about the entire thing. She felt awful especially since Harry had been looking forward to introducing her to some of his friends and just spending time together in general. It was all the more reason why she had to hide her sickness, just until the end of the night. 

“I won’t,” She forced a smile, “For the rest of the day I’ll sit right here and won’t move a muscle,” 

Harry chuckled, “Yeah? Sit there and look pretty? Tha’s not so hard for you m’love,” His lips pressed against her forehead. She hoped he couldn’t feel how warm she was. “C’mon flower, made y’ favourite for lunch.” 

By the end of the day, Y/N had hoped she'd feel a bit better, enough to join dinner at least, but she felt even worse than she did in the morning. 

Her movements were slow as she closed the shop for another day, trying not to move so much or she’d feel her stomach turn. The mere idea of going out, let alone eating something with her upset stomach, made her feel queasy but she’d push through for Harry. 

She had little energy to tidy everything completely so she pushed it all to one side and switched the lights off before locking up. Harry wouldn’t be finished with work for another hour which gave her some time to pick out an outfit before the dinner party. 

With laboured breaths, she ascended the steps to her apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last, until finally, she reached her front door and pushed it open. Marshall rubbed against her leg as she tried to kick her shoes off of her aching feet, “Hi Marshy,” She mumbled, stumbling over to her bedroom and straight to her wardrobe. 

She plucked a few things off of the hangers, none of them matched or looked fancy enough for dinner, but she wanted something comfortable. Her eyes glanced at her bed as she held the dresses up before the mirror. It looked so inviting, all made up and cosy. She'd been longing for a nap all day and maybe if she took one now she’d gain some of her energy back for dinner. 

With a sigh, Y/N dropped the clothes on the floor and succumbed to the temptation of her bed. She pulled out her phone and set a timer for twenty minutes, knowing Harry wouldn’t be back before then. 

As she slipped under the covers, the warmth and comfort of her bed enveloped her. It was what she had been seeking all day - to cocoon herself in blankets and fall asleep so she didn’t have to deal with being sick. Her eyes fluttered shut and it wasn’t long before she drifted off into a much-needed nap, hoping it would ease the discomfort she had been feeling all day.

. . .

“Flower,” His voice was in her dreams, “Can y’ wake up f’ me a sec?” 

Y/N frowned, feeling something cool and damp pressed against her forehead. Soft kisses press against her exposed arm, “Harry?” She mumbled, her eyes slowly opening only to realise she wasn’t dreaming of him at all.

He was right there in front of her, sitting on the edge of her bed and pressing a damp cloth against her forehead. “There’s m’ pretty girl,” He cooed. 

“You’re here,” She sighed, her eyes groggy from sleep and her head heavy against her pillow. She reached for the hand that wasn’t holding the cloth, clutching it to her chest. 

“M here, lovie,” He sighed, “I wish y’ would have told me y’ weren’t feeling good.” 

“I’m fine,” Y/N lies, her eyes falling shut again to block out the light in the room. 

“Y sure about that flower? Found you up here passed out when I came to pick y’ up for dinner,” The word seemed to trigger Y/N’s memory as she shot up in bed, ignoring the pulsing of her head and the way the room spun. 

“The dinner! Harry, we can still go, I set an alarm and we still have time, I made sure of it.” Her head whipped in the direction of the clothes she had left on the floor. 

Two hands curled around her wrists to pull her attention away from the thoughts that were whirring in her mind, “Baby,” He murmured, “The dinner started an hour ago. I told them we couldn’t go as soon as I found you lying here all feverish.”

Y/N’s lips parted, registering his words as he waited patiently for her to respond. Suddenly, her eyes burned until tears began falling from them, rolling down her cheeks. Harry’s eyes widened, cupping her face in his hands and wiping away her tears before they could even fall onto the duvet. “I-I’m sorry Harry,” She cried, “I know you were so excited to go to dinner with your friends. I never get sick, I don’t understand why this is happening.” 

Harry’s eyes softened as she clung onto him, “Flower,” His heart was hurting for her. He always knew she worked hard, he saw it every day with his own eyes, but not to this extent. He figured this was from more than just a sick bug and that she’d been over-exhorting herself to the point where her body was turning against her to get some rest, “Hey, what are these tears for hmmm? No more cryin’ m’love.” He kissed her tears away, tasting the saltiness on the tip of his tongue. 

“‘Course I was excited for dinner,” A fresh set of tears filled Y/N’s eyes but Harry quickly continued, “But only because I like spending time with you. M’ friends will still be there but you are always, always, my first priority in everything.”

“You’re not mad?” She whimpers, feeling more angry at herself than anything.

“Not about tha’ but I am a little angry y’ didn’t tell me y’ weren’t feeling good. Never seen someone so warm in m’ life flower, scared me half to death.” He was trying to be stern with her but he couldn’t help but also show his worry for her. “Think you’ve been working yourself a little too hard hmmm?” He stroked her head, pushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead.

“I haven’t been sick in so long,” She admits, “I was hoping it would go away by the end of the day but, honestly Harry, I feel terrible. M’ throat is all scratchy and my tummy hurts too.”

“Think y’ body jus’ needs a well-needed break from all tha’ running about you do. Honestly Flower, never seen anyone work as hard as you do.” He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Gonna let me take care of y’ tonight?”

She nods, relaxing at his words of comfort, “Okay Harry,” She whispers. 

The corner of his lip twitches, “What am I going to do with you?” He sighs, completely in love with her. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers, not minding the warmth radiating from her in fact he welcomed it, “You’re everything to me. Can’t have y’ getting sick.” 

Her eyes fluttered shut feeling his cool breath blow against her lips like he was trying to breathe new air into her to get rid of the sickness, “I really am sorry for not being honest and for the dinner.” 

“S okay but y’ tell me from now on? Everyday okay? Tell me the truth about how y’ feeling,” He needed that from her and she promised she’d give it to him. 

He smiled when he received a quick nod in response to his request, “Alright then, are y’ hungry? Want something to eat?” He asked. 

“Not really,” Y/N pouts, the thought of food didn’t exactly appease her stomach right now. 

“Y’ don’t want soup? I make a mean cup of soup, flower. I hear it can cure even the worst of sicknesses.” Her eyes squint and he’s desperately holding himself back from rubbing his thumb over the dark circles under her eyes. 

“What kind of soup?” She questions, her eyebrows furrowing.

He leans forward, puckering his lips against her top lip, “S a secret.” He murmurs. 

“Can I help make it?” Her eyes round because she knows it will persuade him - it always does. 

“You can sit down and keep me company but I don’t want you up and about.” She sighs but accepts the answer and holds her arms open. Harry smiles and lifts her up, his arms under her butt as her legs wrap around his waist. 

He walks to her kitchen and places her on the kitchen counter, moving around to the different cupboards as though he owned the place. He knew exactly where she kept everything, gathering ingredients to create the delicious soup he knew she would love because it had all her favourite things hidden in the recipe. 

Once the soup is cooked, he pours two servings into pink, china bowls and places them at the coffee table in front of the couch. He helps Y/N, carrying her over and sitting her in her spot and tossing a blanket over her legs. “Want me to put on y’ show, love?” He asks, referring to her comfort show Gravity Falls. 

“Yes please,” She replies, politely. 

Y/N picks up the spoon that feels like it weighs more than it does and sips some of the soup she watched Harry make. “Mmm Harry, it’s delicious!” She hums, taking another spoonful.

“Yeah?” He grins proudly at her reaction.

“I already feel much better,” She nodded. He knows she’s feeding his ego but he accepts it all the same.

When they’re both finished eating, he takes both of their bowls and goes to tidy them up, leaving Y/N lying on the couch under a blanket he’d put over her. He hears her tired giggles when something funny happens on the small television, his heart aching at the raspiness of her voice but he’s happy she’s no longer upset. He also cleans up the dishes from this morning and does some of her laundry too, wanting her to rest as much as possible in the upcoming days. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. A notification appears from the group chat he was in with the friends they were meant to go to dinner with. Pictures of them at dinner pop up, his eyes glancing over to his girlfriend as he sends a quick reply. He walks over to her and finds her no longer in the sweater she was once wearing but completely stripped down to just her underwear. Her eyes gaze up at him, “S too hot,” She sighs, her cheeks bright pink.

He tugs off his shirt and pulls it over his head, nudging her over to lie in the spot beside her. The couch was much too small so she ended up laying half on top of him, her head resting over his heart and her palm over his chest. His thumb slides under the waistband of her panties as it brushes the skin on her waist. 

She mindlessly played with the chain around his neck and his lips quirked every time he’d spot the small inking on her arm whenever she moved it a certain angle. “I love you,” He murmured, kissing the top of her head. He couldn’t remember if he had told her already but either way, he wanted to tell her. 

Y/N craned her neck to look up at him, his palm pushing back the hair from her face, “I love you too,” She puckered her lips and he leaned forward to kiss her. 

Halfway through the first season, light snores fell from the girl lying across his chest. Harry carefully manoeuvred himself to grab the remote control and switch the TV off. He gently moved her enough so he could stand up and hooked his arms around her to carry her to her bedroom. 

“Harry,” Y/N mumbled as he lay her on her mattress. She reached out for him, needing his close proximity to stay relaxed. 

“M right here, lovie,” He reached for her hand that she held out for him and kissed the back of it, “I’m just gonna get you a glass of water.” Y/N liked having a glass of water on her bedside table in case she got thirsty in the night. He remembered the first time he stayed around her apartment and she forgot to grab one before she went to sleep. She woke Harry up in the middle of the night to ask him if he could come with her to the kitchen because it was too dark for her to go by herself. 

“You’ll come back?” She pouts, half asleep.

“I’ll be back in thirty seconds, flower. Y’ can count if y’ want to.” He chuckles when she starts counting, whispering softly as he walks to the kitchen.

He comes back before she reaches thirty with a glass of tap water clenched in his fingers. He places it on her side of the bed - because they have those now and he was obsessed. Hers was always the right in both his and her bed and his was always the left. 

“Told you,” He says as he lays beneath the blanket in the bed beside her. 

“You did,” She hums, curling into his side once he’s settled, “How come you’re always right?” 

He cradles her in his arms as she buries her face in his neck, wanting to be as close to him as possible. “M not always right but I think M right about you most of the time. You’re all I know, flower, I know how to love you and take care of you.”

She sighs blissfully, he can feel her eyelashes against his neck as they flutter open and close like she’s trying to fight off sleep, “There you go again, right as always.” 

He laughs, “Rest now baby, you’ll be back t’ watering y’ flowers and being my noisy neighbour in no time.”

He knows she’s asleep from the lack of sassy responses he gets. 

. . . 

“This is pretty,” Harry tugged on her skirt as she walked past him sitting on the chair at the front desk holding a bouquet of flowers. She looked beautiful every day but after days of being sick and in bed, she was practically glowing with fresh energy as she moved around the shop. Her hair was in a high ponytail with a white bow secured around it, she wore a dress with puffy sleeves that swayed as she moved, and her heels clicked against the ground with every step she made. 

The flower shop had been closed during the time Y/N was sick. She was beyond stressed about it the first few days, worried that she would be so behind on her work the longer the shop was closed, but Harry made sure everything would be alright. He suggested she keep the shop closed for the whole week so that she could work on the things she needed to before opening it again.

 As much as he wanted to stay with her, Y/N insisted he go to work in the day, especially since the most she would be doing was sleeping. He worried about her often in the day, he couldn’t help it, and he hadn’t realised how big of a presence she was until she wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t hear the chiming of the bell as people walked in and out of the flower shop and he missed the clicking of her heels against the floor as she walked into his shop to eat lunch with him or sneak around the back buildings to kiss him. 

“Thank you, I bought it online a few days ago,” She gleamed as he rubbed the fabric between his fingers. 

“Ahh,” He smirked, “So y’ were buying pretty dresses instead of sleeping whilst I was down here working?”

“Something like that,” She shrugged, biting her lip.

He yawned his head falling forward to rest against her stomach. She ran her fingers through his curls, “Are you tired?” She asks. 

“Hmmm,” His eyes flutter shut at the sensation of her hands in his hair.

“Harry?” She frowns, holding his face in her hands as she tilts his head back. Her hand cups his forehead, “You’re burning up.”

“I am?” He sighs.

Y/N’s eyes soften, “You are,” She replies, “Seems as though it’s my turn to take care of you now,”

Harry grins lazily, “I like the sound of that, Flower.”

[eepycrow]

she/her pronouns used for reader. takes place some time between s2 and s3!

even after moonrise, the humidity and heat of summer refused to waver. exhaustion was a given after such a long day in the sun, and humanity's strongest wasn't immune to the weight of fatigue seeping through his veins. the mattress beneath his tired form was uncomfortable. the plush duvet, while cosy most other nights, had been kicked lazily to the foot of the bed.

"do you think titans ever get self-conscious about not wearing any clothes?"

nothing brought levi back to reality quite like her unfiltered thoughts. there wouldn't be another person within the walls who'd ask him such a question, aside from hange. was this a question she had on loop while on expeditions too? in the face of death, would she look a titan in the eye and ask if it felt self-conscious about not wearing clothes?

when he didn't answer, she continued.

"they were human before they were titans, right? do you think any of that remains? are they truly mindless? do they have memories of their lives before? and if so..."

she rolled onto her side and reached out, bridging the gap to pinch his nightshirt between her forefinger and thumb in a desperate plea. as if for every titan brought down by his hand, a new bud of titan related knowledge sprouted in his brain and, amongst the endless garden, was the indisputable answer to her questions. but who was he to know the thoughts of those deemed mindless?

"...do titans remember they used to wear clothes? do they mourn the loss of their modesty? do they care that it's all on show? do they feel...undignified?"

levi said her name through a sigh, brows drawn tight as finally — through the urge to fall asleep at some point during this disgustingly humid night — the strength mustered in his arm, just a little, just enough, to place a hand over her mouth and muffle any more questions that dared to fall out. and eventually, when even insomnia called it quits against the summer's heat, they both drifted off into dreams of titans more civilised than those outside the walls; titans who wore clothes and spoke sorrowful words of their real-life selves severe nakedness.

[russellsppttemplates]

Hi inês, hope you are well, could a request a blurb where the reader struggles with her mental health and the driver of you choice helps her through that, if you want you can include their children, thank you kisses

Note: I hope you're well, too!

Cw: mental health struggles related to parenting, immunity concerns regarding premature babies

"We're okay, baby boy, we're okay", you cooed as you bounced Fraser, walking along the nursery to hopefully soothe him to sleep. It had been like that for the past two weeks and it was getting to you. Matilda caught some bug in school and the minute it entered your home, Fraser was the second victim and he was struggling with it too, barely being able to sleep for long before he coughed and needed his nose unblocked.

Because he was a premature baby, you had to be even more careful with these things, and even though you knew they happened and it was all part of life, you weren't sure you could go another day without telling this to someone. Lando had been incredible at making sure you were all taken care of, and Matilda was dropped off and picked up from school so you could stay home for your maternity leave.

"Love, are you on the nursery?", Lando called as he climbed up the stairs, following the small noise from your footsteps and Fraser's whimpers, "there you are, hey gorgeous", he smiled, kissing your cheek before rubbing Fraser's cheek as he laid on your chest, "look at you so comfy, little man, mummy's chest us the best spot for a nap, isn't it? Mummy is the best", he nipped a few kissed on the top of his head until he heard your sniffles.

"Love, lovie, hey", he cooed back at you, cupping your face in his hands, "what's the matter? Hey - breathe with me", he encouraged, taking a few long, deep breaths with you, "it's okay, everything is okay", he checked over.

"He's so little, Lando, and he needs to be kept safe and sound, but it's not like we can get Tilly out of school just for that, and he's bound to have to build an immune system, might as well be now that my boobs gave the good antibodies stuff but still", you babbled.

Lando took Fraser away from your arms with your consent, setting him on his cot for a little bit when the little boy was settled, "now tell me all of that without being so worried, okay?", he encouraged again.

"I can't stop worrying about him, thinking he has a deficient immune system to begin with and I can't seem to keep him healthy and happy enough - it all goes through my head so many times a day and I can't think about anything else. It's the same thing, all the time", you admitted.

"How long have you been feeling like this? You could've told me, darling", he soothed softly, "you're doing such a good job with him, I'm in awe of you every day, Y/N. Sure, he's been a bit cough-y and his nose his stuffy, but you're doing your best - we're doing our best! He's got a sister who adores him so much and plays with him - she's even helping with his immune system", Lando tried to bring a smile to your face, achieving it, "He's got me, who will physically shove you into bed no matter how many times you say that you'll get him from now on, and he's got a wonderful, superwoman like mummy who needs some rest and reassurance, and that's okay", he kissed your lips softly, "we're in this together, darling", he confided.

"I feel alone and like I'm a failure, but then he's such a happy little one, look at that!", you pointed to the smiling boy, happily biting in his stuffed koala toy as he looked at both of you, "it's such a rush of things and I'm already thinking of what I need to do in case he does come down with something else - fever, tummy bug, stuffy nose - anything really", you rubbed your forehead, letting your husband pull you to his embrace.

"How about we have a cosy night in just the four of us? Movie night with Tilly, and I can e the one keeping an eye on that little dude and you can just relax - I don't like seeing you this worried, beautiful", he brushed some hairs behind your ear, "sounds nice".

After dinner, Matilda sat with you on the sofa and as per Lando's request, she kept showering you with "extra love", meaning she was more attentive than usual, "you also always make me my favourite breakfast everytime I ask for it", she said as she kissed your cheek again.

"Thank you, Tilly", you smiled, "I'm not done yet, mummy! I love you because you always take care of me, because you let me stay up late to watch daddy's races when they're at night or wake up really early to see him race when it's very far away, how you always let me know you love me, daddy and Fraser", she continued as you felt happy tears brimming your eyes from all the love she was showering you with.

"Little man is down, was absolutely milk drunk and went out like a light", Lando said as he walked inside the living room with Fraser on his arms, showing you his pout and chubby cheeks before he put him in the small basket you had in the living room, still able to keep an eye on him.

"Did you tell her to tell me all the things she loved about me?", you whispered on Lando's ear once Tilly was focusing on the movie cuddled up to your side, "I have no idea what you're talking about", Lando shrugged his shoulders even though the smile was on his lips.

"Sure, you have no idea what I'm talking about", you kissed his jaw, "thank you for this".

"We're in this together, no one gets left behind and no one feels like a failure in this house, ever!", he whispered back, his hand happily playing with your fingers while Matilda giggled sweetly as she watched the squirrel trying to get the acorn.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[hwaightme]

Feverish

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🌡️ pairing: hongjoong x gn!reader 🌡️ genre: the fluffiest fluff, established relationship, sickfic 🌡️ summary: as you come down with a cold, hongjoong is right there to lift you back up again, be it with soup, song, presence, or all at once. 🌡️ wordcount: 2.4k 🌡️ warnings/tags: questionable editing, proper use of face masks, hongjoong in a kitchen making things, him being a worried and loving boyfriend ready to give you the world, producer joong, he is the medicine actually, discussion of illness and various symptoms, fever, fatigue, distancing 🌡️ a/n: love you @legohwas <3 this was why I was being all cryptic asking about mango milkshakes~ apologies if the lil piece is chaotic and if I disappear into the void ruminating it... but imagine a serenading Hongjoong ahah<333 Thank you so much everyone for likes, reblogs, comments notes, they are always appreciated, much love!

🌡️ perma-taglist: @doom-fics @/legohwas @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @mystar1024 @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @ssaboala @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt

🌡️ cannot be tagged: @hjoymyluv @memoriesofwoo @ate-ez

A heavy stillness had settled in your bedroom, so palpable, in fact, that you believed if you dared to undraw the blackout curtains which were working wonders to protect you from the city’s night lights, that you would be able to see its every fibre. Perhaps there was this benefit to you being severely under - or even squashed by, the weather; for the first time in far too long you were allowing yourself to lie still, gaze at the ceiling in the semi darkness while swaddled in the sheets and throws and nearly drowning in the pillows which you had gathered from all around your apartment as soon as you had come home from class.

It had been a growing sensation. An inkling, a suspicion, and with every passing hour a sure realisation that indeed, you were catching a cold. Or whatever it could be. Either way, you had crawled home dizzy and fatigued, shuddering from what had turned out to be an alarmingly high fever, and after cautiously peeling your outdoor clothing away to change into cosy pyjamas succumbed to your body’s screams for rest. Drifting in and out of consciousness, you had no idea for how long you had been in bed until you were jolted awake by the turning of keys in the lock of the front door, and a very familiar, albeit highly concerned and timid ‘hello?’. Feeling for your phone, you squinted and fought off the tears that sprung to your eyes from the screen brightness as you attempted to read the time, the action only bringing to a state of shock: you had just spent a precious five hours doing absolutely nothing. A pang of guilt overpowered your throbbing temples; when you had more tasks than the number of heartbeats in a day, including professional, academic and domestic endeavours, having this kind of inconvenience such as an illness was simply out of the question. You cursed yourself, your immune system and the fact that there was no way to be able to schedule ailments or cancel your subscription to them altogether.

“Y/N? You missed our call- Y/N? Y/N are you okay?” you gazed off to the side to see your boyfriend peeking into the room, still in his face mask, beanie and coat, clutching a bag tightly against his chest. 

“Hi Joong… Down with…” you tried to speak, but your voice was still laden with sleep and tiredness that had finally caught up to you. Focusing on the silhouette, you peered in Hongjoong’s general direction, hoping that you looked at least somewhat alive after dozing, and snuggled deeper into the sheets.

“What?” he stepped a little closer, tilting his head ever so slightly. You managed to catch the fast narrowing of his eyes as he most definitely caught onto your state, and the droop in what likely was his adorable shy smile behind the black material. 

“Sorry… it’s just… yeah I’m down with something.” you croaked out, only to throw your face into the pillow you had been hugging, suddenly having found your strenuous staring a little more than overwhelming. 

“Wait Y/N really?” baffled, the man stumbled over his words, and looked for a space to drop the black leather bag, choosing an empty spot by the wall, right at the entrance. Stretching out again, he pinched the end of the beanie to slide it off, revealing black hair, lightly matter and dishevelled from the pressure of the garment.

Hongjoong’s eyes darted over your form while he ruffled his hair, worry growing stronger in his chest as he took note of the items strewn around the room. Your backpack was lying at the foot of your bed, laptop peeking out - it was terribly rare that you would ever come home and not organise yourself. If anything, you would be in the middle of reprimanding him for not putting slippers on and still being in his jacket; but not a peep came from you, and instead you were curled up in the foetal position, blocking out all light, all energy, a barely noticeable tramble rushing through you as you poked your head out again to answer him.

“No, I am just being lazy,” you snapped, your voice muffled by the bedsheets that you kept lifted to cover half of your face. Unusually irritated, you simply wanted to doze off and ignore your condition, hopefully wake up refreshed and be able to go about your day as if nothing happened instead of having your boyfriend subject himself to the risk of catching whatever it was.

“I think it is the universe telling you to catch a break.”

You raised an eyebrow at the statement finding it more than amusing, considering that even when Hongjoong did convince himself or management to stay with you for longer than a couple of hours, give him some time and you would find him in a random corner of the apartment, earphones in, laptop in front of him, an artist lost in his own world. Not that you ever minded, nor wanted that to change; if anything, it was unbelievably soothing, and the occasional clicks on the trackpad or keyboard always ended up becoming your rhythm and motivation as you settled down to work on your own projects. 

But you could not type away alongside him tonight, nor even uphold some banter. You desperately wanted to be snarky in return to his call for your relaxation, wanted to throw a witty comeback his way to point out his own habits, but the words remained on the tip of your tongue as you battled your fever, too tired to care about keeping a civil conversation going. But to Hongjoong, your silence spoke a thousand words; he could practically sense what you were going to say to him, and chuckled, playing with the rings on his fingers.

“I know, I know, but do as I say. And I say rest. I’ll… I’ll call the doctor to arrange an appointment…” he trailed off as he patted his pockets, eventually finding the device and beginning to search through his contacts to find someone from medical staff attached to the company. 

His eyes shot upwards once, twice, over and over again, terrified that your state could get worse at any moment or that you would get stubborn and try to power through and force yourself to work. He was distraught, anxious, even if he would eat pickled onion instead of admitting it openly, out of the desire to keep you as calm as possible. Just as he was about to call, you whispered to him:

“I am an adult-” but your phrase was cut short as he raised his hand.

“Let me take care of you? Please?” you hold a pause, waiting for your senses and your processing to catch up to your surroundings.

“...If you keep the mask on… I am not violent but I will throw hands if you get sick.”

“Alright. Gotcha. I’ll try,” and with a goofy thumbs up, he ambled out of the room, conversing over the phone, returning once to ask you about any other symptoms.

In that moment, when you finally could concentrate on his dark eyes, clouded over with distress and wrapped in a glimmer of affection, you felt nothing but safety. In those fleeting seconds, it was easy to forget your concerns about work, about assignments, about the texts that you most definitely missed. Simply with his serenity, the gestures of his hands as he continued talking about you and then the rocking on the balls of his feet as he relayed to you the doctor’s recommendations and the time of the appointment, you felt your erratic heartbeat slow down. With a satisfied hum you agreed, and shut your eyes, letting his aura envelop you. Perhaps it was for the better that he decided to visit after all. Even when he volunteered himself as the man on dinner duty, you were comfortable - you had made soup yesterday, and hopefully, the toaster was not going to catch fire. You concentrated on his soft footsteps as he moved from one part of the apartment to another; it was easy enough to trace the steps, and you imagined him going from the door where he dropped off his outerwear, to the bathroom to wash his hands, to the kitchen where he would open the fridge and muse what he could heat up.

You were adamant on him not approaching you as much as he could, resulting in Hongjoong pushing the tray with a bowl of warm soup, bread, and oddly paired with a mango milkshake that at least explained a fraction of the crashing noises and a random blast of the blender from the kitchen, every bit like a playful cat. He had the same combination of mischief and enthusiasm in his eyes that did not falter as he watched you take a few tentative spoonfuls. He appeared to glow as you thanked him for the surprise treat, and you could see his mask move to hide what undoubtedly was his precious megawatt grin. But what you could not exactly fight against, not when you could see the long day building up on Hongjoong’s shoulders, was his request to occupy the armchair on the other side of the room in a corner, saying that it was ‘necessary just in case you needed something’, so that he would automatically be on standby and within reach.

It was unusual, letting the hours trickle past like this. Instead of filling every second with something to do, or something to check, or something to plan, you were lying in bed, noticing the time and cradling it in your mind. The ticking of the clock on the wall to your right, furthest from Hongjoong was giving you the impression of grains of sand, dropping down into the palms of your hands only to roll over the palms turned hills to the particles, and continue their fall. Inadvertently, your eyes travelled to your adorable Cromer keeper, still clad in the black mask, face illuminated by the laptop screen. Though he was isolated from reality thanks to his newest pair of airpods and unbreaking focus, you could still read his body language thanks to your brain having grown less foggy after having napped and had a shot of pleasantly sweet and sour mango, the love and effort definitely adding to the flavour.

The furrowing of his brows, the way in which he scrunched his nose and you could see him squint ever so slightly as he felt your gaze rest on him and lifted his head to meet it. The barely noticeable, gentle upward jutting of the chin when Hongjoong wanted you to update him on how you were feeling. How he merely stated, after an alarm which you had not expected him to set made his phone vibrate, that it was time to measure your temperature and see if the medication worked. How as soon as you mentioned water, he did the unthinkable and abandoned his laptop on the coffee table to get you a bottle. Your Hongjoong. The artist, the innovator, the creative genius. A little clumsy at times, unsure of himself and subtly asking for you to confirm if he was doing the right things to help you. So much so, that his enthusiasm approached comical levels, and when you tried to make your grand escape outside of your quarters, he was on full alert:

“Bed rest, hello? What are you doing up? If you needed something I could-”

“Bathroom… Joong… bathroom. I am okay enough to go there.”

“OH. Oops sorry I- I- uh- yeah- ha… ha sorry… I’ll just be right… back… there yeah okay.”

You had to restrain yourself from guffawing, the dull ache in your head reminding you that you would probably need to sleep at least twelve more hours to have a laughing fit and not faint, and instead bit your bottom lip as you openly admired Hongjoong’s growing redness in the tips of his ears, and the lowering of his shoulders as an attempt to appear smaller. It was as if the fever was returning to you once again as you desperately wanted to pat your boyfriend on his head and wrap him up in your arms. Alas, you needed to get better first, for you both - captain’s orders, but it was easy when he was the best kind of medicine. His attentiveness, his patience, his resolve in staying by your side even though you had told him that you would be fine. While you were washing your face, relishing in the sensation of cool water running over your skin, you wondered when it would be appropriate to make the joke that he was currently looking like Hala-joong, and that he should wear the wide-brimmed hat you had hidden in your wardrobe.

Upon your return, nothing changed, just like he said. He was still there, still your precious Hongjoong, still immersed in what you could guess were the finishing touches for a track as he was mouthing the lyrics. You crept back into bed, only one creak alerting him of your presence, but he did not pay it no mind, only sending a wink in your direction as a form of greeting. And you thought that this was how you were going to go back into a healing slumber, until you heard the clicking of the earphones case, and the faint notes of a song, only just beginning - a soothing introduction with a semi-acoustic guitar. As it continued, Hongjoong counted the bars with one hand, and hurriedly apologised to you:

“I was meant to record the vocals but… it felt only right to finish this to the best of my ability now. And uh… stop me if your head hurts.” you rolled your eyes, a smile breaking over your features as you cuddled into the warm blankets, supporting your head so that you could watch your beloved artist and human in his element, sharing his most valuable with you.

He sang softer than usual, careful to not hurt your sensitive eardrums, but the dulcet tones were like the life essence washing over you, lifting you above the spell of illness and immersing you in a total, ethereal bliss. Of course he was going to choose a song that was on theme, on time, lyrically balanced and heartwarming. Of course Hongjoong was going to make you want to weep from the comfort that he was providing. And of course, he was going to respect your wishes and not walk closer to you, but with his voice, with his beautiful rendition of ‘Sleep Well’ by .d4vd from the custom backing track to the added tastefully melodic rap, he carried the love, the care right over to you. Lulling you into a well deserved break from turmoil, guiding you into a better tomorrow. Because how dare a virus be the one to make the love of his life feel feverish, and not him? 

[doodle-pops]

A Love That Burns

Celegorm x reader

Request: I'M SO GLAD YOU OPENED THE REQUESTS NONNY!!!!!! You are an absolutely wonderful writer, I eat every one of your writing like the best steak ever🥺🥺 I live for angst, so👉👈 Can i request a fem!reader x celegorm or carantir? Reader is the human wife of one of our angry boys, and although she loves her husband very much, she still feels insecure in relationship with the elf because of societal prejudices(( And the boy is tired and doesn't want to deal with anything and the reader has been subjected to some taunts and tries to tell her beloved about it(( But doesn't have time and her elf snaps at her and they fight a lot... And this hothead forgets to control his stupid mouth and says he regrets marrying the reader((((( Of course he didn't mean it, but now he still has to deal with the consequences of his words and his lovely wife's low self-esteem(( Happy or unhappy ending, your choice! – anon

A/N: This was different from what you requested anon, and I’m terribly sorry. I do despise not writing what someone requested, however, I got lost in the writing because it was ANGST, a beloved theme of mine. I did try my best to stay on the part of the dispute and angst theme, but the reasons were entirely different from what you described. Apologies in advance, yet I hope you all enjoy it!

Warnings: heavy angst, breakup, dispute, mentions of Tyelko’s physical altercations, hurt/no comfort or happy ending

Words: 2k

Synopsis: You've decided after years of following the leader, to make your own stand and create a new path in your life.

As you stormed into the cosy room, the door slammed shut behind you, capturing the attention of your husband. He sat there, aloof and unperturbed, even though the anger coursing through your veins was impossible to miss. You shot him a fierce glance, and he casually raised a wine glass to his lips before turning his attention back to the dancing flames in the fireplace. Curiously, Huan, his loyal companion, was absent from the room this time, offering you a rare moment of solitude to confront the silver–haired, nonchalant elf.

With the room now yours alone, you felt liberated to unleash a torrent of fury and horror upon your husband. “You certainly left your mark today,” you seethed, your voice dripping with suppressed rage as you rifled through the closet, yanking clothes from drawers and shelves. Celegorm’s back remained turned, allowing you to carefully plan your approach without escalating the impending argument prematurely.

A scoff escaped his lips, followed by an eye roll and a leisurely yawn. It was a familiar scenario, one that played out every time he committed some outrageous act that grated on your sensibilities. Tonight was no exception. He seized the opportunity to make it a grand spectacle, leaving some unfortunate young elf languishing in a jail cell, beaten and bruised. While his actions might have warranted a more measured response, your husband was hardly one to concern himself with propriety when his adrenaline surged.

“I’ve always had a knack for leaving a lasting impression, my dear. It’s part of who I am; you ought to know that by now,” he retorted with a snide undertone. He exuded an air of regal charm and charisma as he spoke, seemingly immune to the consequences of his deeds, convinced that they were merely lessons in “respect” and “superiority.”

A surge of disgust welled up inside you as you shot a sidelong glance at him while continuing to stuff your clothes into his hunting bags. His utter lack of self–awareness and compassion left you bewildered. The Celegorm you had once known, a carefree, compassionate, and admittedly stubborn elf, seemed like a distant memory. Well, the stubborn part was still very much intact, but the night he had sworn that ominous oath had marked a turning point. It was as if you had witnessed the elf you once loved killed a part of himself, only to be reborn as a living nightmare. At times, you had even tried to convince yourself that this transformation was a necessary response to the darkness lurking in the world.

Day after day, night after night, you made promises and excuses for his behaviour. “He’ll change, he’ll change. This isn’t truly him,” you chanted to yourself after every heated confrontation. Yet, Celegorm had a knack for shattering your hope and turning it into a cruel mirage. You had lost all your friends, and any family who had wished to reach out had distanced themselves, fearing Tyelko would turn their presence into yet another issue. Jealousy had never been an issue before, nor had paper–thin insults. Things that could have been brushed off and ignored were now carefully nurtured by him, allowed to fester and destroy your life.

You were utterly alone, with even his presence feeling non–existent.

“It’s quite fascinating how your idea of making a lasting impression involves beating up those who dare to voice their whimsical comments. Must you inflict harm upon people for their veiled statements?” you snapped, unable to contain your thoughts any longer, your frustration with his demeanour finally bubbling over.

“Are you still dwelling on about that?” he retorted, irritation lacing his voice as he tightened his grip on the wine glass, causing a hairline crack to snake its way along its delicate surface.

Furious and fed up, you flung the clothes onto the ground, your anger and frustration boiling over. You spun around and shouted at him, “Yes, I am! And I won’t apologise if it bothers you, since you never bother to do the same for me!” Your inner turmoil had reached a breaking point, and you longed to shake some semblance of compassion into him. His obliviousness to the pain his thoughtless actions caused you only added more fuel to the fire. “All you ever do is harm people for senseless reasons and act as if no one should ever dare to criticise your actions!”

Growing tired of craning his neck and straining his ear to hear your grievances, he abandoned the sofa and turned to face you. He remained by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth it offered. He stared at you with his piercing forest green eyes, a silent warning that seemed to say, “Choose your words carefully.”

“No one has the right to speak about my family and our actions! They have no idea what we’re going through—”

“Well, I do, because I live it every day with you, and your methods of releasing your frustrations are unbearable!” You yelled in frustration, your voice rising in pitch. “I’ve tried to help you, and you’ve pushed me away, so now you resort to displaying your insecurities.”

“Insecurities?!” His right eye twitched, and he strode across the room to confront you, his fists clenched in frustration. His bewildered expression betrayed genuine hurt at your accusations, as if he couldn’t fathom you taking jabs at his struggles. It was a side of you he hadn’t expected; you had always been the compassionate and thoughtful one. “How is me defending you and my family from naysayers an act of insecurity?”

He shifted his weight to his left leg, his hips rolling in a display of astonishment. You locked eyes with him, your anger still burning as he threw a seemingly irrelevant question your way, acting as if he had no knowledge of the answer. He had witnessed your slow withdrawal from him and his circle, even from his family, but he seemed oblivious to anything beyond power, glory, and the oath. The Tyelko you once loved and grew with had faded away, and it wasn’t just the oath that had changed him; his true ambitions had rendered your presence obsolete, especially if this was the outcome of your arguments.

“Tyelko,” you began with an exasperated sob, “I’ve loved you for so many years, through thick and thin. I stood by your side even when your father was wrong, and I was foolish not to see it. I endured the silent suffering of Formenos, standing with you through your transformations. You think I wouldn’t recognize your insecurity? You only lash out when things don’t go your way to make yourself feel better.” Tears welled up in your eyes, and a few escaped, staining your clothes. Ignoring his judgmental gaze, you lowered your head to wipe your eyes and nose, sniffling as a mixture of tears and snot streamed down your face.

“That still doesn’t explain anything,” he snapped.

Casting him a look of disbelief, you realised that explaining this to him like he was a child was futile; he refused to see your perspective. “You’re becoming just like your father in the later years of his marriage, and I’m forced to walk in your mother’s footsteps. I have no friends left because of you; they’re terrified you’ll harm them if they speak up about my new life. I’m lonely, and you’re not listening. I take part of the blame for following you, but you...you’re tearing apart the rest of my life.”

“They’re not your friends if they’re worried about me making advances,” he retorted, his tone dripping with an air of self–righteousness, as if he had just uttered the wisdom of the ages. “But seriously, how am I ruining your life when I’m just clearing away obstacles?”

A surge of rage erupted within you, the lid of your patience finally blown off, and your words spilt out uncontrollably. “Because you never listen to me! You always believe what you’re doing is for the best, even when I’m clearly unhappy! I’m lonely because you drive everyone away; you don’t offer me the comfort and support you used to! You dismiss my concerns, telling me I’m complaining too much or that I’m a bother. You pick fights with anyone who disagrees with your family’s actions, and it terrifies people! I can’t go on like this anymore, and I’m exhausted!”

He stood there, silent and immobile in the doorway, his face contorting in a mix of confusion and disbelief. His expression seemed to ask, “What are you saying?” as he gingerly placed the wine glass on a nearby shelf in the closet. He opened his mouth to respond, but then hesitated, a deep frown furrowing his brow as he watched you spin around and begin gathering the clothes scattered on the floor, stuffing them into a bag. “W–What are you doing?” he stammered, his voice tinged with concern.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you groaned, forcefully shoving another set of clothes into the bag, your frustration evident. “I’m leaving. This life here isn’t for me.”

Your words hit him like a ton of bricks. Leave? You couldn’t be serious. Your home was with him, your lives were intertwined, and the idea of you leaving him was incomprehensible.

Stumbling forward in a state of shock, he cried out in anguish, “Y–You can’t leave me! We’re married, we have a bond, a life together! You can’t just abandon me! Tell me this is some kind of cruel joke, my love?” Your silence only fuelled his panic, pushing him toward hysterics. He knew that when you fell silent, it was a grave sign of your seriousness, and the waves of displeasure and dissatisfaction coursing through your bond were tearing him apart. He wanted to reach out and shake you, but he had no idea how you’d react.

“Y/N, please answer me, darling? I beg you, tell me you’re not leaving, that you’re just taking a break, perhaps some time away in the cabin?” His voice was filled with anguish and guilt, only now realising the gravity of your pleas as reality crashed down upon him.

You breathed heavily as you continued to gather your belongings, doing your best to avoid eye contact with his anguished performance. Where was this reaction when you first voiced your concerns? “I have every reason to leave, Your Highness. Removing myself from your presence is what I need, and I hope it brings me peace.”

“No! You can’t leave me. I—I love you! Can’t you see that? All those fights I got into defending you from insults and harm, it was because I love you! There was more to them than what meets the eye!” He pleaded with a heavy burden of guilt and regret, willing to get down on his knees if it meant you’d stay, but his pride seemed to hold him back.

Finally gathering all your belongings and slinging the bags over your shoulders, you didn’t bother changing into travel clothes. You’d do that later at a tavern along the way. As you moved toward the exit, Celegorm’s presence blocked your path. “I—…You have every right to be upset with me right now, and I know this, but… Give me a chance, just one chance to make things right! I can change.”

“Why didn’t you change before when you had the chance, instead of now?” He stood there, mouth agape, speechless. “I’ve had wonderful moments with you for most of my life, but these last few years have tarnished everything. And as much as I blame myself, you bear a share of responsibility. Now, step aside and let me leave in peace.” With that, you pushed past him, determined to embark on a new chapter of your life, leaving behind the turbulent past that had brought you to this point.

You didn’t spare him a glance, even though your heart ached with the weight of your decision. It was a wonder how his mother had managed to stand her ground and leave his father, but now you understood what separation felt like. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to leave your heart at the doorstep or cast it aside entirely. All you knew was that making the right decision for the betterment of your life was a painful, but necessary, choice. You only prayed that you would manage successfully on your own without crumbling to the floor.

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[cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness]

— “c’mon, i can tell you’re freezing. i won’t tell anyone that you like to be the little spoon, honest:” - For whoever you want to write. <3

I chose to write some fluff for Astarion/Karlach. There's some mild spoilers of Karlach's personal quest, Astarion's backstory and act 2, nothing main plot though. Hope you like it!

Read on Ao3

There were many disadvantages to having a tadpole living freely behind one's eye, namely the unavoidable doom of becoming a mind flayer and having Faerûn destroyed and overrun by an army of said mind flayers.

Astarion understood the fears that struck his companions, he really did, but they were overthrown by the unique benefits that his state of possession had given him. His whole anatomy had been transformed, the rules that he'd followed for two centuries completely turned upside down.

He wasn't under Cazador's beck and call anymore. No more living through the shadows, he could walk under the sun and embrace its warmth once again. He could walk inside any building he wanted without needed to be invited, he could swim in any body of water. He was still bloodthirsty, figuratively and literally, and along the bite scars on his neck and his pallid skintone, those were the only remaining signs of his vampirism.

Hence his lukewarm willfulness at getting rid of the tadpole. If only he had more time to seek someone knowledgeable in ithillids, perhaps they could find to cut contact of the tadpole to the hive and keep it in permanent stasis. Unfortunately time wasn't a luxury they could afford, especially not now that they were in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. If a shadow wasn't trying to get at them, it was some vile creatures ambushing them.

At least the curse wasn't an issue anymore for them, with the blessing of Selûne, but the real problem for Astarion was the overwhelming, bloody cold. He'd forgotten how his body used to be severely influenced by temperatures, and it’d been fine on the Coast with its warm sunny days and temperate nights. But here in these lands, it felt like the chill seeped down to his bones.

It’d been days of this, to the point he couldn’t remember when he hadn’t been cold. It wasn’t so bad when they were walking around and getting into everyone’s business, but it was hard to dismiss when they were at camp and resting. The campfire helped somewhat, but he feared that if he sat any closer he’d been sitting in it, and he didn’t want the others to know his predicament.

He trusted them somewhat, but not enough to disclose his discomfort. He wasn’t the only one afflicted by the weather, seeing as Gale was using a spell to keep himself warm and cosy. He hadn’t even offered it to anyone, the prick. Not that Astarion would’ve accepted, mind you, but it appeared wizard schools taught no manners.

He tightened his hold on his thin blanket and sighed. At least everyone were getting ready for sleep. Perhaps he’d find some comfort in his bedroll, if not in meditation. The cold was reminded him of when he’d been trapped in a tomb for a year as punishment. That was why he was reacting so badly to it, he was realising.

“Hey soldier,” Karlach said, joining him by the fire. She probably was immune to the cold, with her engine heart running so hot. They’d visited Dammon to upgrade it a second time, where Astarion had been in earshot when he told her it was only a temporary solution.

“Evening, darling.” Astarion was massaging his stiff hands, not managing to improve their state much.

“I know you’re normally pale, but not this blue pale. Are you feeling alright?”

Astarion hesitated. Beside Wyll, she was the most trustworthy of the companions. She was loyal to a fault, despite being betrayed in the past. He wasn’t sure whether to call it naivete or resilience. “I’m just cold. The curse on these lands, its chill seeps through our blessing it seems.”

Karlach made a sound and approached him. “You should’ve told me, I run almost too hot for this plane after all. Unless you don’t trust that I wouldn’t hurt you, which I understand.”

Astarion shook his head at that. “Would it be too much to say it’s not you, it’s me?” They were only in close proximity and already he could her warmth, the glow of her heart pulsing steadily through her ribcage. It was a beautiful sight, if ignoring the fact it was killing her.

She crouched in front of him and extended her large hands. She wasn’t forcing herself on him, instead letting him choose. He appreciated that.

He slid his hands into hers. They were almost too hot to bear and his body instinctively flinched at the change in temperature, but he held on and soon it felt like his hands were dipped in a hot bath. So good and relieving.

“By the hells, Astarion, you’re freezing,” Karlach said, gripping him before letting go. Astarion almost whined in displeasure. He watched her retrieve her bedroll and spread it beside Astarion’s.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not letting you freeze another night. Help me with this.”

Together they spread the two bedrolls like a makeshift bed so they could both fit underneath. Karlach was the first to slip into it.

“Come on. I won’t tell anyone that you like to be the little spoon, honest.”

Astarion laughed and joined her. It was a tight fit, but Karlach didn’t seem to want space between them. She pulled him against her with a strong arm, hugging him. It felt like his limbs were melting from ice blocks and he could finally have control of his body again.

He liked that she smelled of ashes and fresh air, that her skin was scarred and tough when he rested his hand against her bare back. He’d been fond of her pretty eyes and easy smile for a while but hadn’t acted on it with her whole ‘my skin will burn you’ thing before, but tucked against Karlach, the warmth he felt wasn’t just physical. He felt comfortable and safe.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, soldier.”

[a-french-coconut]

Part 2 (Will Solace)

Will wakes up tired.

The sun greets him as usual but there is... a coldness that has never been there before. No matter how much he exposes himself to the sunlight, he can't shake the feeling that he isn't receiving enough solar energy.

His father must be going to a rough time.

It's not like he needs the boost of energy the sun gives him in the morning, coffee is more than enough, but he appreciates it. He'll just have to do without.

As head counsellor and main healer, Will spends most of his time in the infirmary, sometimes helped by Austin and Kayla. However, today he is alone and growing grouchy every time a camper enters with an injury.

A sprained ankle, second degree burns, dislocated shoulder, broken arm.

Will deals with this daily, he knows how to heal any of those and without problem. And he still does.

But gods does it exhaust him.

It's not supposed to. After years of honing his skills, broken bones are not the challenge they used to be.

Except for today and it's getting on his nerves. He makes back-handed comments to those coming to the infirmary, leaving them and himself bewildered.

Sure he is not always the sunny happy-going healer Camp knows but he enjoys healing.

Something is definitely wrong with him.

It has to be the lack of sun, he doesn't see any other explanation.

He stayed in the infirmary until after dinner, taking Kayla's late night shift after her sister promised him she would do the morning one.

There's no one except him, all campers are enjoying the bonfire.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock

Will watches the clock, waiting until it indicates 9pm and he can get out of there and in his warm bed.

He already made all the beds, rearranged in alphabetical order all the salves and medicines in the cabinet and looked randomly in the campers' files to find some interesting facts (he finally understand why Clarisse was always in a sour mood before leaving for college : being allergic to strawberries here sucks).

Will is bored out of his mind and ready to dash out of here.

Only ten more minutes.

He takes a bandage's roll and mindlessly put in on his arms, humming a tune his mother taught him.

Eight minutes.

He shoots darts at random objets, sometimes (mostly) missing.

Four minutes.

The door opens and Miranda Gardiner walks in, looking at him strangely.

He supposes he deserves it. As last form of entertainment, he resulted to stick the most ridicules band-aids he had to his face. Maybe not the brightest idea but sue him, he was bored.

The clock chimes, indicating the sweet moment of release except he can't really say to Miranda to wait until next morning.

"Hi Miranda, how can I help you ?"

He must be rocking the professional look, Hello Kitty, Minions and Rarity adorning his face.

"Hum, my head is hurting and I'm sweating. I thought that maybe I had fever and you could check ?"

Will groans internally. If Miranda happens to have fever, she'll have to stay the night. Which implies he also has to stay to monitor her.

"Sure, let me see."

He takes her hand and concentrates.

He can feel the blood flowing in her veins, and most importantly he can feel the immune system kicking in. She does have fever.

Will's eyes twitch.

"Bad news: you have a small fever. Good news: I can just heal you and we both can return to our very comfortable, cosy, plushy, and hum, luxurious beds !"

He completes his rather convincing argument if he says so himself with a bright smile.

Miranda just looks at him with concern.

He could heal her with traditional hymns to his father but he frankly does not want to. Fever is a sickness and so he'll get rid of it much faster with his sickness powers.

A flawless logic his father would proud of.

Hey Raz, I know I never ask you anything but could you heal this girl's fever ? I really need to sleep right now and that's not happening if I have to stay up all night surveying her.

Radio silence.

Will frowns, his little own personal plague spirit always took the chance to talk.

Raz ? You there ?

Still no voice in his mind. It's silent.

Will's mind is never silent. There is always a background noise, a buzzing indicating the presence of another spirit.

A buzzing, Will realises with panic, that has not been present since he woke up this morning tired.

"Hum Will ? You good ?"

Ah yes, Miranda.

"Obviously I'm good ! I'm great even, everything's peachy and sunny and I just have to, I have to, hum, look at your file ! Yes that's it and write down your fever you know ? Because I need to keep track of what happens to you guys !"

Without waiting a response to his disastrous rambling, Will locks himself with the files.

Raz is not responding.

He's been feeling down since he woke up.

He has not been receptive to the sun as if...

As if a part of him was not there to capture the solar energy.

Oh no, no, no, no, no, this can't be happening !

There is no way he's that unlucky.

Ten years of hiding his little secret so that no one knows the wickedness he has inside him.

Ten years of suppressing every pulsing of rage and wrath, cumulating power or power doing so, until it burns below his skin, the plague begging to be released.

If he has no control anymore over Raz and she decides to cause a little chaos...

Okay relax Will, she would start with something small right ? Like a cold, a fev...

"Will everything's okay in there ?"

His eyes widens and he bolts out of the files room, surprising Miranda who is beginning to look very concern about his mental health. He looks at her straight in the eyes and with the most casualness he can muster, aks her :

"Did a little girl touch you today ?"

The daughter of Demeter seems considering now to put in an asylum.

"An unknown little girl, about five years old ? Brown eyes and braids ?" he specifies.

"Huh maybe ? But what does she have to do with my-"

"Forget it, I'm just tired and blabbering nonsense."

Fortunately she doesn't push. It would be hard to announce her that a plague spirit is wandering within Camp borders and possibly infecting everyone she touches.

He heals her quickly, burning all the energy he had left and goes back to his cabin.

He may have had a panic attack on the way but nothing he couldn't handle really.

He's fine.

Totally fine.

Raz is not going to leave his mind until he's one foot in the grave when he catches her.

part 3 and 4 posted !

[talesofurbania]

Hi! I hope you are having a good day, take this waffle, It’s a little trypophobic but I can assure you It tastes good ;D 🧇

Can I ask for a snippet where Hero and Villain have a child, so one day Supervillain kidnaps the child without knowing about their parents, but the kid doesn’t seem or act scared at all, and when they got asked the reason of this, the child is like “Oh my parents are probably coming in this moment lmao” and then BOOM! You have a very pissed hero and villain about to save their baby

I love the overprotective family dynamics 😅, feel free to ignore this if you want

Of course you can!! Thanks so much for the ask (and the waffle, it was delicious :D) I hope you enjoy it. (Sorry for taking so long btw, I wanted it to be just right!)

Both Hero and Villain let out contented sighs as they walked through the front door of their cosy house and dumped their bags in the entryway. 

‘Home sweet home’, Hero grinned as Villain kissed them on the cheek. ‘I’ll go get Sky’, they said, heading upstairs while Hero unpacked the groceries they’d picked up on the way home. They heard the muffled sounds of Villain moving upstairs. 

All of a sudden a thump reverberated through the house and made Hero freeze with a capsicum in their hand. 

‘You alright sweetheart?’, they called, their voice getting higher with worry when nobody responded. ‘Villain?’

They dropped the vegetables and ran up the wooden stairs, finding their spouse standing unnervingly still at the door of their kid’s room. In one hand they held a bright red poppy, in the other an empty needle with drops of some clear liquid still clinging to the insides of the syringe. The bedsheets were rumpled and Sky’s chair had been knocked over on its side. It didn’t take long to put two and two together.

Hero turned to their spouse, eyes wide. ‘He can’t know. He can’t…I mean- we were so careful–’

Villain was finding it hard to speak through the pure terror that had a chokehold around their throat.

 ‘No’, they whispered.  ‘We were careful. There’s no way he can know, I checked and double-checked…’, their words trailed off into a gasp for air as they looked down at their hands. The red dye from the plastic flower smeared over their fingers, reminding them uncomfortably of blood. 

_____________

The child watched from their chair as Supervillain paced harriedly in front of them, wringing their hands. If Supervillain hadn’t burst into their house, jabbed them with a needle, kidnapped them and tied them to a dirt metal chair in what looked like a warehouse reinforced with heavy steel doors...well, the kid might have felt sorry for the poor idiot. They only wished they had some popcorn right about now. 

‘So what was it you wanted from me again? I kinda zoned out the first time’, they asked Supervillain lazily, lounging as best they could with their hands bound with scratchy rope behind their back. The criminal turned and stared daggers at their captive. Usually, their death glare would have sent even the most hardened murderers running in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for them, the child had seen their own parent practise that same look in the mirror about a thousand times. They were immune. 

‘I told you, you little brat’, Supervillain snarled, ‘I saw you at the bombing of the hospital last week. I know you recognised me there so don’t even try denying it. Consider this a warning. You squeal to anyone that I detonated that bomb, those words will be your last.’

‘Mmmkay.’

Supervillain could only stand stunned by this kid’s total lack of fear. Where was the shaking, the sobbing, the begging and screaming that they had come to relish? 

‘How the hell can you possibly be so calm?’, they finally asked, curiosity and shock seeping through the crack in their facade. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’

‘Keep your hair on man, I know who you are.’ The kidnappee couldn’t help a smirk as they glanced at Supervillain’s hairless head. ‘And as for the first question, it’s chill, my parents’ll be on their way here right now.’

‘Your PARENTS’, Supervillain scoffed, smarting from the dig at their hair- or lack thereof. 

‘And who exactly are your—‘

Supervillain was cut short by the door’s lock, which shot off and slammed into their hip. A split-second later, the door crashed open as Hero and Villain barged through, fully armed and suited up. The child just grinned as Villain aimed a gun at a suddenly pale Supervillain before snarling ‘Get the hell away from our kid.’

[theladyofbloodshed]

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 17 (This beast is nearly 9000 words)

A fine snow fell, dusting them as they winnowed to a magnificent castle nestled in the mountains of the Winter Court. It was a fortress of white stone shrouded by a thick pine forest. Nesta remained frozen to the spot, awed by the sight of the palace. It looked straight from a story, spiralling turrets stretching towards the sky, the grey slate roofs covered in a crust of snow. She knew from her studies with Maceo that the Winter Court had never been breached. The weather made it impossible for all except the Autumn Court to penetrate but they had never ignited a war with their neighbour. It would be folly. The mountains of the Winter Court protected its largest cities making them difficult to reach; even more villages existed beneath the ground where miners extracted gems to be sold for much needed income to the court.

‘Winter isn’t so bad,’ Eris murmured as he drew an arm around her body. His gaze tracked up to the castle, a look of appreciation settling on his expression.

Immediately, Nesta was grateful for his warmth. She nuzzled closer as they followed a representative of the Winter Court through the massive gates of the outer walls towards the palace. Their boots crunched and squeaked over the thick layer of snow.

Within the castle’s walls, children raced past them. Their laughter rang out as they pelted each other with snowballs. An older child with wings like an insect fluttered above them, targeting others, her giggles making Eris smile. Smaller children were rolling the biggest ball of snow they could while their parents chatted nearby. If they’d had school, it was over for the day. The grounds were large enough for smaller market stalls to pop up, creating a busy atmosphere as people hurried by. Despite the cold, many females carried pink-cheeked babies as they strolled through the market purchasing food. There were stalls of hot cider and little apple pancakes that caught Nesta’s eye. Their scent wafted through the air. More than the food, she was entranced by the children. All had the characteristic piercing blue eyes and white hair of the Winter Court, but even they were not immune to the low temperatures. Their noses were pink and visible breath curled in front of them as they scarpered across the snow. Parents had stuffed hats on their heads or wrapped them up in scarves.

‘There are so many children.’

Nesta had never seen so many fae children. She’d seen a handful in Velaris but this was something else entirely. The majority of adults seemed to be responsible for at least one of the children. Their joy was a beautiful thing. All day, she could have watched them playing,

‘It’s very cold and very dark here. There’s one activity that keeps those cold, dark nights exciting,’ murmured Eris in her ear. It should have been a throwaway comment to snicker at but she could feel herself turning beet red as she thought of spending a cold and dark winter with Eris. 

They were shown to their sprawling set of rooms in one wing of the palace that overlooked a sheer drop into a pine-covered valley below. Branches sagged from the weight of the snow. Their bedroom came off a gathering area where Beron stood scrutinising the view as if to take any every possible detail for intel. He might catch sight of a few birds swooping for shelter, but there seemed to be nothing but endless evergreen forests otherwise.

Eris hurried her along quickly to their room for privacy. An enormous bed was set against the centre of the wall. The heavy wooden frame was needed for the mountain of furs draped upon the mattress. Unable to resist, Nesta flopped on top of it, delighted as she sank deeper into the nest. 

‘How do they manage to do anything here? I’d simply never leave the bed if it was this cosy inside and so cold outside.’

Eris fell onto his back beside her within the web of blankets. ‘We do have a celebration to attend to so you might need to leave tonight. We could feign an injury to have an early escape.’ He rolled onto his side, propping himself up onto a bent elbow. He dropped his voice as low as he could. ‘We will need to share the bed here. I don’t put it past my brothers not to enter without warning and if they find me sleeping on the floor, tongues will wag.’

Her face grew hot again so Nesta avoided looking at him. She gazed up at the dark wooden beams of the ceiling. ‘I’m sure I could manage one night beside you. If you snore-’

���If I snore? Nesta Vanserra, I was blaming Safera for nights until I realised that demonic noise came from you.’

They went for their promised sleigh ride, wrapped up in thick coats, gloves and scarves. Nesta had hoped to take Eliška with them to finally speak with her alone but Beron had taken her to his meeting with Kallias. She would keep trying to snatch a moment alone with her mother-in-law for her husband’s sake – though the greatest obstacle seemed to be her father-in-law.

Reindeer were tethered to a varnished sled with red leather and bells. Eris shook his head and muttered that it was a tourist trap as he handed over a decent amount of coins and lifted Nesta into the sleigh. Sure enough, there were many sleighs lined up with reindeer or horses ready to pull visitors to the main city around on a tour. The court had to make an income somehow, and with little produce growing in the land, they relied on these avenues. Nesta reminded Eris of that fact as the driver charged them through the nose for two cups of hot cider.

On the padded benches were furs that they could bed down in for warmth. Heat from the cider rippled inside of Nesta’s stomach, making her brave enough to snuggle next to Eris, a hand slipping into his out of habit as the driver urged the creatures forwards. She had never been this way before – never so tactile. Or perhaps there had never been anybody to be soft with, never anybody who let her be soft. When she was angry or bitter, Eris had never taken it personally. He’d never tried to make her angry to prove a point. He had only ever wanted the best for her. When her storm met his calm, she was soothed.

Eris picked at one of the furs. ‘Do you think that when they can no longer pull the sleigh, they skin the reindeer?’

She brushed her hand against the soft, brown pelt. ‘Stop ruining this lovely moment.’

‘Reindeer is a staple food here. I’ll be sure to feed you it tonight. They like seal too. And fermented shark. A delicacy.’ 

Nesta pressed a hand over his mouth. ‘Eris, this is a moment lifted from my romance books.’ She gestured to the snow-capped trees the sleigh was pulling through. ‘Play your cards right and you’ll find out what happens in the final chapters of my books.’

His brows rose as she let her hand fall away. 

‘We’re playing pretend here, aren’t we?’ She backtracked in voice quiet enough that the driver wouldn’t hear. ‘We can be playful and romantic, can’t we?’

‘We’re pretending,’ he reiterated, stroking a finger down her cold nose then kissing the tip. 

***

Since the invitation arrived, they had mulled over the possibility of not attending. Rhys was already on edge. Taking Feyre out of the court whilst she was pregnant made him more volatile. Mor had managed to soothe a few issues. To refuse the invitation would further weaken their relationship with the Winter Court so Mor had gone ahead to seek out her friend, Viviane, to inform both her and her mate that Feyre was expecting a child. For that reason alone, Kallias shared some security details with Mor if only to keep Rhys’ temper under wraps.

Before they arrived, they knew which suite they’d be staying in – and there was the option to return to Velaris that night if need be. For their arrival, Kallias had lifted the winnowing restrictions on their suite so Feyre could be transported directly to their room. Amren would remain behind in Velaris with Varian but would remain on standby if they needed to winnow to them.

The central room was bedecked with white furs and rugs thrown across the furniture. All of it clustered around a massive stone hearth where a fire blazed. Azriel had reluctantly joined them, offering no explanation over his whereabouts for the last couple of weeks. He hadn’t tried to speak to anybody, merely arrived a few minutes before they were leaving, stared at the paintings in the river estate then winnowed with them in a show of solidarity.

Cassian pointed to their room. Two generous beds were tucked next to opposite walls with a narrow trench running between them. ‘Sharing like old times.’

Azriel shrugged one shoulder. ‘I can swap with Lucien if you’d prefer.’

The male had also travelled with them. He was more than happy to extend a hand to Elain to winnow her, much to her chagrin. He had his own room whilst his mate shared with Mor – dashing the latter’s fantasies of a rendezvous with Helion.

Leaving Azriel to wallow with the shadows that were already swimming around him, Cassian returned to their lounge. Feyre stood beside the window, a hand on her rounded stomach whilst Rhys unpacked their belongings. At the sound of his steps, she turned. Her eyes went wide then she side-stepped, blocking the window further.

They were only on the first floor – at Rhys’ request. He did not want Feyre walking up too many steps. Cassian peered over Feyre’s shoulder and was met with a sight that stole the air from his lungs.

The light was fading from the sky, casting it in a strange twilight that reflected from the snow. Nesta stood up to her shins in snow. The tip of her nose glowed pink and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. She didn’t look like the same female he’d seen in the Night Court. It was her smile that caught Cassian off-guard. He’d seen her smile like that perhaps once or twice and only for a moment or two. Her cheeks were stretched wide, the smile refusing to leave her as she trounced backwards in the snow talking to a Winter Court child. The boy reached as high as her waist and he was gesturing to the gap in his teeth where he’d lost one.

Seeing Nesta again felt like a punch in the gut. In the weeks that she had been gone, he had thought of her endlessly. Cassian had mulled over every meeting, every exchange, imagining a different outcome. He imagined himself rushing to her and holding her after she had killed the king. He never should have let her go. Whilst he had responsibilities to Illyria then, he should have made time for Nesta when she needed someone. Feyre had Rhys to lean on. Elain had chosen the wraiths. Nobody had gone to Nesta – and she wasn’t likely to ask for help. He thought of her on the last Solstice, barely more than a ghost. Cassian had caused an argument. They’d screamed at each other on the bridge, saying cutting words to force a reaction, to make all the pain justified. He wished he’d have just sent Azriel after her to winnow her home rather than trailing her, invoking her anger. He wished he’d have done a thousand things differently where Nesta was concerned.

Cassian had imagined her in the Autumn Court, beaten down and broken. At night, he’d hardly slept, warring with himself; should he damn everything and save her from Eris or bide his time and hope she wasn’t worn down there? He had been wrought with terror that Nesta was being hurt by the males there. More than once, he’d had to stop himself from flying to the Forest House to demand her return.

‘Don’t torture yourself like this,’ Feyre murmured, resting her head against his arm.

It was a deserved torture. He had let Nesta slip through his fingers.

Cassian continued watching her from the window. She’d managed to hit Eris with a snowball – a fact she was delighted with. She was trying to hurry though the snow, but he melted the path with his flame, making it easier to chase her. Nesta’s high-pitched squeal rose up to their floor, drawing the others. They saw the moment where Eris hauled Nesta into his arms and threatened to chuck her into a pile of snow. The Winter Court children playing with them encouraged it too. Cassian couldn’t make out her words, but she was fighting a smile and stroking his face, likely pleading with him even as he lowered her towards the mound of snow. At the last moment, he cradled her back to his chest and kissed her forehead before settling her gently back onto the ground.

Each moment was a slow, drawn-out injury. He expected Eris to treat her abysmally. Cassian had almost counted on Eris snapping at Nesta or hurting her in some way at the Winter Court to give him a reason to plunge his blade through his chest. Seeing his affection towards her was painful. A burning sensation grew in Cassian’s chest. Never before had Cassian seen Nesta smile so readily. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as Eris knelt in the snow talking to child. More gathered to him and Nesta as Eris brought flames to his hands. Her hand slunk against his neck, stroking the back of it softly. The male created birds from flame that sizzled through the air, acting as targets for the children to aim their snowballs at. Through it all, Nesta leant against him, a hand stroking up his spine as if she was unable to stop herself from touching him.

‘Eris Vanserra playing the kind, loving male in front of these adoring children,’ Mor muttered. ‘A tremendous actor.’

Azriel moved away from the window, shrugging his shoulders once more. ‘Or maybe we see the actor and this is the reality.’

A cold sliver of dread crept through Cassian’s veins. Could there be truth in Azriel’s words? He had nurtured a hope that when the opportunity was right, he could reach out a hand to bring Nesta home where she belonged. But that was relying on the Autumn Court being a miserable jail where she was sequestered against her will. Cassian hadn’t expected Nesta to relish Eris’ company. Hadn’t expected her to be giggling and embracing Eris willingly. She had never been so generous with her touch with him. They had danced around their feelings until they bubbled over, but with Eris, Nesta seemed drawn to him – and him to her.  

Lucien blew out a breath. ‘They’re perhaps more similar than we realised.’

‘Your old tutor is teaching Nesta to ease her into life as a fae,’ Azriel said flatly. ‘She stays with Eris’ friends, learning how to ride a horse or training physically. Eris is training her magic. She travels with him to the army where she’s endeared herself. She’s educating herself thoroughly. She’s happy.’

‘How the hell would you know that?’ Mor demanded.

Azriel threw up his hands. The shadows that had been slithering over his body skittered away. ‘Because I’ve seen her twice. And Eris’ friend won’t stop coming to Windhaven and arguing with me because of all of you.’

‘What do you mean because of us?’

‘Why haven’t you done something about an Autumn Court male coming to our court, Az?’ Rhys demanded. ‘You’ve known about this but didn’t think it pertinent to tell us?’

Azriel blinked at him. ‘Because she comes to watch over Emerie in case we torture her for information. Because Eris has ordered her to whisk Emerie away at the first sign of danger from us. That’s what they think of us.’

‘Why would we harm Emerie?’ Mor scoffed.

Cassian stared at his brother as if he had never seen him before. The aloofness and cold demeanour wasn’t anything new; Azriel had many spells of distance and closeness like a wave returning to the shore. Never did he think his brother would hide something like this from him, from any of them.

In a chair, Feyre settled. Her brows were furrowed. She’d been withdrawn recently – as was to be expected with a troubling pregnancy, an absent sister, and regular court duties. Rhys went to her side, stroking her hair. ‘I’m disappointed that you kept secrets regarding our court from us, Azriel.’

‘I’m disappointed you painted a portrait of a father who neglected you and not the sister who followed you to the Wall.'

A bracing silence enclosed the room. Night-chilled mist swirled around Rhys’ hands. Not that Az cared. The pair stood opposite each other with expressions carved from granite. Azriel was towing a dangerous line with Rhys so highly strung as Feyre’s pregnancy entered the final few months. The room seemed to cave in on them with such power swelling within.

‘Feyre owes Nesta nothing.’

Azriel glanced at Cassian then shook his head. ‘No, she doesn’t. And Nesta owed us nothing yet she is the one who had Beron listening, the one who killed the king, the one who now has a target on her back from Briallyn because we brought her into this life.’

The breath that came from Rhys rattled in his chest. In an attempt to subdue him, Feyre reached for his hand. His cold demeanour remained. ‘How can you defend her after what she did?’

‘What did she do, Rhys?’ Azriel asked the question softly, so soft that it seemed to tip-toe in the room, weaving around them.

And what had Nesta done as the final straw? Followed their rules, trained daily, worked in the library, then told Feyre the truth about the child.

‘It wasn’t about the truth, not really. It’s the fact that Nesta still dared to defy you after you took her home and her freedom.’

‘Az,’ Mor breathed.

All of them seemed to hold their breath, awaiting Rhys’ reaction. Even Cassian couldn’t predict what his brother might do – what either of them might do. He’d not seen Azriel like this before, so adrift within their group.

‘I dare say that Kallias would be fairly cross if the pair of you levelled his palace,’ said Lucien. He spoke casually though Cassian noticed that he’d taken a step closer to Elain, ready to spring into action and protect her if the situation arose.

Perhaps coming here was a mistake. It didn’t bode well for them if they had dissent within the ranks. Azriel would be punished for it – maybe not on this night, but he would be.

Rhys kept his feet planted as he addressed Azriel. ‘If you will be a liability, you may as well return to wherever it is you’ve been hiding.’

‘Leave Nesta alone tonight. Let her be happy.’ Without even looking at him, Azriel skulked to their room – but Cassian couldn’t let it lie. He couldn’t understand why Azriel would choose Nesta over them. What she had done to Feyre was malicious – even she would attest to that. He tore after his brother, throwing a shield at the door to block the others.

‘You’re supposed to be my brother. And what? Nesta’s more important than me?’

Azriel screwed up his face in distaste then perched on the corner of the bed, eyes glancing out towards the window. Cassian couldn’t bear to peer out of it again to see Nesta. Azriel’s scarred hands gripped the soft, white fur thrown on the bed as if to stop himself from reacting in a different way.

‘Do you actually give a crap about her, Cass?’

That hit him like a stone to the temple. ‘Of course, I do. How can you fucking ask me that?’

‘Do you want her to be happy?’

‘Yes.’ Had Azriel hit his head? Yes, he wanted Nesta’s happiness. He wanted a life with her. He wanted children with her.

‘Then look out of the fucking window, Cass. It’s not with you.’ Azriel scrubbed his face with his hands. His brother appeared tired. The shadows beneath his eyes were more defined than usual. More than anything, Azriel just seemed without hope. ‘I’m sorry. I am. I’m sorry, Cass. Emerie has let me stay at hers and Nesta was so miserable with us. I know you care about her, but I can’t condemn her to life with us. She doesn’t want to be in the Night Court. I can’t make her sad to keep you happy. If you give a damn about her, you’d sacrifice your happiness for hers.’

‘But Eris-’

‘Eris cares for her,’ Azriel interrupted. ‘I hate to admit it, but she is happy with him. Emerie said he doted on her. Neither her nor Gwyn are afraid of him. Eris hasn’t forced Nesta on a hike where she’s collapsed and hasn’t had to rush her from the city after his brother has threatened to kill her.’

‘Rhys didn’t mean that. You know he didn’t.’

‘Cass.’ Azriel stared at him in disbelief, shaking his head. ‘You’re still not getting it. If you think she’s your mate, why do you still put Rhys ahead of her?’

That caught him off-guard. He didn’t just think Nesta was his mate – he knew she was. He’d suspected it since the moment he had seen her, that beautiful mortal woman who refused to show any sort of fear. But Rhys had saved him in every way that mattered. If Rhys hadn’t taken pity on a sullen, orphaned boy, he’d likely be dead.

‘Rhys is our high lord. He’s our brother.’

‘And he would use you as a shield to protect Feyre. He’d kill all of us if we threatened Feyre in any way.’

‘I would never threaten Feyre.’

‘That’s the difference though, isn’t it? We all accepted Feyre because she made Rhys happy. Nesta has always been seen as an opponent. Rhys threatened to kill her – I don’t give a shit if he didn’t mean it, he still fucking said it, Cass. No matter what she is to you, she is his mate’s sister at the end of it all. Do you want Nesta with you if she’s miserable? If she’s afraid of Rhys?’

***

It was almost tempting to leave her slumbering. Eris lay beside Nesta watching her steal the sleep she wasn’t supposed to have. He’d told her to bolt the door while he showered, but when he’d returned, she was in the same spot on the bed, buried beneath blankets. Her mouth had fallen open. The fresh air had done her good – then she’d met the warmth of the room and slipped easily into sleep.

Eris skated two fingers up her arm until Nesta grumbled. She buried deeper into the blankets.

‘This isn’t fair,’ she murmured.

There was no necessity to play husband and wife in their rooms, but Eris couldn’t resist smoothing her hair from her gorgeous face.

‘Do you think Kallias would notice if we stole the bed when we return home?’

Nesta stretched her body as she rolled to her back. ‘If you steal this bed for us,’ a smile played about her lips, ‘I would never ever leave it.’

‘That does nothing to dissuade me.’

He had to haul her out from the nest with promises of treats and trips.

‘I had this made for you. If you don’t like it, I understand. But I will throw it into the fire to be dramatic.’

From the wardrobe, Eris retrieved a gown for Nesta. It was red and heavy, showing off her arms and chest with its scooped neckline. He helped her into it, holding his breath as her slip fell to the floor and her bare back was exposed to him. Black ink stretched down her spine forming an eight-pointed star. Eris recognised the shimmer of it to be magical. Now, what deal had his wife made that he didn’t know about. He traced a finger down her spine, making her head tip back towards him.

‘What’s this?’

‘Oh.’ Every sinew in her body seemed to tighten. ‘If I did one hour of training with Cassian, he’d do whatever I wanted.’

Eris had to bite down on his knuckle to keep from laughing. ‘Those were his terms? Anything? Anything at all?’

His light mood popped as Nesta turned. The dress clung to her chest. He tried to prevent his eyes from tracking down to her breasts but they were hard not to notice. She was utterly devastating. The skirt was split up her thigh but the gown was heavy enough to not notice it unless she strode. A small train dragged on the floor behind her. Eris could not decide if he wanted to tear the gown from her or make love to her in it.

Colour bloomed in Nesta’s cheeks at his ravenous stare. ‘Is it acceptable?’

‘You are divine.’

He smoothed her brow before kissing it. He couldn’t help himself. He knew they didn’t need to pretend here but Nesta was too beautiful to resist.

‘So that I understand it, Cassian literally promised to give you anything you wanted for one hour of your time? And you fulfilled your end?’

‘I’m not sure I like the glint in your eye, Eris Vanserra.’

‘Don’t full name me, I enjoy it too much,’ Eris warned, raising his brows. ‘Don’t you see the potential this has? We can bend them to our will. Let your friends visit or else Cassian dies.’

‘Eris!’

‘I won’t really – but they don’t have to know that. The threat should be good enough. Hand over your entire court or Cassian dies.’

Nesta sucked in a breath, making her breasts swell even further, the wicked female. ‘Eris, I don’t want to make Cassian’s life a misery. Not tonight, not ever. I just want to forget about him.’

‘You owe him nothing,’ he said sharply.

Her head cocked to the side, glancing at the fire. She’d frozen in the doorway when they had returned from their sleigh-ride. Her hand had gripped his arm then she’d begged him in a whisper to bank the fire and use his magic instead of wood to heat the room.

‘When you’re angry, your flames turn red. They’re golden when you’re happy.’

To embarrass him, his magic pulsed and flickered with such bright gold flame, it looked as if it were gilded. He hadn’t known that Nesta had ever noticed the subtle changes within it. The fact that she had sent a current of warmth running through his veins. Nobody had else had ever noticed. Then again, it had been so long since he’d had happiness like this, like her.

‘I have a reputation to uphold,’ he reminded her. ‘I want the Harp. I want your weapons in our possession. But I also want your friends to visit you and to save your sister.’

‘And if you don’t get what you want?’

Eris threw her an incredulous look. ‘I always get what I want.’

As per tradition, they followed behind his mother and father as the future rulers of the Autumn Court with his brothers flanking them. The Autumn Court had few friends; only a formidable army, a destructive magic, and a hoard of treasure unlike any other allowed them to be invited to such events. Eris had warned Nesta of that, as if she hadn’t seen it first hand at the High Lord meeting where she’d rendered him wordless with her power. He had been more interested in catching a glimpse of the female mated to Lucien that day. He’d known there was a third sister who had been thrown into the Cauldron, but she’d been of no consequence until Nesta had made his father stop and listen. No other had ever managed such a feat.

The ceiling of the ballroom was curved but thick, wooden beams crossed the width of it. Each one was dripping with garlands of crisp, white faelight and ivy that illuminated the room. Sculptures carved from ice were on each long banquet table. Delicacies of the Winter Court were artfully arranged on crystal plates. Eris nudged Nesta then inclined his head towards the fermented shark to prove he was not a liar and she shuddered.  

For a moment, Eris wished he could have looked upon his father’s face because the orchestra was made entirely of lesser fae. He imagined there would be a curl of top lip or a pinching of his brow in disgust. His father never did hide his prejudices.

They swept into the room, feigning ignorance to the sudden tautness running through the crowd at their arrival. No, the Autumn Court was not liked. But more than that, it was the first public appearance of he and Nesta as a couple. So much of politics was posturing. He drew Nesta closer to him. She kept her head raised, proud and fearless, unlike his mother who bowed hers in submission to Beron.

Then, Eris realised, the drop in volume was for another reason. The Night Court had already arrived. The High Lady of the court had commanded attention. She carried the heir of the Night Court and her mate stood to attention beside her. Eyes flitted between her and Nesta trying to guess what was the cause of the fractured relationship.  

‘What a ghastly outfit,’ murmured Uther behind him.

Eris was inclined to agree. Although heavily-pregnant, Feyre wore a dress of sparkling black panels that exposed much of her swollen body. She didn’t look at all comfortable and Eris almost pitied her. Still, she had chosen the life of the high lord’s trophy. She was happy to play his whore in the public domain. Silently, he vowed to himself that if he ever tried such a thing with Nesta, she deserved the chance to kill him.

Eventually, the chatter rose again as folk mingled for the first time since the meeting in a broken-down human manor after the war. It was an opportunity for Eris to forge alliances under his father’s watchful eye. He couldn’t be too ambitious, but he was loathe to waste an opportunity either. Holding Nesta’s hand, he aimed for the Summer Court delegate, hoping to seek out its princess, Cresseida. She was a female who did not mince her words; a fact Eris was glad for. He also imagined her becoming a companion of his wife one day; two females who did not yield.

‘Has Eris Vanserra gone soft,’ came a deep, smooth voice.

The High Lord of the Day Court stood with Rhysand, Feyre and a handful of others that Eris didn’t recognise, likely from Helion’s own court. He saw a pair of Illyrian wings, the towering male keeping his shoulder to them, engaging another in conversation rather than acknowledging him and Nesta fully – but likely listening in along with his sneaking glances.

‘I am tender only with my wife,’ he replied curtly, rubbing a hand down the tattoo on Nesta’s back. ‘Rest assured, I am every bit as vicious as I always have been. And if anybody seeks to ruin my wife’s happiness or harm her in any way, they will find out exactly how I carved my reputation.’

When he continued through the crowd, he was met with no resistance from Nesta. She’d simply turned from them, a cold expression on her beautiful face, and followed. He squeezed her hand.

‘Not too painful to see them, I hope,’ he murmured in her ear.

‘A little,’ she admitted, then, ‘I want to speak to Elain or Feyre. Both. Somehow.’

It was understandable. Despite the disaster that was his relationship with Lucien, Eris still searched for his face in a crowd, still hoped that he’d attend meetings in the Hewn City. And Eris could not help himself from hammering more nails into it, to say cruel words and hurt Lucien. He destroyed it further because he knew it would never repair. It was better to watch it burn to ash than admit that it would never be whole. Nesta still had a chance to repair the relationship with her sisters – but she needed to know she was not the one who ruptured it.

‘I’ll see what can be managed with Elain. Feyre will not be parted from Rhysand tonight.’

‘I haven’t had a conversation with my sister without him butting in since he forced himself into all of our lives.’

***   

If Cassian believed that seeing Nesta and Eris playing in the snow was painful, he was not prepared for the agony of them gliding into the ballroom. It should have been his arm that Nesta held onto, not that snake’s. Yet there was an undeniable balance between the pair that Cassian hated to acknowledge. They were cut from the same cloth; fierce and regal, proud to a fault. The Autumn Court suited Nesta.

They sat for a meal after Viviane had given a gushing speech about her mate to the crowd. The High Lord of the Winter Court stood like one of the sculptures of ice, perhaps wishing the roof would collapse upon him.

Their delegate was seated with Helion’s group from the Day Court which was perhaps the best choice given Rhys’ temperament that night. Azriel remained just as aloof and argumentative as the afternoon, perched at the end of the table with Elain and Mor as a buffer; they were the two best-suited to not invoking another argument with him.

Cassian couldn’t stop his eyes tracking to Nesta across the room. They always sought her out. They always snapped to her as if unable to resist. Never had she worn a gown like the one tonight. She turned the heads of males within the room, but her silver eyes only looked at Eris with adoration. The male kept touching the tattoo on her back. It was the only link Cassian had left to her and he knew the male did it on purpose to try and rile his temper.

‘Do you think he’s coerced her?’ Feyre was eating little, too nervous from Rhys, Azriel, the party and Nesta to manage more than a couple of forkfuls. ‘She didn’t even acknowledge us. Just followed him blindly.’

‘She looked through us completely,’ Mor said, frowning into her own plate of food. ‘I wouldn’t put it past Eris to not be controlling her.’

Azriel said nothing, but he folded his arms across his chest. Shadows slithered over him.

‘Will you try and speak to her, Rhys? Just see if she’s alright?’ Cassian hated the plea in his voice. He’d gone over the possibility of Eris giving Nesta whatever she wanted in return for being his wife. But what could he offer her that Nesta would want? Her head wasn’t turned by wealth. She had power and never wanted that either. It couldn’t be love. It couldn’t be.

They tried to remain casual, speaking quietly over mundane topics while they ate. Beside them, Rhys’ face slackened. Daemati powers reached out in the room for Nesta. For a long while, he didn’t move, didn’t even blink.

Then he sucked in a breath as if breaking the surface of the ocean. He fell back against his chair, wincing slightly.

‘You’re bleeding!’

Mor reached for a napkin. Sure enough, a harsh line cut across the back of his hand. The blood pooled along it like a row of rubies before a bead dribbled along his skin. He pressed the napkin to it, stemming the blood.

‘That’s not just a daemati they’ve got in their ranks,’ he murmured, eyes canvassing each one from the Autumn Court. ‘That’s the most fucking powerful one I’ve ever encountered.’

‘More than you?’ Feyre asked, brows rising in alarm.

He flexed his fingers, grimacing at the pain. ‘I can go into a head and rupture it. I can’t cause a physical injury like this by going into a mind. I didn’t know it was possible. Whoever it is, that's a power I've never seen before.’

‘What happened? Do you think it’s Nesta?’

He shook his head. ‘It was a trap. There were no mental shields and she was inviting me in. I reached for her hand but her wall came down on mine like a guillotine. I don’t think it’s Nesta. It’s one of them though.’

‘Eris?’

‘He knew enough about daemati to protect himself from us before.’

Trying to be subtle, they cast their eyes over the Autumn delegate once more. Eris had his arm around Nesta, murmuring something into her ear. Cassian felt Mor’s hand against his knee, pinning him to the spot. She’d read him well; read that he’d wanted to fly across the room and drag Eris away from Nesta each time they were tactile with each other.

With a flare of jealousy, Cassian watched as Nesta leant back against Eris’ hold then wrapped her arms on top of his. They had never been like that with each other. He doubted that Nesta would have ever let him touch her like that – or in public. Worse still was the moment when Eris kissed the side of her head and she seemed to exhale deeper into his arms. Even he had to admit that Nesta was comfortable with him. There was a lightness that he hadn’t seen before; her figure was softer, eyes brighter and smiles came more readily.

‘We must be on our guard. I’ll keep shields around all of you – but don’t seek them out.’

Cassian blinked. ‘And we just accept that Nesta isn’t being forced by Eris to be his wife?’

‘Like Rhys forced Feyre to spend time with him,’ Azriel grunted.

*** 

‘I am about to do something stupid.’

Eris tipped the last dribbles of his drink down his throat. He’d been watching his brother who mingled easily with the contingent from the Dawn Court over dinner, choosing to build his own bridges rather than sit with the Night Court. As dishes were collected, Lucien had chatted easily to Tarquin, the high lord of the Summer Court on the edge of the ballroom floor as dancers waltzed past them. ‘Is that what you said before we married?’

His wife rolled her eyes. ‘I’d like you to seize a moment with your mother in any way you can.’

‘My mother reviles me – and besides that, my father won’t ever let me near her.’

Even tonight without her gaggle of servants and sentries who jailed her, Beron had not let his wife out of his sight. Nesta inhaled then rose from the chair. ‘That is why I am about to do something stupid.’

He caught her wrist, skin tingling where their bodies met. ‘Nesta.’

‘We are in public. There’s nothing he can do to me here.’

She prised her fingers from his and strode with confidence towards Beron Vanserra. Nobody ever did such a thing. His heart was in his mouth as his wife gave a coy smile to the High Lord of the Autumn Court then gestured to the dance floor. Eris hadn’t known she could dance.

To his complete horror and surprise, his father took Nesta’s hand and led her to dance.

For a moment, Eris sat in disbelief. His father’s hand slipped into Nesta’s whilst his other settled around her waist, drawing her close. Their eyes were fixed on each other. To onlookers it might have been adoration on Nesta’s part, but he knew her better. Silver fire would be simmering in her eyes entrancing Beron. He couldn’t waste his wife’s diversion.

Eris sought out his mother, sat alone at their table. He hated how brittle he had to make his voice to command her to come with him. She wouldn’t have followed him without the barked order. As quickly as he could, he led her out of the ballroom and into an empty council room. His fire leapt to the lamps, reflecting off the long, mahogany table running through the centre of the room.

‘Mother, I am not the villain you believe me to be.’

‘I do not recognise you as my son,’ she replied, swift and brutal. ‘I have only one son and it is not you.’

Cracks spread across his heart. ‘Mother, please. I can’t-’

She raised a hand to silence him. It hadn’t been two sons she’d grieved for that day when Lucien was exiled, but all of them. All of them lost to Beron’s cruelty. Eris swallowed down his hurt.

‘Please believe that your goodness is still within me. It has never extinguished. Look for yourself.’

That gave her pause. Her russet eyes swept over his face then Eris felt her piercing into his mind, turning over his memories. It was a power her husband had never learned she possessed; the only secret she could keep from him. Her son only knew of it because he’d been a child who loved to lie and it was the only way she could seek the truth.

Eris stood as if being inspected. He forced his memories of Nesta to the surface, of being gentle with her, laughing and teasing; he brought forth his vast cache of memories of Orla so his mother could see he was not as wicked as the world believed him to be. He thought of all the dogs he'd loved and doted on as if they were his children. He hoped his mind was not black and rotted.  

Something broke in her expression.  

Tears welled in her eyes.

Without thought, Eris reached for her. His hand weaved into hers. It was so thin. So delicate. His mother had only been slightly younger than Nesta when she’d been married off to a tyrant. Within weeks of the marriage, she carried the heir to the Autumn Court. Barely a grown female and forced to be a mother and a wife. Eris had grown alongside his mother. He was closer in age to his mother than Lucien.

‘I thought you were lost.’

‘I will never be like him,’ Eris vowed, dipping his head to press his forehead to his mother’s. ‘I will always be your son. Hold on a little longer. We will see the sun again.’

***

It was only them. Only them and this ballroom. Nesta did not know how many dances she had shared with her father-in-law. The rest of the world was sepia compared to him. She’d fixed his gaze, held every grain of his attention to give Eris as much time as possible with his mother. Flames danced in her eyes, his too. Beron coveted her power so she let him see it, let him be tempted by it despite the danger. For Eris, she would do this. His happiness was everything to her.

Finally, a handsome male with dark hair appeared at their side as the musicians faded their instruments out.

‘Father, perhaps I could share a dance with Eris’ lovely wife.’

Without a word, Beron handed her to Phelan. Compared to the frostiness of Beron, Phelan felt like an inferno. His hands pawed at her, groping too tightly to be polite. The corner of his mouth tipped into a sly grin.

‘Now what web are you laying with my brother?’ he hummed.

‘Why would I tell you a thing?’

Phelan turned her sharply on the spot so the momentum had her colliding with his body. ‘It’s better to have me as an ally than an enemy.’

She pretended to consider it for a moment. The grip of his fingers on hers turned them white. She tried not to wince from the pain. Phelan crowded her with his body as if they danced a tango. Over his shoulder, Nesta scanned the crowds for Eris to no avail.

The male’s fingers dug into her waist hard enough to bruise as she snapped back into hold after another violent spin.

‘Stop,’ she hissed at him.

A slow grin spread over his handsome face. He was as Eris had made him out to be.

Phelan twisted her wrist as they danced, subtle enough that others wouldn’t notice, but it was enough for Nesta’s face to begin bracketing with pain.

A broad, tan hand grabbed Phelan by the shoulder, stilling the dance. ‘Move.’

Cassian stood before them on the floor, the red of his siphons matching her gown. Half of his ebony hair had been drawn back into a knot while the rest hung loosely to his shoulders. As usual, he wore his Illyrian leathers. Faced with the two males, Nesta knew who the safest choice was – but it was cruel of fate to deal her this hand.

‘Why would I let my brother’s wife anywhere near an Illyrian brute like you?’

There was a ringing in Nesta’s ears. The walls felt as if they were collapsing in on her. She swallowed. Again, her eyes searched for Eris’ outline.

Cassian’s hazel eyes fell to her, imploring her to seek sense and choose him over Phelan. Their sudden stop was gathering attention.

‘Play nicely, Phelan,’ she crooned, throwing off his arm as she reached for Cassian.

The male wasted no time in striding across the room, out of the thicket of dancers, with Nesta tugged along behind him. The music chased them down a deserted corridor. His hand fell away then Cassian whirled on her.

‘What is all this, Nesta? Dancing with Beron then one of the brothers? Why are you putting yourself in danger for him?’

Nesta stood taller. She was thankful that he’d saved her from Phelan, but she did not want to be here with him. Nesta wanted nothing more than to forget Cassian. Whatever they’d had – whatever they could have had – was over.

‘It’s fine for me to put myself into danger when it benefits the Night Court though. Do I understand that correctly?’

A streak of annoyance lanced through his expression, twitching his brows into a thunderous frown. ‘You volunteered to help.’

‘Because you all threatened that if I didn’t co-operate, you’d make Elain do it. There was no choice.’

Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. It was one method that Nesta knew he used to try and get a hold of his anger. She took a step back, out of his reach. Without knowing what had happened since her departure, Nesta knew this night would be difficult for him.

‘Just come home,’ he pleaded. ‘Do you want to live every day of your life in fear of Beron Vanserra?’

‘I would spend every day of my life fearing Rhysand in your court.’

Cassian’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘That’s a lie.’

‘He threatened to kill me, Cassian.’

‘He didn’t mean it.’

The guise was gone. Nesta could finally see Cassian in the light; a male who would never hear a bad word about his high lord. That was not the life she wanted. Nesta would never be put first. Rhysand’s long shadow would always fall across their relationship. Had Cassian not noticed how miserable she was – or had he seen and not cared because she was there to fuck when he wanted her?

‘Tell me why you want me to return with you.’

‘Because Feyre is your sister.’

Nesta crossed her arms over her chest. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. For so long, she’d been holding a crumbling building together, trying to keep it whole. Why? What was the point in trying to keep a ruin from disintegrating further? The sun never shone on her Velaris.

She allowed herself a few seconds to gather her emotions. Her voice level, Nesta said, ‘Is that the only reason you can think of?’

Cassian fumbled then declared, ‘I love you.’

Maybe once, Nesta wanted to hear that from him. Many times, she had wanted to be more to him. She had wanted more than being the female he sought out in the darkness. More than the one he tossed aside when his family were present. But Cassian could never treat her as more, could never give her more because he was too ashamed of her.

‘What do you love about me?’

The hesitation told Nesta all that she needed to know.

She turned on her heel but he followed, boots echoing in the corridor.

‘Nes, you’re the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen. Since I met you, I was drawn to you. I want-’

‘Why? Why were you drawn to me?’

Every moment stood in this corridor with him was worse. Nesta was punishing herself by lingering to hear his flimsy reasons. Hearing how little she meant to him was painful as much as it was needed. She could see him struggling to drum up a reason why he cared for her. A hand ran through his black hair. Eris had not hesitated to tell her when she’d asked why he’d cared – and he’d gone on and on with reasons. He had noticed every little thing about her. Cassian could manage nothing except her beauty.

‘You cannot tell me one thing you like about me, Cassian.’

‘I was ready to die for you in the war.’

‘Do you know when my favourite season is? My favourite food?’

Cassian’s wings involuntarily tightened against his spine. ‘That’s not important. I know you, Nes.’

‘That is important – to me. You don’t know me, Cassian. You’ve never tried to know me. You’ve just assumed what you wanted to assume.’

His vicious laughter boomed in the hallway. Cassian’s hurts came out as barbs. ‘Oh, and Eris knows these fucking things, does he?’

‘Yes. He does.’ Eris’ deep voice seeped over them as he stepped along the white tiled floor. He put an arm around Nesta, tucking her close to his body. A thumb drove in a small, smoothing circle against her hip. ‘Her favourite season is autumn, but only the early autumn when the leaves start to fall. The end of autumn scared her when she was younger because it meant winter was coming and they’d be cold and hungry. And Nesta’s favourite food is apple and blackberry crumble fresh from the oven and drowning in cream.’ Eris gave Cassian a tight smile. ‘And if that’s not available then she’ll settle for the crispiest roast potatoes you can manage.’

The pulse of his siphons warned Nesta that Cassian was skirting into dangerous territory. They needed to leave. She wouldn’t risk Eris being hurt by Cassian’s uncontrollable temper.

‘There is no court where I belong, Cassian. But it doesn’t matter where I go, because my husband will always be at my side. With my husband is where I belong.’

It would be so easy to let Cassian ruin her mood. For once, Nesta refused to let those feelings settle. She refused to allow her heart to bruise. Why should the pain linger? Nesta had come to terms with the fact that her and Cassian were nothing but a regret now; a decision made because she had nobody else to turn to for comfort back then.

When they departed, Eris tried to steer her back to their rooms, but Nesta forged a different path. Her fingers linked with his, leading him back into the great hall.

‘You’re sure?’

‘I want to dance with my husband.’

Eris gave a slight nod. Soundlessly, he led her straight onto the dance floor where his arms went around her. She danced with her cheek pressed against his heart. The soft thud was her anchor. Steady Eris would always settle her storms.

‘A heart can always heal, Nesta.’

‘It already has.’

Nesta closed her eyes, trusting Eris to guide her through the gentle dance.

‘Pretend,’ Eris whispered, cradling Nesta’s head against his chest. His lips grazed the top of her head.

‘I don’t want to pretend anymore.'

His hand brushed against her hair. Nesta remained with her arms clamped around his waist. She turned to look up at him. The faelights above them twinkled, casting him in soft, white light. His mask slipped. Nesta thought she saw disappointment in his expression.

‘I don’t want to pretend anymore,’ she repeated, stroking his cheek with her knuckles. ‘I want you. I want all of you. I want you in every moment, in every day.'

Then, despite the crowd, despite the world turning around them, Eris cupped her face and brought his lips to hers. He kissed her with reverence. Nesta did not care who saw - for there was only him. Only Eris mattered. The male who had led her through the darkness and showed her that the sun still shined. The heat of his lips against hers sent a flurry of excitement racing through her body. She was his. He was hers.

As Eris broke the kiss, the tip of his nose brushed against hers. ‘I love you.’

@owllover123 @rarephloxes @this-is-rochelle @sv0430 @fanboy7794 @sugardoll22 @kitkat-writes-stuff

This is my girl's gown by Teuta Matoshi

[mydarllinglover]

Alone || Bed-Time Tales

Previous

"How are my poorly babies doing?" Natalia asked, carrying soup into the twins room, Archie was tucked up with Bambi, in her bed, Daryl was sat beside them, making sure they were all cosy, whilst Evie was laying cold flannels on their foreheads, Dog layed his head on the end of the girls bed.

"They're fighting it." Daryl told her. "Kids are Dixons."

“They’re also Moores, thats what scares me.” She muttered, chewing her nail.

"It seems pretty easy to pass through." Evie explained. "The main concerns are their fevers and considering they've never even had a cold before, their immune systems are gonna be pretty weak, they need to gain their strength and stay hydrated."

"That's okay, you can both eat your veggies, and Mommy's gonna find out what special remedy's are gonna make my angels feel better." Natalia shoved Daryl off the bed, taking his spot, giving her kids kisses on their cheeks.

Evie grimaced at her father, who just rolled his eyes with a shake of his head.

"I've been gone for days, they get a lil sniffle, and all this?" She grumbled.

"Mommy, I don't like green food, it's yucky." Bambi pouted, holding tight to her bunny.

"Yuck." Archie stuck his tongue out.

"Yeah, they might be, but they're gonna make you big an strong, an' Daddy'll make them taste so good you can't even notice that they're veg." Daryl bypassed Evie's comment.

"That's okay, Daddy, you're not the best at cooking, but Mommy is." Bambi patted his hand, letting him down gently.

"Yeah, you weren't around when she wasn't." Evie grimaced.

"Alright, I want you two to get some rest, and stay in bed, Mommy is gonna take some soup to Auntie Ro's and make sure she's okay, and Daddy is gonna stay here and make sure my sick babies are taken care of when I'm away." She then turned to Daryl, her smile dropping and her brows narrowing. "Aren't you."

"Y-yeah, yes." He cleared his throat. "I got it, alright, ain't nothin' gon' happen to 'em."

"Bye-bye." She kissed their heads, again. "Mommy loves you, I'm gonna be right back, okay? I love you."

"Love you, Mommy."

"Bye-bye Momma." Archie waved his little hand, twirling his hair in the other.

"Aunt Nat, Daisy's trying to use the stove, again!" RJ called from the kitchen.

"Daisy Caroline, get your ass out of that kitchen!" She shouted down, pointing at her husband before talking to him. "Daryl, don't let him do that, it'll tangle into a huge knot, and he's not gonna like it when I have to brush it out. I'm gonna swing by the cell, too, make sure they're actually feeding Lydia, hopefully convince her to leave, too." Natalia told him, as she got up from the bed, and heading out of the room, ignorant to the huff and puff her husband let out as he resumed his seat, gently pulling his son's hand out of his hair.

"Wait, why's Lydia in the cells?" Evie asked Daryl.

"Your boyfriend attacked her, that woman yer mom kept arguing with, she was killed by Negan when he was helping her, an' she's beating herself up about it." He explained, in a low voice, trying not to raise suspicion from the six year old.

"Who, Gage?" She gasped.

"Yeah, that prick." He scowled, leaning his chin on his fist, as he ran his thumb along his youngest kids cheeks, as they fell back asleep.

"Daddy, Mommy told us to come up here so you could watch us, but she said we're not allowed in the room." Daisy stood at her doorway, staying beyond the door, RJ was stood beside her.

"Yeah, stay away from yer brother an' sister, you don' wanna come in here and catch this nasty bug." He nodded. "Yer Mom leave yet?"

"Yeah, said not to follow her." She rolled her eyes.

"Alright, Eve, why don' you-"

"Can't, gotta go handle something." Evie stood up from the chair in the corner of the twins room, rushing out to leave.

"Eve?" He hissed after her, but she was already out of ear shot.

"She's a wild one." Daisy shook her head, folding her arms.

"Says you." RJ looked at her.

"Daisy, shush or I'll puke on you." Bambi fluttered her lashes as she failed to sleep, with all the noise. "Daddy, can you tell us a story, please?"

"Don' you wanna go sleep?" He asked, picking at his nails.

"No she doesn't, Daddy I want a story too, remember me, your other kid."

"My Mommy tells me stories about the brave man."

"Yeah, and our Mommy never tells us stories about her, I want to hear about Mommy." Daisy pitched in, again.

"Alright, alright, how 'bout I tell you a story about both of yer Moms."

"Okay." The three cheered, though, Bambi's was a lot weaker.

"Back at the prison."

"The one in Georgia." Daisy added.

"Shush." She was hushed by not only her twin sister, but also the boy sat beside her.

"Dadda." Archie outstretched his arms, per usual, wanting a cuddle, cause he didn't know what else was going on, but his father obliged, picking the boy up and resting him on his lap.

"Alright, so, it started out with this one kid, Patrick, me an' yer Mom, we spoke to him, only that morning, he thanked us both for this huge feast we brought back, that we kept palming the thanks off to each other, this was before yer Mom took a liking to me."

"Did you have a crush on Mommy?" Bambi asked.

"Yeah." He chuckled, untangling Archie's hair with his fingers. "I hadda big crush on Mommy, the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen on the planet, an' for a while now. Anyway, so whilst we were all asleep, Patrick, the illness had started, and he died in his sleep, an' you know what happens when you die, right?"

"Yeah! You become a walker." Daisy answered.

"Right, an' the bad news was that, cause it was at night, and everyone was asleep, no one knew, so he just went about feasting on the people around 'im, and no one knew to stop him, until the next morning, when the other people woke up to the walkers coming at 'em. So they started screaming, me, Momma/ Aunt Nat, Uncle Rick, Uncle Glenn, an' Aunt Sasha, we raced over to check what was going on, the whole area was under attack, but it was all people who didn't have a clue what ta do, an' It was yer Momma that was saving all the kids, she was, she's incredible, faster than me and Rick, she had it, we were just back up. Anyway, we eventually found out what had happened, that an illness was breaking out around the prison. We had nothing to help these people, and they were thinning out, we had a murder case on our hands, our fences were falling down, people were dropping like flies, it was a mess."

"What happened with the fences?" RJ asked.

"'Cause of the gunshots, attracted a whole buncha walkers, they were clinging onto the fences, tryna tear them down, an' it was already bad before that, we were struggling to keep 'em up, when Nat, she had the idea of using the sick piggies, luring them out, letting the walkers go after them, whilst they fixed the fences, so me an' Uncle Rick, we rode out and did that, see, she don' think Rick gave her any credit for that, but he did, he told me, he always gave yer Aunt credit." He spoke to RJ. "They loved each other a lot, respected each other, but Jesus did they argue, like a pair of siblings, just as bad as these two." He nodded to the twins. "Well, anyway, Uncle Glenn and Aunt Sasha got sick, an' they were in quarantine."

"What's Quaran tin?" Daisy asked.

"Its uh, it's a place that very sick people go, so that they don't get other people sick." He told her, slightly loosing attention when something out of the twin's bedroom window caught his eye.

"Then what happened?" Bambi asked, when he got up from the bed, staring out the glass now, his brows furrowed.

"Uh, how 'bout I finish this story later." He said, putting Archie back down on the bed. "Think Aunt Carol's up to somethin' stupid, again."

"But, Daddy, you haven't finished the story" Daisy complained.

"I know, sweetheart, I will later, need ya to all wait here for yer Momma or sister, 'kay, tell her Daddy had to take care of something important."

"Mommy says to not leave us unattended, we're only little." Bambi told him.

"When I was yer age, my old man left me at home for weeks on end, ma mom was always at work or asleep, you'll be fine, just sit still an'... talk about Math, or something. Dog, come on, boy." He told them, stepping over the kids at the door, and jogging down the stairs, only thinking about what the hell Carol could be doing, wanting to leave Alexandria, Dog excitedly followed behind him.

"We're six, what the hell do we know about Math?" Daisy asked the other two kids.

"I don't think Daddy knows what we do in School." Bambi shrugged, shaking her head as she gently led Archie to lay back down with her.

"Your Dad's not very responsible." RJ told them.

"At least we have a dad, RJ." Daisy snapped back at the poor boy.

"Daisy, I'm gonna throw up again." Bambi warned her.

"Okay?"

"So pass me the bin!"

"Okay!" She rolled her eyes, covering her mouth whilst she entered her own bedroom, reaching for the bin.

"I feel like utter shit." Rosita groaned, sitting up, after barfing into her own bin for the past five minutes straight. "it's making me feel worse knowing the kids are going through it, too."

"We all get a stomach bug, they'll live." Natalia told her, letting go off the ponytail of hair she had been holding, for her friend.

"Thanks, by the way, Nat." Rosita told her, giving her a weak smile.

"Hey, its fine, I got you, always, remember how you helped me when I was pregnant with the twins?"

"You were awful." She laughed.

"Yeah, I was." Natalia agreed. "But hey, at least you don't scream and shout at me, like I did to you."

"You were so mean, kinda glad you were in the woods when you had Archie."

"Oh, I think I was much better when I was Pregnant with him, I only had one baby, and I had the kids constantly around me, couldn't do much to lash out on anyone."

"I missed you, when you were gone, so bad."

"I missed you, too."

"You never came to visit." She leaned against her headboard, Natalia climbed in beside her. "I thought that you might, y'know, to see Maggie, to see me and Tara, but you never did, I really wished you would."

"I know, I'm sorry." Natalia brushed through a strand of Rosita's hair, beginning to braid it.

"I never came to see you, because I thought you wanted to just be left alone, Tara said that if you wanted to be around people, you would be around people, that the both of you just needed space, time to mourn, not just Rick, but everyone and everything, take off all the weight you both been carrying this whole thing."

"I wanted to see you, I did..."

"But you never came."

"I know." She sighed, "I was just so fucking busy, and with Daryl, I just... I couldn't leave, not at that point, he needed that break, I needed to be around just my kids, it was selfish, but I just... I didn't know how much more I had left in me."

"Yeah, I get that." Rosita Whispered.

"Eat your soup, before it gets cold." Natalia told her.

"Yes, Mom." She teased, dipping her spoon into the soup Natalia and Daisy made together, but when she brought it to her lips, sipping the liquid, she pulled a sour face, desperately trying to neutralise it though. "Oh, wow, oh wow, can I guess who added the salt?" She wheezed, accepting the glass of water Natalia passed her.

"Daisy insisted Auntie Ro loves her salt, and Daisy knows Auntie Ro so much more than Mommy." Natalia recounted, in air quotes. "Let's just say Bam and Arch will be having something else for dinner, to make them feel better."

"Oh, yeah, but I can have this." Rosita scowled.

"Hey, I couldn't get away with leaving it, and you need at least something. Daisy'll be asking you how much you liked her soup, when you're better."

"And I'll be telling her it's the best damned thing I've ever eaten, in my life."

"Good girl." Natalia nodded approvingly.

"Y'know, I always wanted a little girl, a daughter, since I was little." Rosita told her. "Obviously that was before I realised I was in love with a woman, Tara and me, we were talking about it, only a few weeks before..." She started to choke up. "Said we'd have dibs on the next orphan, I don't think she really wanted a kid, guess she only agreed with it because that's what I wanted. I miss her, so much."

"I know." Natalia rested her head on her friends, holding her comfortingly. "We all miss her, she was amazing, she was... she was Tara."

Natalia eventually went home, letting Rosita sleep, but made sure to let the woman know that she'd return every few hours to make sure she was okay and on the mend.

"Kids? Daryl? I'm home!"

"Mommy, we're up here, still." Daisy called down to her.

"Where's your father?" She called up, heading up the stairs, spotting Daisy and RJ looking rather bored as they sat in front of the Twins bedroom.

"Daddy said he had to go stop Aunt Carol from doing something stupid." She answered.

"So he left the four of you unattended to go do something stupid?" She clarified.

"He told us to sit and think about math." RJ added.

"You're babies, what the hell do you know about math?" Natalia furrowed her brows, stepping over the two kids to check in with the other pair, who were sound asleep.

"That's what we said!" Daisy threw her hands up in the air, frustrated.

Natalia swept back Archies curls, feeling his forehead, that still felt rather hot, Bambi's was the same.

"Where's Evie?" She asked, stepping over the two once more, heading towards the bathroom to fetch two freshly cold flannels.

"Said she had to go deal with something."

"Wait, wait, hang on, let me get this straight." Natalia paused.

"Not only did Daddy, who said he would watch you, kids, his kids, his sick and young kids, decide to leave, but your sister did, as well?"

"No, Mommy, Evie left first." Daisy answered.

"Ho!” Natalia scoffed loudly, heading back towards the bedroom. "So he purposefully left you guys alone?"

"Is Daddy in trouble, is he gonna be grounded?"

"Yes, your father is in deep, deep trouble, do you know where he went, when he'll be back."

Daisy shook her head.

"Uncle Daryl said he would finish his story later." RJ let her know.

"Uncle Daryl might not be alive to do that, honey."

"Why isn't Daddy gonna be alive, Is Aunt Carol going to kill him?" Bambi, who had stirred awake, only moments ago, asked.

"No, baby, I'm going to kill him, go back to sleep."

"My mommy's actually killed people, she's so gonna kill my dad." Daisy whispered rather loudly to RJ.

"I wouldn't wanna be Uncle Daryl when he gets back."

"Daisy Caroline, you and Richard are going to be sleeping in your sister's room, tonight." Natalia turned on them.

"But, Mommy-"

"Go make yourselves comfortable, I'll be starting dinner in an hour, oh, and I'll be bringing your bedtime things down in a bit, I don't want to catch you going through their things, Daisy."

"I wasn't gonna." The girl rolled her eyes, folding her arms as the two young children stomped down the stairs.

Natalia was chopping vegetables when the front door sounded, the tapping of paws against the floor told her who it was.

Dog greeted her excitedly, jumping at the counter to see what she was doing, whilst Daryl strolled in.

"How's Rosita?" He asked.

Natalia ignored him, but her knifework got more aggressive, the carrot she was chopping was getting tinier and tinier.

"She okay?" He pushed, approaching her side.

She slammed the knife down, the hilt of it stabbing into the chopping board, staying upright on it's own, she then moved away, tossing a bowl of pasta into a pan of boiling water.

"You ain't talking to me?"

The next job was squeezing up tomato's blending them up for the sauce.

"Nat."

"Daryl, you fucking- don't, just piss off, okay, go." She turned to him, glaring daggers, pouring her anger into her sauce.

"What's yer problem?"

"I can't believe you." She shook her head.

"Hey, talk to me." He took the tomato's away from her.

"Our children are up there, sick. Ill, very, very ill. I asked if you could do one thing, just one thing! Be with our kids, stay with them, so I could help our friend." She pointed between the both of them. "And you couldn't do that! I have to come home to all four of them, alone, by themselves, because you wandered off! What the hell is wrong with you, Daisy and Bambi are six years old! They are babies, Archie is a literal baby, you left a one year old alone with his sisters, that can't even tell their lefts from their rights, and RJ, he's not our kid, Daryl! Which means, we can't make decisions, like leaving him unintended, if something were to happen, that is our responsibility and we, who we have to explain to Michonne if anything happens to him, do you not understand any of this? You are a father? It is your job to protect those kids, and as my husband, it's your job to do as I say! Not go gallivanting with your best friend whenever you feel like it! What if something were to happen, what if- what if our sick children, what if one of them were to have dropped dead-"

"Natalia!" He warned.

"No, Daryl! I am still talking. Our child drops dead, then they come back, they start on the other one, heading for the next, do you think Daisy could kill her own siblings, that a six year old can do that? Do you, cause I don't think she can, and I definitely know for a fact that RJ couldn't. Here's another scenario, the man, that had it out for us, kept me and you as prisoners, treated as dirt, because he wanted us as his "pets." he's just escaped, no one can find him, what would happen if I came home, and he was stood over our children with a knife, with a gun, with a pole. Or, his bat? Because, y'know, we are the ones who helped defeat him and his people, and had him locked up in a cage! Oh, yeah, we're at war, right now, with a crazy person and her clan of crazy people, who have been witnessed to do crazy shit, she knows us, she knows our faces, she knows we have kids, you especially know she's not above killing kids-"

"We took one of her people." He interrupted her.

She blinked, then again, then her face morphed into confusion.

"What?"

"Carol was sneaking off to go look for her horde, couldn't let her go by herself, stuff went down, now we got one of her people in the cell, Nat, I'm sorry, I had ta go."

"Oh, I'm aware of how high you have Carol on your list of importance, I just didn't realise where your kids were, till now."

"She lost her kid, Nat! You have no idea what she's going through, she's unstab-"

"There is no fucking way you just said that to me, right now." She cut him off. "I can fully understand and sympathise with her pain and her loss, and I get why she is so hellbent on this, but it's not your job or your place to act like her damn babysitter, dropping everything to run to her side, you have your own children you should be babysitting. If Carol's so determined on killing Alpha and finding this horde, that is her decision and her mission, not yours! So leave the damn woman alone and let her grieve."

"Is Aunt Carol in trouble?" A small croaky voice came from the hallway.

"Bammy, what are you doing out of bed?" Natalia asked the little girl, her bunny was in her lazy grip, a sad expression on her small face.

"Daddy said he would finish his story when he got back." She stated.

"What story, lovey?" Natalia asked her.

"About the sickness at the prison, and how you saved everyone's lives, and the piggies, and that Daddy had a huge crush on you, too."

"Bam-" He tried to cut her off.

"We got to the part about Uncle Glenn and Aunt Sasha getting sick, but then you left, what happened?" She then started having a coughing fit.

"Honey, honey just let it out, alright, don' force it." Natalia told her, rubbing the girls back, as she fell to her knee's.

Daryl was moving to get her a glass of water, but Natalia stopped him.

"No, Daryl, I boiled some, up there, get her that." She told him.

"On it." He said.

Bambi was still coughing when he also dropped to his knee's beside her, helping her slowly drink out of the glass.

"Hold on, baby, don' breathe and drink at the same time." Daryl told her, waiting for Bambi to stop catching her breath.

"Did anyone ever mention to you the special remedy Hershel used whilst we were at the vets?" Natalia asked Daryl.

"Nope, we were too busy being under attack."

"And everyone who was around are either dead or gone." She grumbled. "Carol would probably know, right? She knows shit like that."

"Mhmm." He nodded.

"Mommy... you said "shit" was a bad word..." Bambi whispered in an hoarse voice.

"I did, didn't I? Well, Mommy's a hypocrite."

"Does that mean we can swear?" Another voice asked.

"No." Daryl and Natalia both told Daisy.

"Bebe, are you okay?" She asked, half hiding behind the wall. "Mommy?"

"Yeah, baby, she and your brother are gonna be okay, speaking of which, I'm just gonna go find Aunt Carol, which also means that Daddy is definitely going to stay here and finish his story, aren't you."

"Yes, I will." He pressed.

"You should know, I do love you, but the love I have for my kids is more stronger than the self restraint I have from killing you If you put them in danger, again." She told him in a low voice.

"Ain't nothing gonna happen to them." He replied, in the same serious tone.

"Good." She nodded, getting up from the floor.

"Bee, get back into bed, your fathers gonna finish the story, Dase, you and RJ can go listen, as long as there's a window open and you stay away."

"Okay, Mommy." They both answered.

She went to walk towards the front door, but it had already opened, Carol coming through it, bits of food was stuck in her hair, also on her face, and neck, and clothes.

"The hell happened to you?" Daryl asked.

"Kids, go upstairs, I think this might have something to do with what Daddy and Aunt Carol snuck off for." She told the twins, still staring at Carol.

Next

[shhtickerbook]

Iced Chocolate

chapter two

chapter two is up!!! This fic is actually going to be a little longer than I originally planned. Lots of sickfic comfort for y’all. A03 link below too

Chapter one

As soon as Willy opened his eyes that next morning, everything felt wrong. The room around him was spinning, with the inside of his head feeling as if it were filled with jagged rocks. For a few minutes he could hardly even recognise where he was, he felt so revolting. It was so hot, yet so cold? A disgusting sour taste in his mouth that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you swallowed, especially when it hurt sharply each time.

When he attempted to sit up, the room practically bounced up and down until he had no choice but to lie back again. Willy didn’t think he’d ever felt this vile before, even when he ingested some exotic berries he was considering adding to a recipe. They were not suitable for consumption, and he learned that the hard way. A shrill whistle rang out agonisingly, Willy moaning and weakly trying to cover his ears with his aching arms.

Bleachers roll call whistle, but there was next to no chance of him making it downstairs. He tried one more time to lift his head up, but the pain in his head just pulsed painfully. He heard either room beside him open their doors, Larry on his left, Abacus on the right. There was a pause and a murmur, clearly both men wondering why Willy hadn’t made an appearance. With a gentle knock on his door, he heard a deep kindly voice.

“Willy? It’s rolecall, are you awake?”

Abacus questioned, remembering the state of the chocolatier last night after the ice incident. So when he just heard a groan in response, he turned the door handle to enter. Inside he was met with an extremely sorry sight, Willy Wonka lying back with a sweating feverish face, looking extremely unwell.

“Oh deary me.”

He quickly approached the boy, placing the back of his hand onto his forehead, very hot. The accountant sighed, clearly the hypothermia from the night previous had seriously weakened his immune system. He was shivering with fever, Willy confused how he felt so cold and hot at the same time.

“Fffeeel gross”

He mumbled out, talking making his throat ache more. Abacus looked at him sympathetically, he looked absolutely dreadful.

“Im not surprised, you’re clearly very unwell you poor boy”

He stroked his sticky fringe off his hot forehead, his sorrowful glassy eyes looking up. Willy tried to remember the last time he felt this sick, before a flood of what he thought were long buried away memories returned.

-

“Oh ya poor bug, this is what happens when you don’t listen to your mam yknow?”

Winifred Wonka held a cold damp cloth over her son’s burning forehead, it had been the first snow of the year and he had refused to come back in for hours. When returning to the canal boat he was far too hyper from excitement to care about how cold he got. Now he was paying the price, but he had his mother waiting on hand and foot for him.

She spent all day tenderly nursing him, replacing the cold flannel for his head, spoon feeding him her homemade soup and creating vast stories in her head to speak aloud. Although he felt physically terrible, the love and comfort from her was worth it all. But the best part of all, was at night. When he couldn’t sleep from fever and coughing fits, she would lay down beside him and hum that tune. Continuing to loop it until he’d fallen asleep, Willy couldn’t remember feeling any safer.

-

Abacus was taken aback by a sudden burst of tears from the poorly chocolatier. His flush face screwed up as tears poured down his hot cheeks. He felt so terrible, and just wanted his mother so. He didn’t want to be in this leaky room in a dingy wash house, longing to be back in their cosy canal boat. As well as feeling so ill, he was beginning to feel the smallest he ever had. But Abacus misunderstood the outburst, assuming that he just was feeling so dreadfully sick.

“Oh it’s alright, no need for tears you silly boy. You should be fine in a couple days.”

He began to mop up his face with this handkerchief, but the tears kept on coming. He could feel how clammy his skin was, couldn’t be very comfortable. The sheets were twisted around his body uncomfortably, clearly from restless tossing and turning all night.

“Your sheets are in a little bit of a tangle, let me just-“

He tugged beneath the blanket to try and smooth it out, but froze for a moment when feeling what were clearly cold and wet sheets. But he didn’t react, just pulled his hand away and patted Willys knee gently. It seemed that he himself hadn’t even realised the predicament, too hot and sick to really notice it. So he approached the situation carefully, with Willy already feeling so upset and dreadful, he didn’t exactly want to make it any worse.

“How about well get you out of these sweaty sheets, they’re in a bit of a tangle.”

But the attention being brought to them made Willy more aware of the sensation around his legs. Shuffling a little before whimpering as he realised what had also happened.

“Mmmsorry I’m so sorry-“

If it weren’t for his thumping headache he would’ve vaulted right off the bed, shrieked for Abacus to leave. Instead just tipping his head back in frustration, feeling tears dribble down the side of his face.

“It’s not your fault, you’re just very poorly. I’m pretty sure you have a nasty fever.”

He felt his forehead again, still very hot. Poor thing really couldn’t catch a break it seemed.

“But gotta sell chocolate-“

Willy mumbled, and before Abacus could response to the ridiculous suggestion, they heard approaching footsteps from the washhouse. Both of them freezing in alarm, it was Bleacher on his way to strangle them for missing rolecall. But when the source of the noise appeared, it thankfully wasn’t the terrifying giant.

“Is everything alright? I managed to conjure up an excuse for the both of you, when you didn’t turn up. It’s a good thing that him and Mrs Scrubbit are still very besotted with eachother”

The voice was soft, small and gentle. The complete and utter opposite of Bleacher. The opening to a concerned looking Lottie Bell. Who gasped at the sight when she saw the state of Willy.

“Oh my goodness, you’re sick!”

She exclaimed as she approached, realising it must be a result what had happened the night before. Willy just looked up at her, weakly nodding.

“He’s very sick. Meaning there’s no chance whatsoever you’re going out selling chocolate today”

Abacus gestured to the case that was still there pumping out individual chocolates. Willy moaning pitifully, they had been doing so well with sales. Possible customers were going to be disappointed, and he so badly wanted to make that money for the store.

But when he felt a cold draft from outside creep through the thin walls, there was no chance he was stepping outside this building. He felt so hot and cold at the same time. Abacus noticing how he was beginning to shake, being in the now cold wet sheets wouldn’t be helping.

“What can i do to help?”

Lottie offered, turning to Abacus. She’d done some nurse training when she was a teenager and still had some of the know how.

“I don’t suppose you could sit with him for a minute?”

Abacus leaned in a little further to whisper, not wanting to humiliate Willy. But he really could do with the extra help, considering how unwell he clearly was.

“He’s had a little bit of an accident, very feverish and sweaty so likely a bath will be needed as well. He’s also clearly feeling quite little I’d say. ”

Lottie sucked her teeth in sympathy, frowning sadly as she looked at the chocolatier. Who had still heard abacus through the whisper, trying to sit up.

“N-noo I’m fffine. Don’t”

But his head went all swimmy from sitting up to quickly, Lottie stepping in and holding his shoulder to gently push him back into bed. Kindly patting his hand, as she sat by him.

“Shhh, It’s okay darling. Just sit back.”

Her voice was just so soft and comforting, so he obeyed her request. Leaning his head into her shoulder as he gently tried to squeeze Lotties hand back.

“I’m really sorry- I didn’t mean to”

Willy mumbled, fidgeting uncomfortably. The wet sheets were getting very cold and nasty to keep lying inside. Lottie just cooed, rubbing his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about that, it’s okay. We’re just gonna get you cleaned up and cosy again”

She smiled, and even though she was clearly much smaller in size than Willy, he’d never looked littler sitting inside that bed. Especially as tears were still flowing down his cheeks, using the corner of her sleeve to wipe them away. She’d been only been informed lightly on Willys fluctuating headspace from Abacus, but wanted to do all she could to help her friend.

“I feel so ick”

He whimpered pitifully, feeling extremely sorry for himself. So Lottie just continued to softly rubbing his back until Abacus returned, who had dusting of snow on his shoulders. The blizzard that begun the night before had only thickened. If Willy had attempted to sell chocolate today, he likely would’ve keeled over dead within a few minutes with how he was feeling. Under his arms Abacus held some freshly laundered sheets and a leather bag in the other.

“Back as promised, fresh sheets and a medicine kit.”

Lottie stood up to allow Abacus to scoot back beside Willy, who was still very sorrowful.

“Lottie could you go downstairs and prepare the entrepreneurial suite? It’s the only one with working hot water and a bath.”

Abacus was of course referring to the false room that each of them had been fooled into booking for a night, before being carted off into the wash house dormitories once the “bill” couldn’t possibly be paid for. The likelihood of either Mrs Scrubbit or Bleacher noticing was very slim, considering how often the group of friends had been able to sneak out undetected recently.

Lottie nodded and did as requested whilst Abacus got to work sorting out the chocolatier in question. Unbuckling the black leather bag, Willy noticed a variety of metal instruments and bottles.

“First things first, temperature. Although it’s quite obvious you have a fever, I’d like to monitor it for now”

Abacus pulled out a thin glass tube, covered in lines and ending with a red tip. Wiping it down with a dust cloth before holding it out towards Willy.

“Open wide and hold it under your tongue”

But Wonka recoiled back in disgust, not wanting anything to do with it. Refusing to put the foreign object in his mouth, he clamped his mouth shut until his lips disappeared. Abacus just rolled his eyes amusingly at the childish reaction, chuckling.

“Come on now, it doesn’t bite.”

But Willy kept his lips tightly closed, shaking his head back and forth. Both his fever and lowering headspace affecting his opinion to a simple thermometer greatly.

“Well you see I’m afraid if you’re going to refuse taking this orally, there’s only one other way to get an accurate reading. And trust me when I say that neither of us will enjoy said experience.”

He said firmly with a raised eyebrow, Willy having to think for a moment at what he meant. His eyes widening in alarm as he put two and two together, his jaw snapping open wide.

“Good decision.”

[aylen-san]

Features of the diet of elves from Eonwe

Continuation of the story of Maglor and Eonwe. Still in Elwing Tower

Maglor entered the tower, realising that this lesson would not only be about transformation magic, but also an opportunity to right some of the wrongs of the past. He hoped he hadn't found trouble again, because Eonwë would be worried and clucking over him like a quack again. And if she got carried away, she'd try to feed him grain, worms and bugs instead of elven food. Fish isn't so bad, though. The main thing is not flounder, for some reason the sight of it made him sick.

However, beetles, scorpions and snakes were fine if cooked properly. He remembered how Eonwë, caring for him, had said that taking small doses of poison was good for the body and built up immunity to poisons. Maglor couldn't help but smile at the thought of Maya explaining the importance of these ‘dietary’ changes to him with a serious look.

Awakening from his thoughts, he noticed Elwing watching him warily. Her tower was cosy and warm, filled with light and the smell of the sea. Paintings hung on the walls, reminders of her former life, and Maglor felt that this place was her refuge from the world that had brought her so much pain.

- This is your new beginning, Maglor, - Elwing said, leading him deeper into the tower. - Here you will learn not only magic, but responsibility. Redemption comes through hard work and understanding. And you must realise that becoming someone is not easy. Tell me what Lord Manwë and Lady Varda have taught you while I prepare tea.

Maglor sat down on the soft couch, feeling the tension leave his body. He looked at Elwing, who had begun to prepare tea, and began to narrate.

- Manwë and Varda taught me many things, - he began, remembering their lessons. - Manwë spoke of the importance of understanding the nature of the wind and sky, how they affect all living things. He taught me to listen to the wind and feel its power. Varda, for her part, talked about stars and light. She showed me how starlight can guide and protect, how it penetrates the darkest of darkness.

Elwing listened attentively, her hands moving deftly and confidently, preparing everything for tea. Her face remained calm, but Maglor hoped his words meant something to her.

- They also said that the magic of transformation requires not only knowledge, but also an understanding of your essence and the essence of those you wish to transform into, - Maglor continued. - Manwë said that to transform successfully, one must not only know the form, but also feel it, understand its spirit. I also learnt the structure of a bird's body and how birds fly. Grandmother Varda even gave me this.

Elwing nodded, handing him a cup of hot tea. Macalauré, meanwhile, showed her his treasure. It was the feather of a great eagle, sparkling with a silvery sheen and shimmering with all shades of grey and white. Elwing, seeing the feather, could not hide her surprise and admiration.

- Does this feather belong to one of Manwë's eagles? - She asked, gently touching its tip.

The young Maglor nodded, smiling happily. His dark hair glistened in the sun and his eyes shone with joy. He was pleased that someone appreciated his treasure at face value. The feather of the Great Eagle, a gift from Varda's grandmother, was very dear to him. It was as if it held the light of the stars and the power of the winds. Maglor held it carefully in his hands, careful not to damage it.

- Yes, it was a gift from Grandmother Varda. She said it would help me understand the nature of birds better and learn the transformation more easily. When I hold this feather, I feel closer to them, as if I can understand their thoughts and feelings.

Elwing looked at the feather carefully, her gaze softening. She knew it was not just a symbol, but a powerful stimulus that could help Maglor on his path.

- This is a precious gift, Maglor, - she said, handing the feather back to him. - You can achieve much with it. But remember that the true power of transformation comes from within, from your heart and soul.

Maglor nodded, taking the quill back, and carefully tucked it away in the velvet pouch he always carried with him. He liked to collect various trinkets and mementos from his many explorations of Amana, even if they had no practical value. Every item in his collection held memories of adventures and encounters, places he had travelled to and people he had met. To Maglor, each item was a piece of the magical world he explored with tireless curiosity and love.

- That's right, - she said. - Transfiguration is not only a change of the outer shell, but also of the inner self. You must fully immerse yourself in who you want to become. It is a complex and difficult path, but I believe you can make it. Considering your famous family stubbornness.

Maglor accepted the cup of tea, feeling its warmth in his hands. He hadn't noticed how cold he'd been as he made his way to the tower. Macalaurë looked greedily at the various dishes on the table in front of him, eager to try them all at once, but he didn't know what they were and was afraid of being ignorant. His growing body demanded a lot of food and he often felt hungry.

The table was covered with various viands: fragrant bread, crisp and golden; various fruits that glistened under the light coming through the tower windows; fresh green salads decorated with brightly coloured fruit flowers and nuts; and many small dishes with sauces and spices that looked so tempting. It all looked like a veritable feast for the eyes and stomach.

Eonwë took good care of him, and the elfling loved him dearly, but he had to admit that their diet was sometimes a little too specific. Eonwë had recently taken to the idea of hardening the body and added to his diet dishes that Maglor had learnt to eat without too many questions: insects cooked in various ways, a snake baked with herbs, or a soup of roots and mushrooms, which although healthy, didn't always taste good. But he wasn't much of a cook anyway, and most of the food in the house was food given to him by various elves, and Maglor felt like they were sometimes joking around with the inexperienced Maia. Macalaurë felt that he had to save food in his previous life as well, so he had learnt to cook for himself and tried to be as fussy as possible.

Now, however, he was faced with something completely different. The dishes looked sophisticated and attractive, but he felt a little lost. He didn't want to appear with bad manners in front of Elving, who seemed to be waiting for his reaction.

- You can try anything you want, - Elving said, noticing his embarrassment. - These are common Sindar dishes, and I hope you like them.

Maglor carefully took a piece of bread and tasted it. The flavour was delicate and crisp, the warm bread warmed him from the inside out. Then he tasted a piece of fruit, sweet and juicy, which made him smile.

- It's delicious, - he admitted, feeling warmth and joy fill him. - Thank you, Lady Elwing.

Elwing smiled back, her eyes softening.

- I'm glad you enjoyed it. Bon appetit, Maglor.

- I wish Daddy cooked as good, - Elwing muttered, no longer embarrassed and eating the biscuits with both cheeks.

- Feanaro is alive? - Elwing exclaimed in astonishment, feeling a wave of horror at the mere thought of it. Her face turned pale and her hands trembled. Memories of past troubles caused by Theanor and his sons surfaced in her mind like dark shadows of the past. Elwing remembered fire and swords, the bitterness of loss and the pain of parting. She couldn't believe that this nightmare could come back to life, threatening her family and everything she loved.

- No, - Macalauré shook his head, still eating, -someone else is taking care of me. He's just not a very good cook.

Maglor didn't want to say that Eonwë was his adoptive father, because some elves said he was lying and that the Herald of Manwë would never mess with a Rhodomancer. Others, particularly those who were loyal to his family, thought that this foolish bird could not properly care for Theanor's son. They believed that such a child needed true elven guardians who understood the intricacies of upbringing, not an angel-like creature who, in their opinion, knew more about battles and celestial achievements than about everyday life.

Some elves even feared that Eonwë might have ulterior motives involving revenge or punishment. After all, raising the son of Pheanor meant taking on great responsibility and the associated risk. They surmised that sooner or later, the Rhodomancer's past would catch up with him, and he would become a target for those who had not yet forgiven the deeds of House Theanor.

Elfing stood in front of Elwing, feeling her steady gaze. He knew that she too could have been one of those who doubted his current guardian, and so he preferred to keep that information to himself. But the stares and whispers of the elves, their suspicions and fears, all of it made him uneasy. After all, he knew that Eonwë cared for him more than anyone else, even if his methods were unusual.

Maglor lowered his head, contemplating how to explain the situation. He felt vulnerable and anxious, afraid that his words would be misunderstood or worse, rejected. He couldn't afford to lose those fragile sprouts of trust that might have sprung up between him and Elwing.

- Not too much, how much? You're looking at the biscuit as if you're seeing it for the first time, - Elwing remarked indignantly, the idea of taking Maglor for herself becoming more and more appealing. His current guardian didn't seem to be taking good care of the boy. Why else would he be so hungry?

- Well, - Maglor began, munching on another bite of biscuit, ‘he cares for me, I know that, but his culinary skills...’ - Maglor wrinkled his nose, remembering one particularly bad dinner. - Left a lot to be desired.

Elwing looked at him with growing concern. She sensed that Maglor was telling the truth, and that only strengthened her resolve. This boy deserved better than what he was being offered now. Elwing smiled, her heart filled with determination and warmth. It seemed that her path and Maglor's had intertwined for a reason. Not even a Kindred deserved to be mistreated, being only a child.

Elwing smiled, thinking about how to inform Earendil of the addition to the family. He would understand her and would definitely be pleased. And Elrond, when he sailed to Aman, would thank her for rescuing his foster father and raising him properly.

She imagined how Earendil, with his unfailing kindness and understanding, would embrace her when he heard the news. His eyes would glow with joy and he would tell her that he had always known she had a good heart. Elving knew for sure that he would support her decision as he had always supported her in the past.

Elwing also thought about the future. She imagined how Elrond would smile gratefully when he heard of her deed. He would say that she had acted wisely and magnanimously in saving Maglor and giving him a chance at a new life. Her son was rumoured to value goodness and justice and would surely support her decision.

- Maglor, - she turned to the boy when he finally broke away from the biscuits, -I want you to know that you can always ask for help.

[sailxrmxrs]

took a little break from writing to recharge the brain but expect some fun christmas content now that december is upon us. before the fesitivities begin, however, let's give alexei a little moment to shine bc i haven't actually written a solo fic for him yet. today we change that. now everyone's beloved science boy is for SURE the type to overwork himself and not realise until he gets sick so who else should take care of him other than mc <3 also bc a sleepy alexei is adorable. enjoy the alexei softness gamers! also maybe opening requests again for some inspo hehe. fantasy rory coming to a tumblr near u too soon <3

Being roommates with Alexei meant a lot of late nights after work, sharing food you'd ordered in because neither of you had the energy to cook. A pleasant routine had settled and you couldn't really fathom a time before this close friendship with Alexei. However, something that set you both apart was the ability to relax. Where you valued your time at home away from work, letting your brain rest and indulge in comforts and hobbies, Alexei did not. Even when the two of you would watch a new show together, or go out for food, Alexei was always thinking about work. If he could, he'd stay in the lab working long into the night, only stopping when you physically dragged him away from his current projects. His late nights combined with his early morning starts meant it was inevitable he'd get sick. Despite his determination to prove otherwise, Alexei was only human. And that meant his repeated late nights would soon catch up on him and render him useless to his own immune system.

It only took a few more days for Alexei's inevitable fate to strike. You were cleaning up the kitchen from your breakfast, the tv providing background noise, when you heard Alexei's door open. Dark circles ringed his eyes as he slowly trudged out of his room, a blanket wrapped around him and his cheeks flushed feverishly.

"Uh oh. Someone's sick," you observed, taking a bite of toast as you watched him collapse on the sofa. "Told you to rest more."

Alexei answered with a groan, his energy levels too low to offer any sort of intelligent response. He burrowed deeper into the cushions, tugging the blanket around his shoulders for extra warmth. Despite it being a result of his own blindsided eagerness to work, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Alexei was usually a bright little ray of sunshine in the mornings so to see him look so defeated made your heart sink. Luckily for Alexei, today was a day off for you. Initially, you'd planned to spend it running a couple necessary errands before hibernating away in cosy clothes in your room but some adjustments could be made for Alexei.

"Instead of moping over there, you should get yourself back into bed. Can you manage any food right now or do you just want to sleep it off?"

Alexei contemplated his options for a moment before he begrudgingly pulled himself up off the sofa. "Sleep. Food later."

"Got it. Still, you should drink some fluids first. I'll grab you some water and a spare blanket from my room." By the time you'd gotten Alexei a glass of water and retrieved the blanket in question, he was already fast asleep. His body was so exhausted that he'd collapsed before even getting himself fully into bed. You left the glass on his bedside table, pulling the covers and blankets over him so that he would stay nice and warm as his body caught up on all the sleep it had missed. You pulled the curtains taut and quietly closed the door as you left. Judging from the gentle snores coming from Alexei, he wouldn't be waking up anytime before noon which meant you had a couple hours to run out for some ingredients to make him the perfect comfort meal. It wasn't often that you got to cook for Alexei so you weren't intending on letting this opportunity slip you by. Especially because you knew that in a few hours once Alexei was fully rested, he'd be aching to get up and go about his day like normal despite the strain on his body. Getting him to relax might just be the hardest task you've ever set to accomplish.

Once you'd returned home and got to work on Alexei's food, the real work begun. As you'd suspected, the moment Alexei woke up he made the executive decision to get out of bed again and join you in the kitchen, claiming to be all better now. Of course, this wasn't true in the slighest but there was little you could do for the moment so you let him sit and watch you finish preparing the ingredients.

"As soon as this is all in the pot simmering away I'm putting you back into bed, you know that, right?"

"I already slept I'm fine. Besides I have a report to finish for Monday," Alexei complained as he reluctantly drank sips of water while you glared directly at him.

"Were my ears deceiving me or are you seriously talking about work when you are sick. From overworking and not sleeping. Alexei Demidov I swear you are going to be the death of me." You halted your actions, a half-chopped carrot under your hands momentarily abandoned while you scolded Alexei.

"I'm not sick or overworked. I was just a little tired. Which I'm not anymore."

"Sure. Is that why when I checked your temperature earlier you had a fever? Because you are in perfect health? And don't even get me started on the overworking. I've never met someone more willing to work overtime."

Alexei puffed his cheeks in defeat, knowing that as a scientist himself he couldn't refute the evidence of his high temperature. "Enjoying your job is hardly a crime."

"True, but you can always have too much of a good thing. Perhaps this is the ideal experiment into why rest and relaxation is vital to one's physical wellbeing."

"Perhaps." Alexei sipped at his water, watching as you went about the kitchen clearing up the utensils you no longer needed now that everything was cooking. He quietly observed, only responding with little nods and short answers to your questions about the food. Having food prepared specially for him was a new feeling for Alexei, and it was one he rather enjoyed. He liked the closeness of seeing the process but found the gesture of you going to such lengths to look after him even more comforting. Even if he didn't believe he needed such treatment, he would have been lying if he said he hated it. To be doted on like this was incredibly rare so maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let you continue treating him like this? After all, he did have a slight fever—even if he didn't feel ill himself.

By the time his food had finished cooking, you were already ushering Alexei to either get back into his bed with the pillows propped up or onto the sofa where you'd drag his duvet and blankets. He opted for the sofa as he clutched the warm bowl in his hands and took a first bite. His eyes closed in satisfaction, the heat spreading through every inch of his body.

"You better not get any ideas of working even more because you won't be getting this sort of treatment next time," you commented, tossing the bundle of blankets beside Alexei so as not to spill any of his food. "Special treatment only for people who deserve it."

Alexei took another bite before answering. "You really think I'd do that?"

"Hm, maybe not on purpose, but yes. Anything for some more of my cooking," you teased, falling back onto the other end of the sofa, tucking your feet under one of the blankets.

"Never knew you could cook this good. I might need a lesson or two from you."

You'd gotten yourself a bowl of food to enjoy with Alexei, knowing the comfort meal was exactly what you needed after a long week of work. "Don't get excited, this is one of very few recipes I've mastered. Mostly because I made it all the time as a student when it got cold."

"Still, I appreciate it. Thank you." Alexei smiled, his cheeks still flushed with fever, but looking a lot more rejuvenated than they had been earlier in the morning. After he finished eating, Alexei got himself comfortable under the covers again, swearing he wasn't about to fall asleep. He was just getting cosy. Until you looked over ten minutes later and saw that same sleep-induced calmness cover his features. His lips were curled in the slightest of smiles and his hair tumbled over his eyes. A bemused grin covered your features as you rose from your seat to check up on him. His temperature had almost returned to normal but there was no need to disturb him now. So instead, you brushed the hair from his forehead, leaving a soft kiss in your wake before leaving him to sleep the rest of his fever away. But before you could go, a hand reached for your arm and weakly tugged. Alexei was still mostly asleep, the last remnants of his consciousness encouraging you to join him. What kind of person would you be to refuse such a sweet request? So you managed to balance yourself beside him, the blankets sufficently covering you both before sleep called out and lulled you into its grasp.

[true-blue-sonic]

Do you have any more sick Silver thoughts by any chance? (I’m beginning to realize my sickness might be more than just a basic cold after all 🫠)

Oh no, do you have corona? D:

I've got some headcanons for sure ^-^

I'm imagining a nice, good future where people have very advanced medicine and your cold is just healed in minutes if you take some medicine and stuff... and Silver is far too stubborn to make use of it. He'll get rid of this cold by himself because he is Strong and Persevering, thank you very much.

Thus he actively leaves himself miserable for days because he also can't sit still in the slightest, and thus he also refuses to take it easy and rest. Actively sabotaging himself at its finest, and yet he keeps trucking on. He's fine, and good, and everything is going well, except he's going to crash sooner than later.

Luckily his friends manage to talk some sense into him, after a long discussion wherein the facts had all but be beaten into his head. After that, Silver at least goes and gets some medicine and a drink, after which he takes a long nap to recover. But it definitely helps if there is someone there to keep him company and also ensure he does not get impatient again.

Silver likes making a little blanket nest to huddle away in, with some pillows and the like. It feels protected and safe, and it's all nice and cosy and snug. I figure he'll be alright with being around people, such as on a couch in a living room or so. It's nice for him to have some bustling and liveliness in his space.

I cannot make up my mind if he becomes more grumpy or more affectionate when ill. I figure it's grumpy for people he's not super close to, but his dearest friends and stuff are allowed to give him some pets, take his temperature, and help him with eating/drinking and taking medicine?

Silver's immune system is pretty hardy, so he usually is not ill for very long, luckily for him. But he definitely appreciates the effort people put into looking after him!

[captain-kraken]

For cosy asks, can I ask for 1, but also in a more general sense, how is getting cold treated within your worldbuilding, culturally or otherwise?

Thanks for the ask!

Do they get cold easily?

All of the Kontemnos, being iceblood gishars, are pretty immune to the cold. Viter is strange in that he is very affected by the cold, which he shouldn't be considering he's also an iceblood gishar.

The Solarks are the opposite and detest the cold, as they feel it a lot harder. Osin pretty much refuses to visit Rujav in Elohia because he's miserable the whole time, and just constantly complains about how cold he is lol

-

As for the general sense, it depends on the island and the blood-type of the person. Icebloods in general are less affected by the cold, though the humans definitely still feel it.

It's why Pellia (a location in Elohia) has such a strong fur industry, where they raise a specific animal that sheds their fur as they grow, kind of like how a snake does with their skin. Fur is one of Elohia's biggest exports, and is especially popular among the stormbloods who don't specialise in it on their own islands.

Eliamas are very popular as pets, as their body temperature is a lot hotter than most animals, so cuddling one of them is like hugging a hot water bottle. Plus, eliamas love hugs and being petted, so it's a win-win!

The other blood-types don't fare as well, especially the sunbloods who are extra affected by the cold, even the gishars. It's pretty rare to see a sunblood human who lives on an iceblood island, which is why Mefi living with the Kontemnos raises quite a few eyebrows lol

Thankfully for them, their own islands don't really get cold, except at night where it's slightly more chilly.