#|| a healer by trade and by heart ||

[unseelieships]

Ok so clearly not bringing Gale to Cazador’s fight was a mistake. Gonna scoop him up from camp real quick and try again. He’s gonna have 2 jobs:

1. Cast haste on me pre-battle so I can save Astarion in one turn

2. Counterspell

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

bruh he rly can't be stopped

ike was in second place at 95 wins, let that sink in for a minute

[ghouljams]

More Viking!Soap because I couldn't think of anything to beat knight!Ghost with and I need something to be cathartic no matter how small that catharsis is.

It takes another day to reach the coast. The waves beat against the cliffside, Mactavish’s hand is tight around yours as he helps you down the rocky path. Your feet ache, and you do your best not to stumble. His hands grip your hips, lifting you up off a rock he’d jumped down from. As easy as moving a child. You’re set back on uneven ground and he doesn’t look at you. Singularly focused, you think to yourself.

You understand why. Down at the beach you can see men, fire, a long ship with a curling bow. You grip Mactavish’s hand tighter, a small comfort you cease as soon as you start. He doesn’t comment on it, except to squeeze your hand quickly in return. 

“I should have asked earlier,” He mumbles, “you’re a healer, right?”

You feel your heart tumble into your stomach. That’s right, you’re only alive because you’re useful. Only brought along because he had no other options after your village was burned. 

“I’m still learning,” You tell him quietly. He lets out a breath, nods shortly.

“Know more than the rest of ‘em, I’d bet.” He assures you with a smile. “Say yes the next time someone asks, you’ll live longer.”

It’s not a threat, not from him at least, but it’s a guarantee. Healers live longer, and you have nothing else to your name to defend yourself with. He certainly isn’t going to defend you. You think it might be a chill from the sea air that makes you shiver. 

Mactavish walks in front of you down the beach. He keeps hold of your hand, as if you had somewhere to run to, and keeps you behind him as he approaches the other vikings. You peak around him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen men so big as them. The furs and paint on their faces denote their trade as easily as their braided hair and combed beards. Walking behind Mactavish you can see the tiny braids that wind through his hair as well, the small shiny beads and clips of metal hidden within the woody brown. 

One of the men near the edge of camp spots you both and makes his way towards your companion. Your hand is dropped to clap into the waiting palm of the other viking, who embraces Mactavish with a smile.

“What took you? Thought we’d have to send out a search,” The man laughs. He feels friendly but his eyes, a warm russet against his dark skin, sharpen when they touch you. “Just the one?” He asks, “Thought there’d be more willing to work.” Your shoulders stiffen, your arms close against your sides. Danish, you think, maybe. You know it well enough to keep your mouth shut. Mactavish glances at you.

“They were burning by the time I got there,” He says quietly, the danish feels so foreign on his tongue after hearing him speak gaelic. It breaks your heart anew to hear your tragedy described so callously. It helps seeing the other man’s eyes soften. “Tell Ghost not to scare ‘er, had enough of that for a lifetime,” Mactavish finishes, and you feel something squeeze in your stomach. The other viking nods.

“Happy to have a healer aboard again,” The viking tells you, his accent is pretty decent, the gaelic smooth on his tongue. “She’s pretty,” He mumbles to Mactavish, switching back to danish as quick as could be.

“Leave it,” Mactavish warns, his teeth bared with a flash of white. You tune him out, translating is making you tired, and look around camp. The fire is roaring, and men stare at you with open curiosity. Their interest makes your skin crawl. So many men, unfamiliar men, with the same propensity for violence as all vikings. You can’t think of a deeper abyss to throw yourself into, more bears to surround yourself with. “You alright?” Mactavish asks you, the gaelic snapping you from your thoughts.

“What do you care?” You snap at him, trying to keep your barbs sharp in the hopes others will see your bite. Maybe it will keep you safe. Mactavish’s eyes slide from yours, looking at the other men in camp.

“They won’t hurt you,” He tells you. What does he know? Men never think their peers are capable of the things women warn each other about. You say nothing, and after a moment Mactavish moves. Out of the corner of your eye you see him unfasten the pin holding together the fur around his neck. He’s quick to wrap it around your shoulders, hardly bothered you haven’t tilted your chin for him as he fastens it to your earasaid. “Gods if I ever have the time,” He mumbles to himself, his fingers toying with the pin. You get the feeling he’s not used to his gaelic being understood.

“You’ll what?” You challenge, eyes still fixed on the camp. His fingers hold your chin, dragging your attention back to him. It’s a gentle movement, but you tense at his touch. He’s quick to release you.

“Court you properly,” Mactavish clears his throat, fingers fixing the fur into place, “but this’ll do for now. You have my word-” his eyes are more serious when you meet them, “-no one will touch you.”

Sure, you tug yourself from his grip, you’ll believe that when you see it.

[brighteuphony]

@xoxo-lahh

So in this verse, Tsunade never ends up teaching Sakura- as that role is fulfilled by Chiyo. (But she DOES return to Konoha eventually).

And Chiyo's first rule (for everything lol) is: Nothing is Free.

Chiyo always demanded something in return for healing, and unlike Tsunade, she considered medical jutsu a part of her arsenal. If it could kill, then it was always an option.

So Sakura learned from that mindset, trading her services and using her rare skillet as a powerful negotiating tactic, especially during Tea Country's civil war. Her healing effectively kept her, Enji, and Saeko in relative safety and provided her a card to play when she needed.

And, while Sakura is nowhere near as jaded as Chiyo is, and often enough of a bleeding heart to help people for damn near free, (a place to stay, food for the night, a new holster for her kunai), she is also VERY pragmatic about her skillset. The civil war taught her that sometimes, letting someone die is better. This puts her at odds with Tsunade, who has a very different mindset (and was, historically, bitter enemies with Chiyo).

Another issue that arises with Tsunade, is that the Godaime is a doctor- while Chiyo is more of a healer. Their understanding of the human body comes from a different place.

Tsunade can name every bone and muscle and perform open-heart surgeries. Sakura can heal bone and stitch back together muscles and flesh on a very basic level, but she's never going to be able to open up a human body and revolutionize medical history like she does in canon. (In canon, Sakura creates a Jutsu that allows her to do a four-man surgery alone; she can't do that here.)

However, she can do some stuff that Tsunade claims is impossible—like reconstructing/altering someone's chakra network, unblocking tenketsu, sometimes turning off someone's dojutsu from a distance, and lite-healing remotely (Tsunade is very upset about this one specifically). A lot of it comes from her mastery of Genjutsu.

Genjutsu, as I reworked in my comic, requires a complete understanding of someone's chakra network to control ALL their senses. Sakura's understanding and control are so prodigious that she can almost autonomously control people's bodily functions (a skillset that is GREATLY aided by training with Chiyo's puppet mastery).

She uses Genjutsu as a tool to understand the body and employs it as both support (helping an ally maintain a sense of gravity as they're pulled underground or flung in the air, etc) and offense.

And that's it for the wall of text! Once again, thank you SO much for the amazingly kind words and all the interest in this AU! <3

[number-onekidqueen]

𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫

Part One Part Two.

Angst

Luke Castellan x Apollo!fem!reader

warnings: underage alcohol use, minor injuries, angst, denying feelings, surprise kisses

Parties were secret affairs at Camp Half-Blood.

Well, secret from Chiron, the one who would put an end to them. Mr D. could usually be convinced by one of his children to keep quiet if a dash of something alcoholic was poured into his Diet Coke. Once curfew had passed and all the younger children had been safely and snugly tucked in and Chiron and Mr D. had retreated to Big House, all those involved would gather in one of the emptier cabins that had older campers. The Hypnos kids would place a sleeping spell on the younger kids that belonged to the cabin hosting the party.

And then the fun would begin.

The alcoholic beverage supply was not immense, but there was enough provided from older Hermes campers to get, well, severely wasted.

Luke knew that path hadn’t been your initial idea, but you were well on your way there.

He on the other hand, hadn’t drank that much, stopping after he noticed just how much you had been drinking.

You weren’t usually like this. As a daughter of Apollo you were intelligent and responsible, a trusted head counsellor and a masterful healer. It was usually he causing mischief and getting hurt, and you patching him up and reprimanding him.

How the roles had reversed. Instead of your modest camp uniform and demeanour, you were in ripped jeans and a striped tank top and had converted into an absolute entertainer, lighting up the room. You weren’t acting like a semi-rowdy nineteen year old anymore, but a fully-wild twenty-five year old college student. He wished he was as drunk as you, because it seemed you were having the time of your life from how enthusiastically you were laughing with a random Ares girl you had traded drinks with.

Instead he was the only vaguely sober one in a crowd of drunk late teens playing inappropriate games or dancing. It wasn’t fun anymore.

The games were the only thing that kept him there.

“Ok… y/n,” one of your sisters - he couldn’t tell in the dim light, Apollo children all looked golden - drawled, pointing insistently to you. “Do a dare or spin the bottle!”

He observed as you appeared to think, contemplative as you sipped beer - gods you needed to stop drinking, please - before reaching for the glass bottle on the floor. The small crowd cheered and squatted in a wonky circle, Luke joining them and sighing lightly.

He hated this game. Hated how you would happily kiss anyone. He wished in these moments that he did have the courage to talk to you, to tell you how he felt and sweep you off your feet. And then it would be him you would kiss and hold hands with, and he would take care of you and do anything to make you laugh.

But instead you kissed others.

Finally, after a few clumsy grasps of the bottle, you drunkenly clutched it before giving it a rough spin. It whirled around and around noisily, colours shining off of it, and at that moment he loathed that gleaming glass neck, loathed it with a passion for pointing at everyone but him-

For not-

Pointing at him.

At him.

And by some miracle, by some grace from the Gods, it was pointing at him.

His heart raced wildly and he struggled to breathe as he glanced up at you. You were already looking at him. Your eyes looked golden in the light, and your hair covered most of your face, hiding your expression. He inhaled and exhaled shakily, hoping to calm down as he waited for your move.

You stayed still.

Still.

Still.

Maybe this was awkward for you, he suddenly realised, panicking. After all he was your best friend, of course it was weird to kiss your best friend. In fact you were probably waiting for him to call it off, but he’d taken so long to understand, he was an idiot.

“It’s o-okay,” he stuttered, cursing himself, “you don’t-“

You pounced at him, your lips smashing together. Immediately his mind went blank. It was burning, passionate, fierce, and somehow infinitely better than anything he’d ever guiltily dreamed about as he lay awake. He noticed vaguely that you’d landed in his lap and wrapped your arms aggressively around his neck. He was much more preoccupied by your lips, how they moved against his perfectly. How when you were this close to him, you smelled like chocolate chip cookies. How your lips and mouth and tongue tastes like flawless hot spun sugar. How you were into this, and into him. How all of his dreams had come true and maybe this wasn’t a terrible night.

And then you dragged a hand through his curls and it felt so good he had to fight not to groan, ugh.

“Get some, Castellan!”

“Something’s getting a little hot in here.”

And this meant nothing, he realised suddenly as the catcalls continued, his thoughts returning. Because this was all an act, something to impress the others and make them laugh from your boldness. Luke was just the pawn, something to elevate you higher-

He felt sick, his lips slowing, before stopping completely, pulling away from you. He faked a weak smile, drawing his face further away from yours and avoiding eye contact. He didn’t want to see the drunken humour in your eyes.

“Ok, your turn next!!” Someone yelled, and it was all over.

——————————————

So it stayed, an almost torturous existence before he noticed your eyelids drooping as you sleepily accepted the Ares girl’s shot glass. And finally, finally, he had an excuse to get out of this hellhole.

He walked over, dodging campers all around, before he approached, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, y/n,” he said softly, “I think we should get outta here. You seem kinda tired and so am I.”

“How did you know that?!” You asked incredulously, spinning around to him in shock.

“That you were tired?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh,” he chuckled awkwardly, “your eyes are all droopy, it’s kinda obvious.”

“Huh. Well, y’know what, I kinda agree. Let’s go.” You shrugged, waving to the Ares girl as you walked with him. You linked arms and he tried to act normal. You two never shared this much casual contact.

“What’s her name?” Luke asked, focusing on his surroundings, as you walked out the door.

“I have no idea,” you replied cheerily, breaking from him and taking a leap off the step. It didn’t end well, with you tripping and falling in a heap on the damp and cold grass.

“Are you ok?” He asked, knelt over you and concerned. You giggled, nodding and accepting his hand as it pulled you up.

“Ok, just- let me- hold onto me, ok?” He said, looping an arm around your shoulder to keep you steady. He held on as you laughed like a little girl and clung to his t-shirt all the way to your cabin.

The stars were nice tonight. For once, you could see them, like billions of shimmering white dots in the skies and it really added to the peace of the scenery. The air was cooler, there were no people, and it was so much quieter. More serene. He felt as if he could breathe. He glanced at the stars once more as he led you up the stairs to your door, before dropping your hand. Or trying to. You didn’t let go.

“Good night,” he whispered, giving your hand a squeeze and trying again.

Your grip wouldn’t loosen.

“Luke,” you murmured breathlessly, stepping forward, bringing your joined hands to your chest. He could feel your breath, warmth, pulse. Fast. Like his. “Why are you….”

“What?”

You looked as if you were going to say more, but couldn’t find the words, instead stepping even closer, and he could feel your joined hands compressed between your two chests. His chest was still, his breathing completely halted as your eyes observed him delicately, his eyes, nose, scar, jawline, cheeks, mouth, as if he was a priceless painting.

You met him once again.

It was softer this time. Your lips still moved in sync, but it was sweeter, calmer. If the other kiss had been caramel, this was smooth, gorgeous honey. As if you had all the time in the world to dazzle him with your smooth kisses. You probably did. Your hands were slower as well, leaving warm trails all over as they made their way down his back, over his sides and under his shirt, where your fingers traced the hard contours of his chest. He had to restrain the urge to shiver violently at your touch.

You pulled away a fraction, warm breath hitting his lips. “Come inside. Stay over.” You panted against them.

He wanted to. Tiptoeing in with a smile on his face and crawling into your bed, with you beside him? His dream. Being tangled in your bedsheets, waking up with every limb of yours and his twisted together, and your hair splayed over his chest? His Elysium.

But you were drunk, deeply drunk. And if he was ever lucky enough to experience any of that, he wanted to have the real event, where alcohol didn’t influence your willingness. He wanted you to be sober.

“I can’t.” He withdrew from you, out of reach. “You’re drunk and I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N, I’m your best friend, you don’t like me that way. You’re just drunk.”

“Yeah. Like super drunk.” You affirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “But that doesn’t change anything. I like you sooo much-“

No. Luke wouldn’t hear this. After liking - maybe even loving - you for this long, your drunk, confused notions would hurt him too much. He refused to listen.

“C’mon let’s get you to bed so your hangovers not too bad.” He interrupted, taking your arm and leading you into the cabin. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Needless to say, you would never talk about it again if it was up to him.

He left quickly, once you were tucked in, before you could give him a response, with a hurried ‘goodnight’.

Once he was tucked comfortably in his own bunk in cabin 11, he pondered the night’s events. A whole lot of drinking. Stupid games. Not one, but two kisses. Even if they meant… nothing. They were nice either way, and probably the only two he would ever get from you.

————————————————-

The next day, he admitted, was a disaster on his behalf.

He’d had a strong plan to pretend nothing had ever happened. And then while he was getting dressed, four of his siblings wolf-whistled and smirked when they saw him. Clearly not something everyone had forgotten.

And when he saw you at breakfast, wincing slightly and looking drowsy, the moment your eyes had flashed to his, all he could think about were the kisses. He couldn’t see straight, and stumbled while he grasped his breakfast tray, and before he knew it, he hadn’t even said hello to you.

The avoidance gradually increased. After breakfast, he steered clear of you, going straight to his class with younger demigods. He didn’t make an effort to accompany an injured camper to visit you, instead sending one of their friends with them. And during lunch, where he’d usually visit you at the infirmary and bring food, he stayed at Hermes table, with nervous feet rooted to the floor.

He could tell by dinner, you were confused, hurt even, from the glances you were sending to him. And he wanted to go over, make it up to you by sitting beside you and telling you one of the Stoll’s latest schemes, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. It was like he was a shy toddler all over again, clinging to his mother’s leg, and he was so embarrassed for it.

That night, he swore the next day he would be better about everything. Be honest, available and just see how things would go from there. You guys had been through anything. Surely you couldn’t let each other down for this.

He woke early, with a clear mind and went to retrieve breakfast for him and you. Finding you in the infirmary, rolling bandages, he took a deep inhale before stepping in, ready.

“Hey,” he greeted, cringing a little at himself as you dropped the bandage in surprise, and watching as it rolled all over the umber planks in white streaks.

“Oh, uh, hey,” you replied, scrambling to pick it up and sending him a distracted smile. Not the greatest start, but he could improve.

“Sorry I haven’t been around. Been busy, around the place with new campers, y’know,” he lied, feeling guilty, “funny, haven’t actually seen you since we-“

“Hung out at the party?” You interrupted, nodding.

What? Hanging out? Just hanging out did not qualify ignoring him till the party was over and then two kisses and an almost-confession.

Unless you didn’t want to acknowledge the truth. Apparently, this was the case.

“…. Yeah.” He hesitantly agreed, searching your eyes for any signs you might want to take back what you said.

You wouldn’t even meet them.

“Anyway,” he placed the plate down on the bench, faking a smile, “here’s breakfast. Have a great day.”

And as he walked out, disappointed that you had let him down, he couldn’t help but wonder how things would’ve turned out differently if you had been sober.

How he wished you had been sober.

[calisources]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒

All sentences has been taken from different media and soruces about life in the royal court, involving the introgue of succession, war, marriage, kings and queens and tournaments. Most of this are acceptable for all audience except one with some foul language. Chance names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

Ten years of shadows, but no longer. Light up the darkness, Majesty.

You don't know a woman until you've met her in court.

A queen keeps a court that is spoken about. A goddess keeps a court that is never forgotten.

And you, lady? Are you a woman of conscience or of ambition?

That's a question rarely asked here at court.

Court games aren't fair. They don't judge men by their worth, and they aren't about what's just.

We know all men are not created equal in the sense some people would make us believe .

Either you break the law, or the law breaks you.

There is no playacting in this court. If you stay your hand, they will cut it off.

Power does not pardon, power punishes.

Listen! The court jester's cap and bells. The King is coming!

He was a man with a vision- and an extraordinary vision it was.

The cat who lived in the Palace had been awarded the head-dress of nobility and was called Lady Myobu.

In every reign there comes one night of greatest blackness, when a King must send away his court of flatterers and servants, and sit alone in the dark with the beast called truth.

It is important to refuse to be intimidated.

They all come innocent in court.

Is that how you get propositioned at the court? 'Mylady, would you be so kind as to allow me to put my manhood in your vagina'?

They used to say that, in a battle between the lion and the tiger, the winner was the monkey, who watched from a distance.

Men love those creatures that need to be taken care of.

 If you want to tame a lioness you need to become a lion, not a goat. 

 A doe is easier to keep.

The woman did not care for empty compliments; to get such a woman, one needed to put forth effort.

I’m a terrible prince. I should put my kingdom first and everything else second, but your first. I want you by my side every second . . .

Once a King in Narnia, always a King in Narnia.

She calls herself the Queen of Narnia thought she has no right to be queen at all.

Plenty of people have told me you are not my father.

It is necessary for a prince to have the people friendly.”

Royalty is not a right, Captain. The willingness of the people to follow a ruler is what gives her power.

Here, in this place, by this people, I have been chosen. 

These men are tired of being told whom to follow. Now they have a choice, and they use that choice to call me Princess.

I am a princess. All girls are. Even if they live in tiny old attics. 

A prince ought also to show himself a patron of ability, and to honour the proficient in every art.

You should never have been only a little girl, you should have always been a crown princess.

You knew you would be sending me away?

A born king is a very rare being.

The world will need to know that I’m the last royal left. Their queen.

There’s royalty in me, but stronger than that there is adventure.

My life is the Crown and yours is politics, and I will not trade one prison for another.

Dignity is trained into royal children before they can toddle.

The first year of marriage is not always easy, especially within the Royal Family.

The real intelligence in the royal family comes through my parents .

The interpretation of dreams is the royal road to a knowledge of the unconscious activities of the mind.

The royal road to a man's heart is to talk to him about the things he treasures most.

The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known.

The winner will marry the prince.

You want to marry my daughter? Prove yourself worthy.

That is acceptable. A king is a martyr to their ideals.

f I rule the nation as king, I cannot ask to live as a person.

A wise king never seeks out war, but... he must always be ready for it.

All men need something greater than themselves to look up to and worship. They must be able to touch the divine here on earth

I am the First Imperial Princess of the Misurugi Empire! 

You can tell she's a princess, she doesn't need a crown.

You, sir, are the most uncharming prince I have ever met! In fact, the only thing royal about you is that you are a royal pain.

No one ever told her "no." 

 In no time at flat, she'll get herself established as his official mistress, with her own rooms at the palace.

These men are my bodyguards, their lives forfeit to the guarantee of my physical safety. Of their loyalty to me, there shall be no question nor doubt.

Some balls are held for charity And some for fancy dress, But when they're held for pleasure They're the balls that I like best.

Be careful of what women with gowns plan, specially in a ballroom. 

The art of husband seeking is something every woman has been trained since birth.

Many wives and consorts, of course.

Who is to rule when I am gone? You are a princess. I have no son.

Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.

Did I not mention there was another?

A king must always have an heir and a spare.

He was born to be a king... He rules men just by breathing. When he walks into a room, he commands it. People love him.

Two knights off to rescue a princess. Sounds like a great song.

As the king's brother, you should've been first in line!

 I was first in line. Until the little hairball was born.

That "hairball" is my son, and your future king.

My parents were... rather traditional. They wanted the heir and the spare, and I was left in the cold.

It cannot be easy being the youngest prince. To have others expect nothing from you, yet still shake their heads in disapproval.

 If my uncle attacks King's Landing I'll ride out to meet him.

You are in need of serious princess lessons.

 You're the new ruler of Mechanicsburg. You need to act like it.

Every princess needs a battle axe. Here. Use this one until we find you something more impressive.

You know what they used to write on cannons? The last argument of kings. I guess you could say magic is the last argument of queens.

A tournament has been arranged in your name, so you must attend and make yourself presentable.

They hope to find me a husband here. They said I am already a woman bled.

[that-one-zombie-crow]

So, thinking about writing a Secret Life medieval fic. If I do write it, I have the roles for the factions and members. Plot will be explained at the end. Here they are:

Grian, Cleo, and Etho are three nobles who rule for the King, Ren, when he is away. Grian is an avian, Cleo is a reanimated corpse, and Etho is just a normal guy.

Tango, Skizz, and BigB are all medics and healers who can heal people by giving them their “hearts.” Each week, they heal someone who has been injured.

Joel, Pearl, Bdubs, and Mumbo are all servants in the palace. Pearl is Cleo’s lady in waiting, Bdubs is Etho’s valet, and Mumbo is Grian’s valet. Joel is just a servant.

Lizzie is the gardener/kitchen staff. She grows vegetables and fruits for meals when they can’t trade for the plants.

Gem, Impluse, and Scott are a traveling drama troupe. Gem sings/acts, Impulse plays the drums/acts, and Scott plays the lute and acts. They are stuck in the city/kingdom when it shuts down.

Jimmy and Martyn are law enforcement. Need is say more?

Scar is a noble diplomat who is trapped in the kingdom when it shuts down. He helps advise the council (Cleo, Etho, and Grian).

This is the plot:

A strange group of people called the Watchers have begun a siege on the Kingdom, trapping the residents inside the city. They want to do an experiment of sorts which is carried out by all of the characters mentioned above having tasks they must complete before the end of each week. There’s a catch. Monsters such as zombies and skeletons are set loose in the city. The “players” do not heal naturally. They only heal by A) completing the task that the Task Master gives them or B) Giving their “heart” to another player. The latter works by giving a bit of their lifespan (a day or week of their life) to another person.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

okay, this is a halfway to 7k unedited fantasy au snippet! Out Of Context as usual!

some warnings for this one: blood, gore, major character injury, graphic description of injury <3 i had fun w/ it not sorry <3

~

The front door slams open, stalling all conversation inside. A flash of lightning illuminates the two forms huddled in the doorway, one considerably larger than the other.

Barnaby staggers a half-step inside, dripping water all over the floor. That alone has Howdy putting down the glass and moving across the bar to better assess the situation. Eddie is struggling to support Barnaby’s listing weight, and both of them are clutching at Barnaby’s belly. They’re both soaked through.

Someone gasps, and the folks seated nearest to the door stand and back away, muttering in alarm. Howdy’s stomach plummets. Some of the water puddling on the floor is too dark to be just that. Barnaby’s front, under where his massive paw is clutched, is drenched dark as well. 

Eddie catches his eye - he looks wild with fear. 

“Out!” Howdy thunders. “Everyone out! I don’t care about your tabs or if you’re not done - if you have a room, go there, if you don’t, scram!”

Some people cast him and Eddie dirty looks, but they start to get up, grumbling all the while. Howdy couldn’t care less. Not when Barnaby is leaning so heavily on Eddie, his breathing so labored that Howdy can hear it amidst the shuffle and scrape of patrons leaving.

“What happened?” Julie yells, running across the room from the neighborhood booth. 

“Make sure everyone gets out,” Howdy says, redirecting her. Julie doesn’t look happy about it, but she complies. The patrons start to clear out faster with her aggressive ‘assistance’. Howdy throws his drying towel off to the side and nearly vaults over the bar to help support Barnaby. He reaches to sling Barnaby’s other arm over his shoulders-

“Don’t!” Eddie cries. He doesn’t let go from the wound, and Barnaby cringes away from Howdy with a breathy echo - “Don’t.”

“Why not?” Howdy says, panic rising in his throat. He looks closer at the wound Barnaby and Eddie are holding - this time he has to swallow down bile. Glistening, blood-slicked pink pulses under their hands. Barnaby whines softly. He’s terribly pale under his fur.

“Everyone’s gone!” Julie announces. 

Howdy snaps out of his horrified trance. He points at the bar. “Clear a spot on the floor for him on the floor, make sure we have room to work.”

Julie makes a frustrated noise but complies once again. Howdy slips around to Eddie’s side and trades places with him, but Eddie doesn’t let go of the wound. The sudden weight makes Howdy stumble, but he quickly widens his stance and starts shuffling them to the area Julie is clearing. They help Barnaby lower to the ground, and every pained whine and gasp is like an arrow to the heart. Eddie whispers apologies all the way down. Barnaby’s free paw leaves scratches in the bar’s cherry wood.

“Ed, I need you to get my supplies from my room,” Howdy says, rolling up his sleeves with quick, expert flicks.

Eddie looks at him like he’s crazy. “I can’t let go!” 

“I’m here to take your place - four arms are better than two, now get!” 

Eddie still hesitates, but slips away once Howdy puts all four of his hands where Eddie’s measly two were. It’s hot, and wet, and - and -

It becomes immediately clear that this is a wound they can’t fix, not without an extraordinarily talented healer. 

“Julie,” Howdy chokes out, “get Poppy.”

“Okay,” Julie says faintly, right behind him. She slowly backs away, and all at once sprints for the front door. A burst of fresh, rain-filled air blows inside before the door closes again. The cold shock makes Barnaby flinch and gasp. 

“Hold on, Barn.” Howdy forces himself to look at Barnaby’s face instead of the pulsing guts bulging from the gash someone sliced across his belly. The soaked fur under and around it looks purple. “Help will be here in a jiff, so don’t you go falling asleep on me.”

“Tryin’,” Barnaby wheezes, and his voice has never sounded so much like music, “tryin’ not to. It’s - stars, it hurts, Howdy-”

“I know, but you gotta hang in there, pal. Poppy will fix you right up.”

“I…” Barnaby makes a wretched noise that sounds like a sob, “I don’t wanna die.” He whines, a leg weakly kicking out as his guts twitch. “M’ not ready, Howds, m’ not…”

“You’re not going to die,” Howdy insists even as Barnaby’s blood soaks his hands and sleeves. 

He doesn’t want Barnaby to die, either, but who knows where Poppy is - there’s no guarantee that she’s home, and even if she is, her abode is clear across town. Julie is a fast runner, but in this weather… with such a distance…

Barnaby is going to die. 

Howdy will do his damned best to keep that from happening. 

Clattering precedes Eddie sprinting around the corner. He checks the bar hard, but doesn’t fall or flinch. He takes the hit and slides to his knees by Barnaby’s side and opens the pack. Howdy almost reaches out to rummage through it himself, but Barnaby’s paw starts to slip from the wound. 

“No no, none of that.” Howdy nudges it back into place with his knee and tries to jostle Barnaby with the same motion. “Eyes open and paw up, Barn.”

“Tryin’,” Barnaby whispers. His eyelids flutter in a vain attempt to stay open. His breathing rattles.

Howdy doesn’t need to tell Eddie what to look for, and thank the heavens for that, because Howdy doesn’t think he can look away from Barnaby’s pained features, much less form words that aren’t incoherent prayers to any god that will listen. Barnaby’s paw slips, and Howdy has to lunge to keep his insides from becoming his outsides. Just his hands aren’t enough - he needs to use his forearms. There’s so much of it. 

Eddie scoots forward and holds up a potion, and Howdy nearly howls in anguish. “Not that one! The healing potions - the red ones!”

“I know that!” Eddie snaps just as viciously, which is enough of a shock that Barnaby gains a moment of startled clarity. Eddie uses it to coax him to drink the golden energy potion. “I have some healin’ powers of my own - I can buy him more time than your bruise busters, and you’re fresh out of those, anyway!”

Out?

Howdy stares at his pack in horror. That’s right. He hasn’t restocked - oh, he’s a fool! He allowed himself to grow complacent and reliant on Eddie and Poppy’s healing. He has no time to thoroughly curse his inaction, as Barnaby’s paw comes back up to the wound, and his back arches as he wails his agony. The potion kicked in. Eddie quickly shoves his paw away again and holds his hands to the corner of the gash, his palms glowing orange.

“Oh, oh no,” Barnaby sobs, his boots and claws scraping wood, “Ed, stop-!”

“I’m sorry,” is all Eddie says. He shoves Barnaby’s paw aside when he tries to pry Eddie away. Barnaby grabs for the nearest thing with his other paw, which happens to be Howdy’s thigh. Howdy bites back a pained hiss at the feeling of claws digging sharp through his pants. The cold water saturating Barnaby’s paw soaks the fabric in seconds, creating a contrast to the pinpricks of hot welling up under the claws.

Howdy eyes the healing glow and the strain on Eddie’s face. It won’t be enough - Howdy doubts it will give Barnaby any time at all. The thin corner of the gash slowly knits together, but the rest of it is too wide, too deep. The only reason Eddie can heal any of it at all is due to how clean the slice is. The blade that created this wound must have been freshly sharpened, or enchanted. Howdy can tell at a glance that it cut through Barnaby like a knife through marmalade. 

Eddie heals the other tapered end. He and Howdy exchange a glance - Howdy sees it in his eyes that the healing is just a platitude. Blood continues to soak Barnaby’s pants, Howdy’s, their hands, Howdy’s clothes, the floor. 

Abruptly, Howdy is keenly aware of how quiet the tavern is. Rain drums on the roof and thunder rolls outside. The fireplace crackles. How long will it take to scrub the blood out of the wood flooring? How long will Howdy spend staring at the scratches etched into the bar?  

“How- Howdy,” Barnaby says. He isn’t gripping Howdy’s leg as hard anymore, but he gives it a weak squeeze. “Gotta tell ya - hng - somethin’. Shoulda… told ya sooner, but-”

“Save it for later,” Howdy says quickly. “You can gab all you want when you’re better.”

There likely won’t be a later, or better, and that’s half the problem. Call Howdy selfish, but he won’t let Barnaby make this hurt more than it already does. More than it will. He would rather live with a might’a than a could’a.

Barnaby knows it, because his eyes mist up and he nods weakly. “Yeah. When I’m… when I’m better. Can I ask a fa-favor?”

“Anythin’,” Eddie murmurs. Howdy had forgotten he’s there.

“Find Wally for me?”

Eddie lays a bloody hand on Barnaby’s arm, steely determination flashing in his eyes. “We will. I swear it on my patron’s light.”

“That’s a…” Barnaby pauses to grimace and swallow thickly, “a big promise, Ed.”

“I’ll make sure he keeps it,” Howdy says.

“M’ sure you will. But, but… if Wally really is gone… hey, I’ll say hi to ‘em for ya.” Barnaby manages a shaky half-smile. “At least that’d be one - one good thing ta’ come outta this, huh?”

Howdy’s composure cracks. He chokes down sobs as he slumps over Barnaby, uncaring of the awkward position or the insides sandwiched against his front, drenching his apron and shirt with blood. He hides his tears in Barnaby’s cold, waterlogged ear. Barnaby uses what little strength he has left to turn his head, weakly nuzzling the side of Howdy’s face. His breath is warm. Weak, but warm.

Distantly, Howdy hears Eddie curse and ask “Where are they?” The clink of his armor fades, and the door opens just enough to let in the scent of rain. Howdy hears more than feels Barnaby breathe it in. As close as they are, Howdy can hear the wet rattle in Barnaby’s chest.

Should Howdy do something to make him more comfortable? Would Barnaby’s herbs ease his pain? Even if it would, if anything would, Howdy can’t let go. That would hurt him more, and Howdy refuses to give up that tiny sliver of hope that something can be done. 

The door slams open to let in a thunder of footsteps. Howdy snaps upright, and he’s certain that if he didn’t have a job to do, he’d collapse. 

“Oh dear, oh-” Poppy squawks loud enough to make everyone cringe, her feathers fluffing up. “My feathers, that’s! Oh! That is much worse than what you told me!”

“One can hardly fault her,” Sally says before Julie can respond. She kneels by Howdy with Poppy right behind her. “Are you with us, Barnaby?”

No response. 

Howdy goes cold. “Barn?”

Sally briskly taps Barnaby’s cheek until he twitches, his eyelids barely lifting before falling shut once more. “Still with us!”

If Howdy wasn’t already crying, he’d start now.

“Can you fix it?” Eddie asks from off to the side.

Julie paces anxiously. “Of course she can! Poppy’s the best healer for miles, there’s nothing she can’t do. Right, Poppy? He’ll be up and joking in no time!”

“I.” Poppy’s feathers shake as she dances them over the open wound. “I will most certainly try, but I can’t do it on my own. It’s too severe for my magic to do much of anything. Sally, dear-”

“No,” Sally says immediately, her glow dimming. “You cannot be serious, I won’t - I simply will not-”

“You must. We all need to work together - Howdy and Eddie need to hold the wound shut. It won’t just be you.”

“We need to what now?” Eddie says, even as he settles on Howdy’s other side. “What’s going on?”

Howdy feels sick. “You and I have to make sure his insides stay inside, while Sally will-”

“Sally won’t,” Sally says. “As much of a nuisance as he likes to make himself, Barnaby is my friend! I could never-”

“Then you’re alright with losing him!”” Howdy snarls. “Perhaps you’d like to trade places with me and feel him die under your hands instead!”

Sally gapes at him, stricken. Her mouth flaps for a moment before she shuts it firmly and turns to the wound, lifting her hands. 

“What does she have to do?” Julie asks.

Everyone ignores her - not out of unkindness. Poppy nods to Eddie and Howdy. Eddie places his hands in the spaces where Howdy can’t completely reach. They exchange a glance and push.

There was a time when Howdy received an overpacked shipment of linked sausages. He had no room to store it yet, but the sack it arrived in tore. Shoving them back in - even with all four of his hands - was nigh impossible. It was impressive how the sausages had managed to fit at all, because the sack was certainly too small. 

Shoving Barnaby’s guts back into his stomach is a lot like that.

Barnaby cringes and moans in his nearly-unconscious state, feebly trying to get away from what is certainly agonizing pain. His brow bunches up, and he whines high in his throat. 

Howdy can’t spare a thought to it. Blood and organs squelch as Howdy and Eddie rush to cram it all inside - there’s no time for caution. As soon as the last slip of pink is inside - it’s so, so dark and red past the blue - they squeeze the wound shut to the best of their abilities. Barnaby sobs quietly.

“Now,” Poppy says, and Sally’s palms burn hot enough to make Howdy’s skin itch.

She holds her hands to the sealed gash, and Barnaby starts wailing. Too weak to thrash, he just writhes softly and keens, tears freely spilling down his face and carving dark tracks in his drying fur. His paw twitches around Howdy’s leg, claws digging in again like he wants to grab or yank or something.

“Almost there, Barn,” Howdy lies. Part of him wishes Barnaby would fall fully into unconsciousness. It would be dangerous, but at least he wouldn’t feel this. 

The acrid stench of burning fur and flesh fills Howdy’s nose. Sally and Eddie both gag. Heels rapidly click across the tavern as Julie sprints to the nearest waste bin, and she retches loudly into it. Howdy barely registers it - he’s barely breathing, himself. 

“Well done, all of you,” Poppy murmurs as Sally cauterizes. She holds her wingtips to the cooked flesh of the wound as Sally continues, and they glow coal red. The wound glows with it, the angry blistered flesh smooths and pales, and blue fur starts to grow back before their eyes. 

Barnaby’s paw falls from Howdy’s leg as he starts to slump, cries petering off into agonized whines. Poppy doesn’t seem alarmed, and Howdy just wants his pain to stop, so no one moves to keep him awake.

Soon, Sally has to shuffle in front of Howdy and Eddie to continue. They’re loath to move, so she awkwardly lies across their laps and reaches. As soon as she burns her way to the end that Eddie healed, Poppy gives them the all-clear. 

Eddie lets go first, slumping back on his heels. Sally is still draped across Howdy’s lap with her head pillowed on Eddie’s. The three of them catch their breath as they watch Poppy brush her healing feathers across Barnaby’s stomach. Julie staggers over to them and kneels next to Eddie. She leans against him, sniffling. Howdy doesn’t have it in him to protest when Eddie not only loops an arm around her shoulders, but around Howdy’s waist as well.

Barnaby is finally unconscious, his features slack  - Howdy places a hand on his chest to make sure, and the shallow rise and fall of it is more priceless than all the coin in the world. Howdy slowly sits. His hand trails down as Poppy pulls her wings back, and his fingertips dance on the silvery smooth line of a fresh scar. 

“I’ve done all I can,” Poppy says with a gusty sigh. “So have the rest of you - again, well done. You all did splendidly.”

“I don’t feel splendid,” Sally croaks.  

“Well… you are. Quite splendid. Let’s get him up and to a bed.” Poppy’s first attempt at standing fails. Sally all but leaps up to help support her, and she laughs nervously. “I’m afraid that took quite a bit out of me. There was more to heal than I expected, dear me.”

“Will he be okay?” Julie asks. 

Poppy looks at Barnaby with a soft, sad look in her eyes. “I can’t say for certain. It’s up to Barnaby, now… all we can do is make sure he’s comfortable. A-and keep a close eye on him! There could be, ah… complications. Infections, and the like. Mh, I’m sure it won’t come to that, though. Sally’s fire should have burned out anything nasty.”

Howdy belatedly realizes that he needs to help carry Barnaby. He kneels on shaky legs and gently maneuvers Barnaby’s dead wei- unconscious weight to the side. Howdy slips his upper arms under Barnaby’s, using his lower set to help support his back. Eddie takes one side, Sally and Julie take the other. Poppy does her best to help, but she can only lift Barnaby’s unbloodied leg with her beak. 

They shuffle their way to a ground floor room. There’s plenty, but Howdy once again chooses to be selfish and brings them to one near to his own. Near is subjective - Howdy lives on the second floor, but the staircase to his private suite is as close to Barnaby’s temporary room as it can get. Barnaby will be sleeping right below Howdy. If anything happens, he’ll hear.

They get Barnaby onto the bed, and all of them breathe sighs of relief - and mild pain, in Eddie’s case as he stretches his back. Poppy asks for Julie to stay and assist her with getting Barnaby adjusted. 

Howdy doesn’t wait for a dismissal. He stumbles his way out of the room with Sally and Eddie in tow, his heart jackrabbiting. It feels like he grabbed hot coals, or swallowed a bolt of lightning. He’s shaky and ill and he just held Barnaby’s intestines in his hands.

Howdy leans over the bar and blindly grabs a bottle from underneath it. He uncorks it with his mouth, spits the cork to the side, and starts chugging. The alcohol burns as it goes down. It’s cheap, bitter, and easy to focus on. He comes up for breath with a small gasp and coughs, wincing at the aftertaste.

Cleaning supplies clatter as Eddie brings them out of the supply closet - Howdy wasn’t aware he knew where that was. It’s just a bucket of water and a scrubber. Not that he’ll do much good. He’s still caked in blood and mud. Dishes clink as Sally cleans up the ample messes that the patrons left behind. Howdy takes another swig and stares blankly at the shelf behind the bar.

The blank eyes of the Wally-puppet stare back at him. At least the real Wally wasn’t here to see that. Howdy doesn’t know what he would have done, or how he would have reacted… best not to imagine. In any case, Howdy hopes that by the time they find Wally, this whole experience will be nothing but another story. 

Howdy goes to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand - oh. Right. It’s still covered in blood. All four of them are. The blood glistens when Howdy holds out his hands. It’s warm and tacky, clinging to his fingers like sap as he spreads them. 

It’s Barnaby’s blood. 

These hands were inside of Barnaby’s gutted stomach, and Howdy can still feel the sickening heat and the way it all pulsed and twitched and-

Howdy copies Julie’s example and vomits into the nearest acceptable receptacle. The alcohol tastes better going the other way, even if it burns worse. 

Once the dry heaving stops, Howdy sinks to the ground, shaking with silent sobs. His legs curl up and he presses the heels of his upper hands to his forehead, hugging himself with his lower arms. The crimson-soaked fabric of his shirt squishes and sticks to his skin.

Everything Sally carries rattles, and every few minutes something falls. Chipped cups, shattered plates, clattering platters. After each breakage, she picks up the shards and keeps clearing the tables. The constant swish, swish, swish of scrubber bristles on wood fill the silence between rattling dishware and rolls of thunder. Eddie scrubs at the one spot on the floor, where Barnaby sat. The water he pours and scrubs quickly turns pink, then red. 

The door opens, letting in yet another gust of air. It slowly closes, and Frank’s shrill voice cries out, “What in the heavens happened in here?”

Anger rises sharply in Howdy’s gut - and vanishes as soon as it came. There’s no use in being mad at Frank - they didn’t explicitly go with Eddie and Barnaby on their day trip. He was gathering information. There was no way he could have known what would happen. 

Frank belatedly notices the thick trail of blood on the floor, and sidesteps it before rushing to Eddie. “Is everyone okay? Who’s hurt? That’s not your blood, is it-”

“It’s not mine,” Eddie says, not looking away from his task. Swish, swish, swish. When Frank reaches for him, he waves them off. “Stay back, it’s a mess. I’ll take care of it - I’m taking care of it.”

He isn’t taking care of it.

Frank takes a step back, his eyes wide enough that Howdy can see the whites of them clear across the tavern. Frank looks over the trail of blood, the puddle, bootprints, the smeared handprints, and the sheer amount coating not only Eddie, but Howdy too. Sally doesn’t make a move to acknowledge Frank as she stacks wood platters and ceramic plates. More blood stains her from where she kneeled in it, and laid across Howdy and Eddie. 

A scraaaaape precedes Julie backing into the tavern proper with a large tub of steaming water. Howdy makes a desperate sound and scrambles over to it. He thrusts his arms into the water and scrubs furiously at his skin and sleeves, ignoring the burn of the slightly too-hot temperature. Julie’s stare sears into him for only a moment before she takes a shuddering breath and steps out of the splash zone. 

“Frank!” she says a touch too loudly, oozing false cheer. “You’re back! Did you find anything?”

“Did I - what does that matter! Julie, what’s going on?”

“Oh, Barnaby got a little hurt, but he’s resting now.”

Frank incredulously gestures to the tavern’s general state. “A little hurt?”

“Barnaby’s fine now,” Julie reiterates. “Poppy is taking care of him.”

“How did - why did - what -”

Howdy slowly stops scrubbing. His skin feels raw under his fuzz as he stands, water sluicing from his arms. He unties his apron as he returns to the bar and tosses it over a stool. He sits on the one next to it and snatches the open bottle of - whatever it is. It’s alcohol. That’s what matters. He rests his head in his hands between acrid swigs. 

“Everything is okay! Poppy is the best healer around, it’s nothing she can’t handle,” Julie chirps. No one calls her out on the proven lie. She starts collecting straggling dishes alongside Sally. “We’re just helping Howdy clean up.”

In his periphery, Howdy catches Frank side-eyeing him. He chugs from the bottle for a moment and slams it back down, if only to make a point. Frank is the only one to jolt at the sharp bang.

Frank slowly crouches by Eddie, frowning deeper than normal. He mutters something too quiet for Howdy to hear from the other end of the bar. Eddie says something back - Frank lays a hand on his shoulder, and Howdy scowls miserably into his drink. His thigh itches.

Swish, swish- the scrubber finally stills. Eddie shoots to his feet, his armor clattering loudly, and he steadies himself against the counter as his other hand flies to his forehead. “Oh no. Oh, no…”

Everyone stills, and the tension in the room thickens palpably. 

“What is it?” Frank asks.

Eddie looks at Howdy with horror in his eyes. “We lost Wormie. Barn dropped his hat when we were ambushed - there was no time to stop. We couldn’t…”

“Show me,” Howdy says, leaping off of his stool and charging for the door. Eddie follows hot on his heels.

The rain is freezing. It soaks Howdy through to the bone as soon as he steps out from under the tavern awning.

Howdy doesn’t dare go back to get a coat, even if all he has on are his thin work clothes. The cold nearly knocks the breath out of him, but he focuses on the alcohol warm in his stomach and plunges into the storm. He slows just enough to let Eddie - and, apparently, Sally - pass him. She carves a way through the pitch black night.

Mud saturates Howdy’s boots and the cuffs of his pants. It sticks unpleasantly to his skin and only worsens the chill as they run past dark buildings. Few windows glow orange, proving how late it’s gotten. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since Barnaby was injured. Even with Sally,’s light, it’s going to be impossible to find Wormie in this weather.

Howdy’s eyes burn as they leave the town’s muddy streets and plunge into the terribly dark forest. What if they don’t find her? The thought is almost too much to bear. Howdy doesn’t think he could face Barnaby when - if - he wakes up. They’ve already lost Wally, and that alone has had Barnaby in shambles. But if they lost his beloved little worm, too? 

It feels like they run through the woods for hours. Eddie keeps slipping and tripping, but manages to keep his legs under him. Howdy’s mind whirls with what-ifs and maybes and hows and whys. Eddie and Barnaby were ambushed so far away - why did they come to Howdy’s tavern instead of going right to Poppy’s? How horrible was it to go all the way into town in that state, in this weather? What if Wormie drowned, or was trampled, frozen, taken -

“I think it was here,” Eddie shouts over the thunder and rain. A flash of lightning illuminates the ground through the waving treetops. 

“You think?” Sally says. Howdy wishes he had said it first - now is not the time for Eddie’s navigational dysfunction! 

“I don’t know, Sally! I wasn’t really paying attention on account of keepin’ Barn’s insides from spillin’ everywhere!” Eddie doesn’t say it to be cruel, Howdy knows.

It doesn’t stop him from feeling unsteady all over again, or stop Sally’s glow from dimming. He glances around like he expects to see more blood, though even if this is the correct area, the rain has washed any evidence away. Howdy turns in a circle, tangling his upper hands in his hair. 

There’s no way of knowing. There’s no way of finding such a tiny, sweet little creature- lightning flashes, catching on leather outside of Sally’s glow.

Howdy lunges for the hat, uncaring of how his knees sink deep into frigid mud as he snatches it up. The hat is grimy, but undamaged. Even Ms. Beagle’s feather is intact. But when Howdy turns it over, his heart sinks.

Nothing inside.

Nothing on the ground around it either, even when he digs through the mud to make sure. Eddie hesitantly touches Howdy’s shoulder, and Sally’s warm glow envelops his back. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. He sniffles. “I should’ve grabbed her. I should’ve-”

“You prioritized our bard,” Sally says. “We can’t fault you for that.”

They can’t. Howdy… Howdy wants to, but he can’t find it in himself. He’s cold, he’s tired, he wants to go make sure Barnaby is being taken care of. He looks around a final time, blinking against the rainwater pouring over his eyes.

Nothing but muddy soil, bushes, trees, darkness. 

Howdy clutches the hat to his chest and stands, stumbling slightly. His friends steady him, and his face pinches. He shouldn’t have drank so much at once. It’s finally getting to him, and soon he’ll be of no use at all. He can already feel the faint buzz in his head.

“We’ll come back in the morning,” Sally promises, tugging gently on his lower arm.

Howdy makes a pained noise. She won’t make it to morning. It’s too cold, she’s too small. All they’ll find is her little frozen body. 

“Hold on.” Eddie holds out an arm to stop them. “Can you hear that?”

“It’s impossible to hear anything over this storm,” Sally says. 

“No, no… I’m sure I heard something. It was a - a little, it was a little…”

Peep.

Howdy’s waterlogged antennae snap upright, and he whips around to stare at a nearby tree. A past storm must have nearly blown it over, as half of the base seems uprooted. Gnarled roots arc and tangle out of the ground. Howdy falls to his knees in front of the dark hole under the trunk. 

Another peep comes from inside.

“Sal, I need your light,” Howdy says, fumbling for her. Her golden glow fills the space, and he nearly sobs. 

Wormie squints up at them, curled into a tiny ball and shaking like the wet leaves she lies on. Mud covers her colors - if her eyes weren’t open, one could mistake her for a twig. Her harness blends into the rest of her. She peeps again. 

“Hey, gal,” Howdy murmurs, reaching into the shelter. Her antennae make a feeble attempt at raising, and she stretches her neck out towards his fingers. He slips them underneath her and lifts her out, making sure to shield her from the rain with his body. 

“Thank the stars,” Eddie says wetly. “For a moment there I thought we lost her.”

Howdy curls his fingers around Wormie, his heart breaking at how violently she shakes. 

“Should I take her? She must be freezing, the poor thing” Sally says, holding out a hand. Howdy holds her out, and Wormie lifts her head as Sally’s warm glow washes over her. She blinks at the offered trade, then drops her head and nestles into Howdy’s palm. Sally retracts her hand. “Apparently not.”

Howdy hooks the hat over that hand, and Wormie lets out a mournful peep. He lets Sally and Eddie pull him through the forest, staying hunched over the hat and murmuring reassurances. He starts quietly crying again at some point. The rain washes away his tears and sounds. By the time they return to the tavern, he’s exhausted himself. They all stumble through the doorway as a soaked, grimy trio.

Julie and Frank flurry over to fuss over them, but Howdy staggers past their worries. All he knows through the cotton in his head is that he needs a hot bath. He leaves their chatter behind and makes his way down the hallway, only pausing to listen at Barnaby’s door. 

Poppy is humming to herself. Howdy sags against the wall for a moment, taking solace in how calm she sounds. For a moment, he imagines going inside and resting at Barnaby’s bedside, but… later, he promises himself. When he’s in clean clothes and feels less like collapsing. 

Climbing the stairs to his room is a feat in itself, but Howdy manages it without tripping over the steps. He closes his door behind him and sighs, tempted to just fall asleep on the floor and deal with everything later. But Wormie is still shivering in his hand, and he might as well kill two birds with one stone. 

The hat is placed on the table for cleaning. Howdy hates to let go of Wormie, but he places her on the crown while he runs a bath. Not for the first time he thanks his past self for investing in this revolutionary tech called plumbing. All he needs to do is turn a valve, and hot water pours right into a fixed tub in the corner of his large, open room. 

For a long moment he yanks at the valve, not understanding why it’s not working- ah. He’s turning it the wrong way. He blinks forcibly and twists the right way, and water pours out. He watches it drain until it registers that he should plug the tub. 

Oh, the headache he’s going to have when he wakes up…

Howdy strips as he makes his way back over to Wormie, leaving unsalvageable clothing items strewn about. It’s a blessing in disguise that he was drenched by the rain - it kept all of the blood from drying, so his shirt and pants come off easily instead of sticking to his skin. He’s still stained red underneath them. Howdy undoes his ponytail and picks up Wormie. He carefully loosens her harness and slides it off, revealing a patch of spring blue and green bands underneath. 

He holds her to his chest as he steps into the filling tub. Steam rises off of it, and it clears his stuffed sinuses. He inhales it grateful and sinks into the water, clenching his teeth when it laps over the punctures in his thigh. He closes the valve and settles with a groan.

Wormie peeps at him and looks over the side of his hand at the water with longing in her big eyes. Howdy carefully lowers her until the warm water pools over his palm. Wormie finally stretches out as he rubs his thumb over her. Mud flakes and sloughs off of her, and she wriggles happily. She dunks her face and thrashes a little to properly soak herself. He gently runs a soap bar over her until she’s nearly white from the suds, and lowers her into the water so only her head floats on the surface.

Once she’s clean, Howdy grabs a small hand towel off of a nearby shelf, soaks it, and piles it on the side of the tub. He places Wormie on it and she happily starts burrowing. It occurs to him that he could look for some sort of floatation device for her, so that she could splash around to her tiny heart’s content, but just the thought is exhausting. So, a waterlogged towel it is. 

Before Howdy completely ruins the water by scrubbing more blood and mud into it, he washes his hair. The rain had already undone the ‘do, so at least he doesn’t have to scrub out the styling paste. He squeezes the water out as best as he can and slicks it back.

Watching the red caking his skin dissipate into the water is nothing short of a relief. He stops when he gets to the minor injury Barnaby left him - he can’t tell if he bled or not. If he did, it was overshadowed by Barnaby’s blood. He sits on the edge of the tub to better inspect it.

The wounds are shallow and nothing to write home about. They don’t need bandaging, though even if they did, the time for that has long since passed. Barnaby must not be dulling his claws like he usually does. Thankfully they weren’t entirely sharp, or Howdy suspects he’d have much larger holes in his thigh. Three punctures on the outside, one on the inside. Howdy opens the water valve a smidge just to wet a fresh towelette and properly clean the wounds. It would help no one to get them infected - Poppy needs to save her energy for Barnaby.

By the time he’s satisfied with his cleanliness - if he weren’t so tired, he’d have gone for a fourth round of soap - Wormie is dozing in her damp towel. He opens the drain before grabbing a fresh hand towel, this one dry. He carefully lifts Wormie out of it and wraps her in the soft fabric. Her eyes open for only a moment before she settles again, purring. 

For a long few minutes, Howdy just sits and holds her, watching her antennae twitch as she falls asleep. He absentmindedly rubs the towel, and Wormie’s purring increases as she’s dried. 

The sound of the last of the water draining pulls Howdy’s attention away from the tiny animal. He carefully gets out of the tub and puts Wormie back on the table, still wrapped up. Once again, he looks longingly at his bed. 

Howdy dries off and dresses in loose sleep pants and leaves it at that, not wanting to bother with a shirt. He rarely sleeps with one on, anyway. Too much of a hassle. He slips Wormie out of her towel and brings her downstairs, once again having to move slowly with much paid attention as to not fall with his leaden legs.

Poppy emerges from the room as Howdy reaches the ground floor. She turns and startles. “Oh! Howdy, you startled me. You look much better… though your hair is still wet - you’ll catch a cold if you leave it like that.”

Is it? Howdy brushes his fingertips over cold strands plastered to his neck. Oops. 

“Are you alright? You look quite unsteady…” Poppy comes over to him and squawks softly, her neck pulling back. “Is that alcohol? Howdy, are you drunk?”

Howdy shrugs one shoulder. Talking takes focus and time, but he manages, “I may be a little tipsy. No worries.”

“Many worries, dear.” 

“How is he?” Howdy deflects as he walks past her, partially leaning against the wall. He nudges open the door and rests against the doorframe. The blankets cast over the small room’s bed rise and fall in stark contrast to how shallow Barnaby was breathing earlier. 

“On the mend,” Poppy murmurs, following him inside. He slumps into the armchair already pulled up to the bed. “He might sleep for some time… he’s been through quite an ordeal. Anyone would be tired after so much healing, let alone after… well.”

Howdy carefully places Wormie on Barnaby’s neck. She stirs, and starts forcibly purring as soon as she registers the shade of blue underneath her. She doesn’t perform her usual party-seizure like she usually does when seeing Barnaby - she just burrows into his fur. Howdy has to wonder if she’s simply exhausted, or if she can tell that something is wrong. 

“I don’t believe we’ll encounter any complications with his health, thank goodness” Poppy says. “By my estimates, he should be up and moving within the week. I’d like him to remain on bedrest for a few days more than strictly necessary, but I doubt he’ll want to stay put.”

If Howdy weren’t so worn out, he’d tear up yet again. 

Of course he won’t stay. Barnaby will charge out the door as soon as he’s able, hellbent as he is on finding Wally. No one can blame him. The others will likely continue the search tomorrow, if not the next day. All Howdy can hope is they find something promising for Barnaby to wake up to.

He crosses his upper arms on the bed and pillows his head on them. He fights to keep his eyelids open, watching Barnaby’s peaceful face. He looks calm, his features holding no hint of pain. A warm weight drapes over Howdy. 

He starts to lift his head, but Poppy says, “It’s just a blanket. Rest, Howdy, you need it. Barnaby will be here when you wake up.”

Howdy means to thank her, but the word comes out as a weary sigh. He lets his eyes slide shut, and slips into deep sleep a second later.

[thetreefairy]

the puppet's heart

Warnings: angst kinda? swearing, Reader is great at hiding their feelings, wanderer be using his vision to unintentionally scare Reader, Reader is an anemo healer, dottore is a warning on his own but hes actually nice in this one, Reader is an esteemed alchemist

this is my first time for writing for genshin in a platonic sense, so I really need advice

Reader was over their head, a weird man was following them, claiming to be their brother.

"My heart, can you truly not remember me?"

Oh, how scared Reader was.

To the point they would even give their body to dottore in exchange for protection.

"You are a fool." Dottore chuckled. "Why would you give up your body for simple protection?"

"You are less scary than the man hunting me down." Reader admitted to Dottore. "Perhaps, I have a better trade." he grinned, causing Reader to tilt their head slightly. "Become my assistant."

Reader agreed, as long as he would protect her from Scaramouche.

But how angry the wanderer was for Reader's choice.

The traveler told him: "Dottore will destroy them, even if Reader thinks he's better than being around you. So save them, and prove them wrong."

And that is exactly what Scaramouche did. He hunted down the fatui agents, and Reader was getting paranoid. Dottore tried his best to comfort Reader, after all, they are his prized assistant.

But that comfort was shattered the moment that Scaramouche had find them and Dottore. They were testing out reader's anemo vision together with some plants when Reader was suddenly snatched up.

reader screamed, Dottore taking out his weapon ready to attack. But he couldn't see as to where they were. Reader could fight yes, but they were better at healing.

Reader was in the air, the man who they so desperately tried to run away from comforting them. "Such a pathetic fear of height you have." Scaramouche mumbled. "Don't worry my heart, I am here."

reader head-butted him, trying to do anything possible to make him drop them. Failing desperately. "Shh, you're save now."

"Stop it, I don't know you, what do you want?!" Reader shouted, as they tried to fight them the best. "Oh, my heart, I am your brother."

"You are even crazier than Dottore." Reader hissed, causing Dottore to gasp loudly as he tried to get to Reader. He was kinda amused by the air fight, but he would prefer to not lose his assistant.

"Now now, you shouldn't speak to me that way, you wouldn't want your precious Dottore to die."

consider tipping me on my ko-fi I am still working on content for that, so please excuse the bare look :)

[florence-end]

Meeting the Family

Cassian x fem!reader (no use of y/n). Vague mentions of Rhys’ time under the mountain but no specific warnings.

Summary: You meet Rhys for the first time as Cassian’s mate after he returns from UTM

“My brother is home.”

Cassian’s face was almost eerily blank as he conveyed the news you had all been waiting half a century to hear. You stood from the sofa that sat by the window of your mate’s bedroom at the House of Wind but didn’t step closer as you waited for him to give some hint as to what he needed from you in this moment.

You had met Cassian almost 30 years ago. He had never believed the nonsense about people finding their mates in the very moment they most needed them, until the day you smiled at him as you passed him on his walk along the Sidra. He began taking long walks shortly after Rhys tied them all to Velaris to protect them and the city while Rhys himself walked straight into Amarantha’s lair. It helped with the claustrophobia that snuck up on him when he remembered he could no longer fly across Prythian to soothe his restless nature.

As Cassian paced the banks of the river, feeling the despair and hopelessness flood through his body once again, you were walking in the opposite direction and wished him a good morning as you passed. Luckily for you both, the bond snapped immediately as he looked up to meet your eyes and a tiny shred of hope sparked into Cassian’s heart.

This small piece of hope spread to the other occupants at the House of Wind after you moved in a short while later as you assisted them in the governing of Velaris in the absence of the High Lord. The inner circle were smart and brave, but the loss of the High Lord was hitting them harder and harder with each year that passed, and cracks were beginning to show. As a lifelong resident of the city, you understood which industries were struggling with the trade restrictions as a result of the warding around the city and could quickly identify solutions to aid the people who were struggling most. With your gentle support, Mor and the boys were able to keep the city running smoothly and safely.

Your bond with Cassian only continued to grow and thrive and your near constant presence at the House of Wind buoyed not only your mate but all of his remaining family as they grappled with the grief and helplessness of losing their brother and cousin. You felt you had known Rhys for years from all Cassian, Azriel and Mor had told you, and the empty chair at family dinners and the untouched study that no one could bring themselves to enter haunted you as you prayed for your mate’s family to be reunited at last.

And now your prayers had been answered.

‘Shall I send for a healer?’ You finally asked as Cassian remained motionless from the shock of the High Lord’s sudden return to the balcony of his home above Velaris.

‘No, he is uninjured. Mor is with him. I have never seen him so…’ Words fail Cassian as he tries to summon anything that would do justice to the shadows in Rhysand’s eyes, the broken sobs he tried to smother in Mor’s neck as she held him. ‘I don’t know what to do. How to help him.’

You took a few steps forward until you could reach for your mate, wrapping an arm tightly around his shoulders while your other hand stroked up and down his back. He folded gladly into your arms, wrapping his own around your waist in a bruising grip.

‘Okay sweetheart, we’ll take it one step at a time. Let’s find Az and then the two of you can go to the dining room to wait for Rhys and Mor to come inside when they are ready. I’ll ask the house to whip up something warm and comforting, and you can all move forward from there. Just let him readjust to being surrounded by family again.’

Cassian nodded and you left him outside Azriel’s door, then you quietly made your way to the library after asking the house to send a meal to the dining room for the three brothers and Mor. While you felt as if you had known Rhys for years, you had yet to actually meet the High Lord and felt sure the last thing he would need after so long away was to make polite introductions with his brother’s new mate. So you settled yourself down in a cosy corner and began to read.

The sun had set when you woke up, still in the library with an open book in your lap, to see Cassian crouched before you and gently patting your knee with a small smile on his tired face.

‘My love, will you come and meet Rhys? He’s asking for you.’

Despite how tired he looked and the slightly red-rimmed eyes that suggested a tearful reunion and dinner had taken place since you had made yourself scarce, you could plainly see his excitement at the prospect of having his entire family and his mate together at last.

You both walked quickly up to the dining room hand in hand as you tried to squash down the nerves that threatened to overpower you at the thought of finally meeting your High Lord. You briefly noted Azriel and Mor smiling at you and Rhys standing from his seat at the table as you entered the room, before lowering your head in a graceful bow out of respect for the man who had sacrificed himself to keep your home, neighbours and friends safe.

‘That is no way for my new sister to greet me. I do hope Cass didn’t put you up to this.’ Rhys joked, stepping forward and reaching for your hand to shake.

‘Absolutely not. Your ego is big enough as it is, brother.’ Cassian chuckled next to you, slipping an arm around your waist to help settle your nerves.

Rhys shook your hand warmly as he introduced himself. The dark shadows under his eyes and the paleness of his complexion compared to the other two Illyrians in the room hinted at the horrors he had endured but you felt your face brighten into a smile in response to his kindness as you told him your name.

Cassian gave your waist one final squeeze before making his way to his seat at the table and striking up conversation with Mor and Azriel, subtly leaving you alone with Rhys for a moment, who turned to watch his family bicker and taunt each other as if it was just a normal evening.

‘Cassian allowed me into his mind to see what I missed while I was… away. Thank you for taking care of my people, my family. To come back and see my brother so loved is more than I could have dreamed of.’

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked to your mate, noticing his wings drooping less and his shoulders loosening more than you had ever seen now that all of his loved ones were present and accounted for. Cassian was a protector at heart, always needing to know you and his family were safe and cared for, which was why you’d always felt a selfish gratitude that Rhys’ wards kept him in Velaris and prevented him from flying straight Under the Mountain. Prevented him from witnessing the horrors that the High Lord was masking beneath the calm facade to protect his brothers and Mor from the truth.

‘Thank you, Rhys.’ You murmured, hoping he would understand you didn’t just mean to thank him for his acceptance of yours and Cassian’s mating bond, but for the safety he had provided that enabled you to meet and love the General at all. From the look he gave you as Azriel called you both to the balcony for another drink, you knew he understood.

You all retired to bed later that night, Rhys insisting on flying down to the Townhouse for reasons you suspected had to do with the nightmares he knew would haunt his sleep. You made a mental note to confirm your suspicions with Mor tomorrow and hatch a plan to bring him back to the House of Wind soon.

After you had bathed and changed into your nightgown, you slid into bed where Cassian lay waiting for you with his arms open. You moulded yourself into his side, your head on his chest and your leg hiked up across his thighs, and felt him let out a long breath.

‘I love you so much.’ He whispered into your hair, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the relief that blanketed the city in response to the news of Rhysand’s return and Amarantha’s demise. ‘I’d have fallen apart long ago without you.’

Pressing yourself impossibly closer to your mate’s body, you place a kiss on his chest and bask in the warmth of the tentative joy that Cassian allows to seep down the bond.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have never written anything before and whipped this up on a whim so be kind please!

[dirtyvirgotarot]

PICK-A-CARD: A Fun New Career or Hobby To Look Into! Your Gifts!

Looking to see what might be a fun hobby for you?? This PAC might help you figure out what to research and dive deep into!!! :D Pick a pile and let's branch out!! ~~~~~~~~ Pile 1 (The Sketches): Pile 1, you have a magic within you that rivals most. I see you being incredible mystics, card readers, witches, what have you! This is the pile where those with incredible intuition have gathered. If you're looking at pick-a-cards regularly, drawn in by them for whatever reason, maybe try learning more about the technical side of them! Pick up a deck, watch some Youtube videos, and unlock your inner potential as a magic practitioner! I can see that this might actually be a huge revelation for you... This may lead to a bigger awakening, beyond just a hobby. More a spiritual awakening. You may find that it helps you in more ways than one, or makes you a happier person. I am getting a HUGE message about divine timing. The only warning I will give you, Pile 1, is that I can see that for some of you, there is a competitive spirit within you. That's great! However, you must keep it healthy. Do not become obsessed with creating the best pick-a-cards, or the best videos, or what have you. In that, you will fail. To think that the best place is at the TOP of the mountain is the way of the fool. It is within the mountain that you will find the riches of the earth!! :D Regardless, I see abundance and divine timing waiting for you in this hobby! You DO possess a special gift inside of you, and it wants to grow. Your intuition and synchronicity is high. You may have strange, almost prophetic-seeming dreams. This is the universe trying to tell you something! Whether you would like to listen further to the call, or ignore it, is entirely up to you. ✨ ~~~~~~~~ Pile 2 (The Blue Guitar):

Pile 2, you are healers by trade. You always know just the right thing to say. There are three specific messages coming through, so take whatever one resonates more for you! For some, I see that a good career for you might be a social counselor. A therapist, a case worker, a couples therapist, something along those lines! For others, I see that doing special events might be fulfilling for you as well! Whether that's event coordinating, planning, or playing at a wedding! It even could be charity work that you do, helping others in their desperate time of need. I can even see a mortician for a select few. No matter what the career or hobby would be, you would suit best in a job that takes the weight off of others' shoulders, that mends the cracks in someone's heart or relationships. You want to help. The two I listed are just that, two of the many, many hobbies and jobs that can help others for the better. I do see the potential to start a lifelong career out of this gift, if you so desire. You are wonderful at healing, and stopping or preventing conflict. You are a very down to earth, yet very curious person. It takes a LOT to upset you, Pile 2. That isn't a gift everyone has! Find a way to use your kindness and desire to help in the way you think best! 💗 ~~~~~~~~ Pile 3 (The Biker): Pile 3, you are my activists. You fight for what is right, whether it be for people, or to become the personal attorneys-at-law for Mother Earth herself! You don't mind the idea of your hobby/career being thankless or dirty, as long as justice is served to the masses. You are sharp-witted and quick with your tongue, you can lay down the hard-hitting facts. This could be journalism or journaling, it could be preservation, archiving, becoming a disability or accident lawyer, a conservationist or arborist. Gardening, a plant enthusiast, geology, archeology, a librarian, your soul is inclined to help preserve, to continue. You are incredibly smart and intelligent, and you tend to like to work either directly in the spotlight, or behind the scenes. You are unafraid of what others may think of what you do, say or think, and that's just how you like it, Pile 3! A strong spirit who just wants what's best. You may be bookish, and love to read. I can absolutely see you making a career out of this, in fact, if you try, you're pretty much destined to succeed, Pile 3! You are armed to the teeth with knowledge. Use it! 💅 ~~~~~~~~ Pile 4 (The Frosting): Pile 4, your hobby/career is certainly more of a behind-the-scenes deal. Something that is taken for granted often, however, you are certainly a carefree spirit! You don't mind, you just flow with the wind. You're a quiet and introverted person for the most part, but you shine bright like a firefly whenever you're around others! You have a cheerful disposition despite your quietness. Yoga is something that is being screamed into my brain!! Whether it's taking up yoga, or being a yoga instructor, it's certainly something that may help you at this time. I have a feeling that times may be rough for you, but you have more tools than you think you do. Meditation, yoga, and other mindfulness exercises are suggested to you! For others, I can also see you having a career in hospitality. Whether it's a maid, janitor, a hotel worker, or even something like a taxi/Uber driver or bus driver, you would fit that sort of work well. Something generally quiet where you can stick to yourself most of the time, with only basic contact with others. You get things done best when you're by yourself, and that's great! You also are suggested to take up a creative hobby as well! You do your best thinking at work, when you can just focus on a mindless task and zone out. Crafting, scrapbooking, or coloring is recommended! :D Keep on keepin' on, Pile 4! 🏃 ~~~~~~~~ I'd love to hear feedback in the comments about what you think about the pile you chose, and if it interests you! I can always do an individual extension for your pile if you order a personal reading from me here! -DV

[saphirered]

Can I please request an Astarion x reader in the style of those Snow White fics you did for Critical Role?

You've chosen angst. I'd dare say my angst game has improved since so here you go my lovely. 😘

Astarion had laughed at you for living with your head in the clouds. You were a dreamer or so he thought. It took him a while to figure out you had every intention to make your dreams come true. Delusional. Simply delusional. At least until you weren’t. You’re just like him in the end. The only difference is that you have exactly the amount of world-bending willpower needed to achieve your goals whereas he lingers in the shadows, lies and cheats and didn’t get a single step closer to his freedom until that bloody tadpole, until you came along. He’d laugh at you while bending that power of yours to his will, until you would be wrapped around his finger. That lasted all of a few days. You weren’t exactly oblivious and he may have messed up massively. 

He thought you’d stake him then and there several times as his story unfolded before you but to his surprise you didn’t. He’d like to thank his charm and wit for it but you’d have none of that. You did take some decent amount of pleasure in making him grovel after all. Things were good. Astarion found it within himself to actually allow himself to live and not just survive another sunrise. Your presence is simply refreshing. You seemed to enjoy it too and so it became a thing of equal trade, at least for him. For every thing you offered him he would offer in return an equal, to balance the scales like some transaction, like handing gold to a vendor. Though he could not steal back what he gave. For once Astarion was perfectly alright paying his dues. Over time it stopped being a trade and he could give freely. Your persuasion more advanced than he at first let himself believe turned to verbally slap him in the face to show him he gave just as freely as you. He was being stupid. 

You’d shown him what it means to care. You show him how to love and care and be free. Despite what he might have believed, that tadpole that protected him now, he’s not free. He’s on the run and despite what he might tell himself and others, he doesn’t truly believe killing Cazador will set him free. Deep within his heart he knows. Astarion has forgotten what it means to be free but you can show him, you can teach him, and when he is with you he gets a taste of what it means to hold that freedom, to hold you. Much like that sweet sanguine red beneath the skin, you are intoxicating, addicting and there’s no way back now. You’re with him. You’re his. 

Yet here he is on his knees holding your lifeless body. You’re not responding to your name. He’s screamed and shouted until his throat burned with rage and fury and pain until no sound would emit but it’s futile. That heartbeat of yours has gone still. The gentle rise and fall of your chest has as well. Your fingertips are growing cold along with the rest of your body. You’re in stasis, as good as dead. In a way you are dead. What he did to the puppet Cazador sent his way is but a mere consolation prize; useless and a waste. 

Refusing to let go of you, the resident healer had failed. Potions and spells were no use it seemed.  Bargains weren’t good enough for the cursed entities some of these similarly afflicted escapees entwine themselves with. Revenge had rooted in Astarion’s cold dead heart long ago but never had it burned stronger than now. It made him realise the lengths he would go for you; a terrifying reality but not unwanted if he could have you. He’d let the world burn if he’d have you at his side. So here he is taking you to temple after temple only to be turned away. He’s this close to resorting to the exact horrors his former master resorted to but there is hope yet. A hefty price but one he is willing to pay. Astarion will never tell you what he gave up for this chance. You’d never forgive him. You’d be alive, awake and at his side forever. You’ll just have to keep living in this wonderful dream world of yours; the one you shape by your actions. You never need know the truth. 

“When you wake up, darling, you’ll be none the wiser. I intend to keep it like that. I’ll shower you with love and gifts if it keeps this truth hidden from you. I’ll bury it like I have buried so many but for once it pains me to do so. You could call it a guilty conscience I suppose. Don’t think I’m going soft. This lapse in judgement is only for you.” 

He strokes your hair as you lay in the centre of a ritual circle. Your head is in his lap. The final glow of the sigils light your features until there is only darkness. Still he sees you, your features still so ashen but then the arcane lights spark to life offering a dim glow, and with it, ever so slowly a gentle thud. Once. Twice. Thrice. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. A heartbeat. He could have cried. Perhaps that was the cold sensation streaming down his cheek. He’s not quite sure. The flush to your skin begins returning as your heartbeat picks up to a normal place. You’ve yet to open your eyes. You’ve yet to awaken but your body is alive. Astarion sighs in relief. Seconds turn into minutes turn into hours. It’s not funny anymore.

“I beg for very little things in my life and you’ll be very satisfied to have me begging for you but please, please wake up. I need you to open your eyes, to let me know you’re truly alive. Please pull me out of this never ending nightmare.” He clasps your hand in his resting it over your chest. Astarion squeezes your hand but there’s no resistance, no squeeze back. Just… nothing. He brings it to his lips, kisses the back of your hand before he lays it back at your side. Gently he lifts your head from his lap and rests you down on the cold stone floors. He studies your features as if he might forget you altogether.

“Seven thousand souls. That’s all it takes.” He rises onto his knees, taking that dreaded staff. “Seven thousand to save two.” Astarion feels no regret when he slams it into the floor, power crackling throughout the stone and air and everywhere. He burns like the sun. He doesn’t know if it’s his screams or the cacophony of the ones who will perish in this ritual, in this ascension. 

Everything grows quiet. No words. No sounds. None save for the beat of your heart, the gasp that emits from your lungs as air is forced back into your lungs. You were within darkness, floating in the abyss without any sense of self one moment and the next you are here, wherever here is. Metal clatters on stone and you shoot into a sitting position. Before you have the chance to look for its origins you are engulfed into an embrace. You’re held close against a bare chest. The touch is familiar and so you relax. 

“Astarion?” You mumble no longer used to the sound of your own voice. He pulls back enough to look you in the eye. His fingers graze your cheek as if he’s not quite sure you’re real. There’s something off about him. Shivers trickle down your spine. You can see it in his eyes, hidden under that relief and acceptance there is pain and some regret but no remorse. 

“Yes, my darling?” Astarion tries desperately to keep that new flow of power coursing through his veins under tabs, keep it from showing and scaring you away. Who says he could not profit from this whole predicament. The side effects of your salvation came with great benefits for him. Whatever question you had falls silent on your lips when he slowly leans in and places his lips over yours. One kiss turns into another and another. The world lays forgotten. You’re alive. You’re within his arms. The past lies buried now, along with the dust of seven thousand innocents. It is a blood price he is willing to pay and would pay another thousand times over if that’s what it took. 

[simplifiedemotions]

Dreams

His love for her was a sharp-edged knife he had to learn to breathe around.

**

First, a seven-year war. A turncoat after his parents were killed. Little reason to live but too much of a coward to die. 

Draco joined the Order. He’d traded in finely-barbed insults for a med kit because they had seemed to know that his greatest torture apart from dying was having to endure the presence of Hermione Granger.

Their great bloody healer with her manic schedules and biting instructions. She’d made it clear she hated him when he showed up to the dingy room she used for potion brewing.

It came as no surprise that he’d fallen in love with her.

It came as no surprise that she’d broken his heart.

**

They had no choice but to keep him on as healer after the war. His skills made him indispensable. Even if they hated him, they needed him.

He looked down at his clipboard, shock stuttering his heart to a stop before it started pounding against his chest.

Patient: Hermione Granger. His eyes skimmed past information he already knew, before they landed on the reason she was there.

It had happened a year before the war ended.

**

She was a Healer and Curse-Breaker. She was never meant to be caught in a skirmish, but she was foolishly soft-hearted and had responded to an urgent call for backup.

He had been in another safe house treating injured Order members when she’d gone.

He returned to see her convulsing on the ground, her throat torn from a precise-impact bombarda.

His hands shook as he healed her ravaged throat, as he directed his wand over sinew and bone, over ruptured veins.

He was the one who took care of her, who took on her workload whilst she recovered. Who shoved potions down her throat when the pain overroad her coherency. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d known intimacy through hurt.

**  

It hurt to look at her now. Sitting primly on the hospital bed, she met his gaze with a shrewd assessment. 

She opened her mouth as if to speak, and he hoped against hope that sound would come out; that she’d somehow reveal to him that her brilliant brain had found a way to heal her ravaged throat. 

Nothing. He watched her take in a heavy breath before exhaling in frustration. 

“If this is some joke, Granger, I’ve not the time nor the energy for you.” He knew he sounded cold. He told himself he didn’t care, even as her face fell, her large brown eyes a spark of hurt.

She rose, untucking her wand from her sleeve and turned her back to him, and he watched the shift of her shoulders as she straightened her spine and raised her wand. He knew what the spell was almost immediately. The flagrante curse, used to make objects searing at first touch. It could also be used to write out words, which she was currently doing.

She’d learned to do a charm known for draining magical energy at an incredible speed—and she’d done it without incanting it.

Anger moved through him suddenly and sharply. He moved quick as a flash, taking Granger by the shoulders and pivoting her towards him before taking both her hands in his, her wand clattering to the ground but he barely noticed because—his eyes widened in horror—there were scorch marks patterning most of her hands.

“You idiot!” he snarled at her. He felt cold with rage. “Have you been using this as your method of communication this entire time? Do I really need to remind the Muggle-born that paper would suffice?”

Hermione shook one of her hands out of his and pointed up and to her side. Realising that he didn’t read what she’d said earlier, he turned his head to see the words outlined in a red-gold hue.

I tried to fix my voice for five years on my own. I’m sorry I hadn’t contacted you. I—

But it ended off there from when he’d grabbed her.

What was the rest of her sentence going to be?

His heart wrenched inside his chest. He turned back and demanded, “why?”

She picked up her wand from the ground, drew out new words. There was something sad and resigned to her face as she turned back to him.

I’ll explain.

**

Granger explained all her attempts at getting her voice back. Potions, spells, even—horrifically—performing surgery on herself.

Draco stood, horrified at what she was telling him, staring at the raised scars on her throat as she took off the scarf she was wearing.

More words, more explanations on procedures they could do if Draco was willing to help her, inspiring in him a maelstrom of emotions: rage, fierce protection. But it was mostly unbearable longing that he felt as he looked at her, remembering the soft moments they’d had, the sound of her voice in his ear as they made love, at the bite in her arguments whenever they would fight, at how she looked softer in sleep, made better by the way she would cling to him, as if he were her only anchor in a desolate sea.

“Why didn’t you ask me, Granger?” He could hear raw pain in his voice, and she seemed to notice because she gave him a wan smile and shook her head.

She didn’t think she needed to consider Draco in her after. He felt as if she’d punched him in the stomach. 

She was softer without the war. It hurt him that he couldn’t have experienced it with her.

He straightened his shoulders. “If you think there is something I can do to help you, Herm-Granger, I will.” 

He gave her a bitter smile. Best not get too vulnerable.

He looked away when she smiled at him again.

**

Bloody weeks spent on every single thing Draco could think of. Potions. Modified spells. He was sure he’d burned through the manor library on every single Charms book just to find a working revitalisation spell.

Tests, speech therapy. He’d even in a fit of mania researched if he could somehow purchase a new voice box for her. It wasn’t an option, but he also realised how much he didn’t want to hear any voice but hers.

There was absolutely nothing he could do. Still, he wouldn’t give up.

I have something to tell you.

Draco looked at her from his crouched position on the small table he’d transfigured for himself to write on. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Granger fidgeted with her wand. She raised it again to write.

I don’t want you to be angry with me.

Still, that didn’t stop her from giving him the truth.

**

Draco stood for long minutes, just staring at her. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to parse out her words into something that made sense.

His throat was dry as he finally said, “If you knew all this time that you couldn’t fix your voice, why did you come to me?”

She drew her wand up, writing, I didn’t know if you’d forgive me. 

Something burned behind his eyelids. He was losing his control. He had to leave before she decided to rip his heart into further shreds. The knife slid deeper. “Forgive you for what, Hermione?” he said, voice cracking on her name.

Tears welled in her eyes. She made slashing movements with her wand, her normally clean letters changed by her emotions as she wrote out another sentence.

I loved you—still love you, but I didn’t want you to be stuck to this broken version of me. I didn’t think you could love me unless I was whole—so I left.

Draco crossed the room in three long strides and crushed her in his trembling arms, ignoring the spark of pain that hit him as he crossed right through her searing words.

Words do hurt, he thought ruefully as he breathed hard against her hair, taking in her flowery scent, feeling at home in the circle of her arms as she pressed herself against him and drew her hands up his shoulders to clutch at his robes.

“You could have told me. I would never have stayed angry with you.”

He just wanted her to stay. Even if it was only as friends. Even if the knife tore at him each time she smiled.

He let her go long enough to meet her unamused expression.

“You can’t love me, though. I know you don’t.” He didn’t know if it was anger, or a bone-deep sadness, that prevailed against his calmer emotions. He’d gotten so good at hiding it all, until the storm of her stepped back into his life. “I know what we had—it was a distraction. You wouldn’t have chosen me in other circumstances.”

He knew he sounded self-loathing. Couldn’t help it. There was a quake of emotion rising in his chest, bypassing all reason and logic.

A raised brow, Granger stepped out of his arms and lifted her wand again.

His eyes widened when he saw the word legilimency in red.

“You can’t be serious.”

She only gave him a nod. He imagined she'd say something like of course, you idiot, if she could speak.

“Hermione, I’m not—” he was interrupted by her stepping right up to him, taking him by the collar and pulling him down to her level. Her eyes were fierce, and in them he saw her demand—and her permission.

She wanted to show him something that he wouldn’t believe with words.

He looked up, meeting her steady gaze, pressing forward as his wand met her temple and uttering the spell, spilling himself inside her head.

What he saw—oh what he saw. He almost called her cruel for the images she gave him, before realising the truth of them.

Him, through her eyes, seven years ago. 

He felt the way she peeled him apart in her mind, that day that was defined by several dust motes in the rickety library where she sat to watch his interview with Harry and Lupin. He expected the riling energy of looking at your enemy, but there was also inquisitiveness there. A curiosity.

Flash forward, one month later and they were screaming at each other. Draco accidentally knocked into her, sending a new batch of healing potions crashing to the floor. Her screams of accusation turned to waves of anger turned to pointing fingers and cruel words.

The next day, he’d brought her a new batch. Ignored her indignation that he’d stolen into her potions stores and demanded he come back as he walked out the door. He watched her as she stared at his younger self’s back, surprised to see her frowning. Still, that feeling of curiosity that went over all other things. 

A rare empty night at the main safe house. They were the only occupants in an otherwise quiet house. A surprise shared drink, but even more was the surprisingly pleasant conversations. He felt the pleasantness between them; he remembered how tense he felt because he was so sure they were about to fight again. But it was only a tentative conversation that was their third guest of the evening.

He still remembered the small smile she’d given him, at how it prompted something in his heart to go wild. Now, he was hit with the force of her emotions, too: a pounding heart, a nervousness she was confused by and didn’t know how to name, a lingering feeling of heightened emotion. 

Was it his or hers?

Later, their first kiss. The boy who had made all the wrong choices never felt more right than in the moment he had grabbed Hermione’s face, stalling her argument about a jealousy she’d insisted she didn’t feel over Susan Bones touching his arm in a flirtatious way.

What she felt for him was nothing soothing. Pure horniness. He’d felt the same.

More scenes flashed. Their first time together, which Granger of the present nudged him to move on from. He could feel her embarrassment through their connection and couldn’t help his grin. 

He loved that night. Loved how she responded to him. Loved how much she could say with her body. He kept moving on, finding more like them. They spoke so often through sex at first. Anger, curiosity, resentment, all wound up as tightly as her legs around his waist.

He didn’t understand what she was showing him.

The scenes slowed down. It was the fifth year of war. She had still looked at him a lot. He’d never realised how much. 

Year six: a sick yearning he would call his own if he wasn’t so aware he was seeing all this through her mind—her heart.

Year seven, near the end: she, watching him as he slept beside her. She’d already lost her voice. It was only days from now that the war would end, and she would disappear from his life for five years. 

He normally slept fitfully. They all did. So he was surprised to see he didn’t wake as Granger tenderly traced his face. As she swept gentle thumbs across his cheekbones and over his closed eyelids, as she used her hand to cup his face and kiss him sweetly, so so sweetly, on his forehead.

She was looking at him—she was feeling something he could never fully put into words. The same as he felt—the same.

it was—

He realised why he couldn’t name the difference. He was looking for something to discern her feelings from his, only to realise they were one and the same.

He pulled out of her mind, wanting—needing to see her face. He knew with certainty her first words to him in the hospital—the words he’d interrupted before she could finish them.

I tried to fix my voice for five years. I’m sorry I hadn’t contacted you. I—

I love you.

He pushed her hair out of her face.

He knew her heart. Her dreams. He knew her.  

They kissed for a long time under the bright hospital lights. Tears stained their cheeks and their teeth clacked as they kissed clumsily, as they slid onto the floor and made a mess of the neat tiles.

There was nothing clean about their coming together. There were no words to carry out the breadth of feeling that passed between them.

Maybe that was the whole point all along.

[fun-k-board]

Rotxo x metikayan reader?

Y/n isnt a healer or a fighter, they enjoy singing and dancing for the clan

Other then that I've got nothing so go crazy!!

Rotxo x Metkayina ! Reader

Pronouns used : They / Them

Note(s) : The readers ilu is named Kailani, no reason other than it'd be clunky to constantly write 'the ilu'

"When you bond with a ilu they do not bond for life, they are not owned by anybody, you will be able to make the bond soon but first you must-" The gentle yet firm hold I had on my ilu, Kailani, was loosened in confusion as my words trailed off, the lesson put a hold as the children watching my demonstration jumped. The distracting event that caused this being an unusual flap of strong wings and an earsplitting animal cry.

This did not sound like the creatures I had ever been familiar with.

My eyes snapped up and landed on the ikran's in the sky, tilting my head as Kailani done the same, chirping in confusion and fear at the five flying creatures. They were from the forest, forest people do not come to our islands unless they were warning or in trade with my people. The latter has not happened for years. The children began muttering, looking completely mesmerised by the ikran's, I sternly began speaking to them.

"Although it is unlikely this is a warning of danger, we must be respectful to them, understand?" My ears downcast in worry as my heavy tail stiffly stuck to my leg as a hope for closeness. The multiple lessons on culture or gathering materials were stopped, all children were now on the back of the adult's or teenager's ilus to ride over and witness what was happening.

One hopped behind me on Kailani and held on tight. I gently stroked the head of Kailani and muttered 'forward', repeating comforting words in my head to calm both me and the the unsure ilu down, sucking in a hurried breath and slowing down my now steady heartbeat as my head peeked underwater. I expertly navigated the corals and stones leading to the beach where they'd land, worried for the safety of my people made you almost completely unaware of my own surroundings, yet still pushing forward until I saw the sand form a slope to the beach.

As my head slowly rose from the water I breathed in the air, waiting until Kailani didn't have much more room to swim so I could gently take the child off her back, pushing them to join their mother who hurriedly motioned for them to come closer.

I had come just in time to witness them be in conversation with our tribes Olo'eyktan and Tsahik, Tonowari and Ronal respectively. The forest people had strange features, while I was of course fully aware forest people had darker skin, thinner arms, different eyes and fluffy tipped tails, however these ones had more fingers than they were suppose to, and strange hair above their eyes.

This was very crudely pointed out by the Tsahik who was only convinced to give them shelter by their close family bond, the Olo'eyktan motioned to the group of teenagers consisting of his two children, Ao'nung and Tsireya, along with Rotxo, telling them how they'd be of assistance to learn the ocean people's ways.

He then turned to me, informing the family of outsiders how I am one of the best at teaching young ones to prepare for ilu's and even a warriors ride. Therefore it would stand to reason I would be excellent at teaching them our people's ways, as if they were young children learning for the first time.

My heart sped up slightly at the thought of working with Rotxo, I had been nervous around him for years and so rarely joined in on hunts where he was involved. It helped greatly how I'm not a healer or one of the warriors in training for my tribe, therefore I would not be in close proximity to healing him as he was fairly reckless, nor would I be training with him regularly. However, now I wouldn't be able to back out, it made me nervous, but also made me excited.

On the next sunrise me and the others would begin teaching the outsiders, and while I had never prided myself on appearances, preferring your cultures dances or songs, I took extra time doing my hair and perfecting how our clothing was worn. I'd told myself it was in order to show a good first impression for the tribes guests, however, I was fully aware of the true reason.

With an extra pep in my step, bouncing lightly on the cloth which connected my own marui and another's, then jumping from them into the water. I happily twirled around the rich wildlife around me and drifted towards the main part of the beach. Popping my head out of the water, I noticed Tsireya and two of the forest people, but nobody else. Slowly standing up and exiting the water, I looked around completely confused on where Rotxo and the others were.

"Where is everybody?" I questioned Tsireya, she smiled knowingly at the very obvious 'hidden' meaning to my question.

"Rotxo." She paused with heavy emphasis on his name "Is with Ao'nung, Neteyam, the eldest brother, and Kiri, the eldest daughter. We will be teaching Tuk-" She gestured to the youngest. "-and Lo'ak." Tsireya gave a softer smile to him and almost whispered his name, I honestly wanted to laugh at how she teased me for my crush yet was head over heels for a complete stranger, but I held my tongue.

"Alright, should we begin with breathing exercises?" I sucked in a sharp breath and tried to not seem too down, they need teaching and I was chosen for this reason, not to drool needlessly over a boy.

When the first lesson was over, Tuk and Lo'ak had done well in learning how to hold their breath effectively, and while they couldn't hold it anywhere near me or Tsireya, the forest siblings were better than when they had started. The group were all going to disperse when I heard loud splashing.

"First lesson over for you as well? Thought you'd take less time" The eldest brother rolled his eyes at Lo'ak's passive aggressive comment, smiling and sassily smacking the back of his head. He was going to reply when a bundle of hair bounced to Tsireya and loudly spoke.

"Because we're done with lessons can I learn songs!" Tuk dragged out songs and tugged on Tsireya's arm, who looked down at her shining yellow eyes and laughed a little.

"Well, I am the wrong person, look over there if you want to learn dance and song." She teasingly whispered, shaking her shoulders and smiling bright at how my face practically lit up in seconds.

"Oh! Yes, well what type do you want to know? We have plenty of wonderful songs and dance for you to learn! Of course it cannot compare to your own culture which has more music than us, however it is still needed for certain ceremonies and-" I continued rambling as Tuk's excited look got happier every second, bouncing on her feet and begging for you to teach her.

"Tonight I will teach you! Do you all wish to join as well?" I looked at the other siblings in anticipation, who nodded and agreed with eager smiles. I turned to the other Metkyina's present. "Tsireya, Ao'nung-" I shyly looked down, my face beginning to burn a little "Rotxo... Do you want to join in teaching?"

"Why not? Some of our practices do require many of us." Tsireya grinned, turning to her brother who rolled his eyes. Muttering some choice words to which she slapped his arm and looked with eyes wide at me and Rotxo. Ao'nung's mouth gaped for a second before chuckling.

"Sure, fine." He agreed, Rotxo only joining due to this, I gratefully smiled at the chiefs son and motioned for them all to join me.

"We shall go prepare," I turned to the forest siblings "You will all meet us here after we eat, okay?" They all nodded, a small grumble from Lo'ak on if he has to but agreeing with a grin for a certain friend of mine nonetheless.

We shall rushed to our marui and gained permission to ask for some instruments that players would be willing to lend us, along with playing for when he would dance. When the time had come, I noticed Tsireya and Ao'nung whispering to each other, worried on if something was wrong I decided to approach them.

"Are we missing anything?" Tsireya shyly looked down.

"I forgot to ask one of the instrument players, is there any way you could go to Apikalia and ask if they will join?" She asked, I nodded given we still had a few minutes until we were expected to start.

"Of course!" I began my way across the beach, skipping and happily humming a tune to myself while in waiting, jumping up to the cloth bridges. However, as I looked into Apikalia's marui not to find them, but to find Rotxo.

I jumped in surprise and he proceeded to do the same, holding a hand over his beating heart. My face burned hot, I looked down and began stuttering, I realised I was set up by Tsireya and her brother.

"Oh, you're already looking for them? I will go-" My sentence was momentarily cut off as Rotxo rushed forward and grabbed my hand. Only a few feet away from me.

"Why are you avoiding me?" His voice was high and offended, but also worried. I opened my mouth in shock, closing it soon after when his eyes almost welled with tears, shiny and deep whenever I looked in them, demanding an answer.

"I didn't want to, I just..." Gulping, I thought. Better now then never. "Can't face you." I closed my eyes and breathed in deep, slowly preparing myself to answer.

"Because...?" He trailed off, Rotxo's eyes had fear in them. For what I was unsure, but if I hid my feelings things would never progress.

"Because I love you. Rotxo. I see you." My hands subconsciously done the motion, looking up into his shocked eyes. They softened as he stepped closer to me.

"And I see you." His grip left my hand, instead going to my shoulders and leaning in close. I done the same, both of us closing our eyes, both our lips meeting in a sweet and shy kiss. Neither aware on how to do this, but both confident in our abilities as long as it was us. Together.

When we separated, I looked down.

"We were set up..." I awkwardly twiddled with my hands. "Tsireya and her dumb brother." I mumbled and crossed my arms, moving back two steps.

"Oh, I thought we were genuinely both searching for Apikalia." He chuckled, scratching the back of his head shyly when I laughed, moving his other hand down to hold my own. Both of our heads turned to the opening when someone awwd and another gagged.

"You two are so adorable." Tsireya held a hand over her chest in adoration, laughing loudly when I stuck my tongue out like a child.

"You're so gross." Ao'nung cringed at us. We both, embarrassed, realised we were still holding hands. Yanking my hand off and glaring daggers at the other boy.

"At least we have each other, what do you have?" I sassily crossed my arms over my chest, Rotxo held a hand over this mouth trying desperately not to laugh at him.

"They're not wrong-" Tsireya began teasing her brother but he playfully hissed at me and began leaving.

"Come on, they're expecting us and we're late, losers." Ao'nung chuckled when he heard me stomping over, jumping into the water and avoiding my playful slap to his head.

"He's right, let's go." Tsireya joined her brother swimming to the beach, I smiled and looked back to Rotxo who was shyly walking closer to me.

"So you want to hunt with me tommorow? I know you don't like hunting but, it's either you or Ao'nung." He shyly held his hand out, to which I took and grinned.

"Of course I'll join you, idiot. Don't think I'll be any good though."

[jdeclerc]

under autumn's moon

pairing: lucien x reader

summary: having watched you overwork yourself for weeks, Lucien wants nothing more than to spend time with you, even if it is just for one night.

author's note: i may not be a Lucien girl, but my dear friend is, so this one's for her - k, i hope this makes you smile <3

warnings: smut, wrapped in a wonderfully fluffy bow

word count: 3,561

From his position at Y/N’s study door, Lucien can tell that the female has been there much too long. The light from the setting sun is casting shadows across your face, accentuating the fatigue lining your exquisite features.

Over the past weeks he could count the number of times he had spoken more than three sentences with you at a time, on one hand. There had been no late-night talks about each other’s days, no hours-long strolls through the woods surrounding the Forest House.

He missed the sound of your laugh, your lazy smile as you awoke at first light, and, by the Cauldron, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without the feeling of your bare skin under his.

It is the change in his scent as his thoughts venture further into the impure that has you finally looking up, and the tired smile that crosses your face has his heart breaking.

“I think it’s time you take a break, my spark.”

A shake of your head precedes your response.

“I can’t Luce, I just…I can’t.” You throw your hands up in frustration. “I have communications from what seems like every court to respond to, I’m finishing the revisions for our new trade agreement with Day, and now I’m working with Eris to finalize the expansion of our healer apprenticeship program.”

Lucien pushes off the door frame, moving to lean both hands on the chair opposite your desk. He can’t help the anger that laces his voice in that moment, taking a breath before his next words.

“My brother must know how much work lays on your desk and he has the audacity to add something else?! Let me have words with him and I swear to you –”

“He didn’t ask Lucien, I volunteered to help him. He tried to refuse me, and I persisted.”

“I should have known.” He shoots you a grin. “I have always loved your inability to let those you love walk alone.”

“For everything he’s done for Autumn and how hard he works, it’s the least I could do.”

“And you would provide him better help if you took time for yourself. I can’t remember the last time we dined together, and by the number of times I’ve awoken to cold sheets next to me, I know you haven’t been sleeping as much as you need.”

You can’t seem to meet Lucien’s eye and he can see the tears brimming in yours. He rounds your desk, taking the underside of your jaw in his hands and titling your head to look up at him.

“No tears, my love. I can’t begin to describe how proud I am to call you mine. I voice my concerns because it breaks my heart to see you hurt, in any way.”

You lean your head into Lucien’s hand and place yours on top of where it rests.

“It’s not you Luce, I’m tired and my brain is as foggy as the woods at first light.”

“Then please, come with me. I promise it’ll help.” You give him a questioning look and he places his free hand over his heart. “No more than a few hours, I swear.”

You pause for a moment before giving him a small nod, a smile ghosting over your lips.

He reaches out a hand for one of yours, helping you stand from your desk. He tightens his grip on your jaw and leans into you.

Lucien’s lips meet yours and it’s as though the world falls away. The kiss is slow, patient, the both of you savouring the moment.

The two of you break apart and Lucien smiles down at you.

He slips his arm around your waist and gestures toward the open study door.

“Shall we, my love? An adventure awaits us.”

You can’t help but laugh at the mischievous grin he gives you; the male always having been the more spontaneous of the two of you.

­----------

As you entered the court stables you immediately see that the horses you both called your own are saddled and at the ready.

“Lucien Vanserra, you are one confident male. How did you possibly know that I would agree to your plans?”

He once again gives you a grin, adding a wink alongside it.

“Call it lover’s intuition, spark.”

You laugh as you approach your mount, running a loving hand along the side of her face.

A specimen of beauty. Pure black but for the mare’s hooves and the streaks winding through her mane, both the deep golden colour that accentuates the Autumn Court’s traditional attire. A gift from Lucien on the first of your name days the two of you had spent together.

Lucien had named her Flint, “just what his spark needed to light the world on fire” he had said. The two of you formed a bond like no other.

You lean you head into the mare’s.

“How I’ve missed you, my girl.”

Flint leans her head into yours, showing she has missed you in equal measure.

“I’ve been taking her out myself, she wanted to be ready for when you returned to her.”

You gave Lucien an appreciative smile as you put your foot in the stirrup and swing your leg. You adjust yourself, settling into the saddle like the second home it is.

“Am I going to have to slow myself down? Let you ease back into it?”

“I’m sure you would enjoy that Vanserra, but you know better than that. Do your best to keep up, won’t you?”

You don’t wait for Lucien’s reply as you take off. You burst from the stable, not willing to wait any longer to feel the cold air rush past you and the freedom of feeling as though you are flying.

---------

You slow Flint to a walk as you reach a clearing in the trees and approach the lookout over the woods surrounding the Forest House.

“I’ll never get tired of this, of home.” Lucien stops beside you, admiring the lands he so desperately missed in the years of his exile.

“No words can quite do its beauty justice.”

“No…no they cannot.”

The tone of his voice has you turning to look at him, finding him already looking in your direction. You can’t help the blush that crosses your cheeks.

“As much as I love this view, this isn’t the place I had in mind for our evening adventure.”

You raise a brow in question.

“Then, by all means, lead the way.”

You gesture for him to go, knowing that whatever he has planned will be spectacular.

Lucien turns and takes off once more, you quickly follow behind.

--------

Lucien comes to a stop in front a thick sheet of hanging vines and dismounts from his horse. He motions for you to do the same. He extends his hand, taking Flint’s reins from you and tying both horses to the tree that sits nearby. He grabs a snack for both from his saddlebag before making his way back over to you.

Putting a hand on your lower back, Lucien leads you to stand in front of the vines. As he lifts them, the air is stolen from your lungs at the sight before you.

The moonlight shines into the clearing through the opening in the trees overhead, its light casting an ethereal glow over the rippling pool at its centre.

The only sound that can be heard is the stream that feeds the pool, as though the outside world has fallen away. The moss that covers the forest floor is soft beneath your feet and is accentuated by the wildflowers growing between the rocks scattered around the clearing.

You feel Lucien’s chest against your back as he comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You lay both your hands overtop his where they land on your waist.

You can’t bring yourself to speak above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the peace that resides here.

“How did you ever find this place?”

“I came upon it a fortnight ago and have been dreaming about bringing you here since.” Lucien kisses you at the joining of your neck and shoulder, marking a path upward until his lips rest against your ear. “The water is quite warm…perfect for a late-night swim.

He moves his hands beneath your tunic, trailing them across your skin. You feel him lean away from you as he gathers the hem in his hands and lifts the garment. You raise your arms and can’t help the shiver that runs over you as the night air hits your bare chest.

You hear your tunic hit the ground as Lucien brings his body flush to yours once more. His hands move to the laces of your trousers, untying them with well-practiced precision. You can hear him sink to his knees behind you. He unzips your riding boots, gently lifting each of your feet before removing them. Lucien works your trousers over your hips, and you step forward, out of them as they reach your ankles, leaving you bare.

You turn around, meeting Lucien’s darkening eyes.

“There truly are no words.”

Without a word you step closer to him, pulling him to stand. You bring your hand to rest on his jaw, his hands coming to encircle your waist once more.

You lean into him, you lips ghosting over his ear.

“Your turn my love.”

You smile at him as you step away. You can feel his eyes trailing you as you step into the pool. The warm water a stark contrast to the crisp night air.

As you reach the middle of the pool, you turn and find that Lucien has not moved.

It’s the desire you know is evident on your face and the change in your scent that has him raising his own shirt above his head and making quick work of his trousers.

You rake your eyes over his broad form, the planes of muscle littered with the scars that tell the story of his upbringing.

Your eyes catch on the tattoo that rests on his left hip and a smile crosses your face, the design perfectly aligning with the one that runs up your right hip. The two of you had gotten them done on the day you committed yourselves to each other. The design a perfect melding of the Autumn and Day Courts, your original birthplace.

As Lucien enters the pool, his eyes don’t leave yours.

He meets you in the middle, grabbing your hands and bringing them around his neck. His arms encircle your waist, pulling you impossibly close, his forehead coming to rest against yours.

“Luce…I’m so sorry.” Your hands take hold on either side of his neck, and you lean back enough to meet his eye. “I’ve missed you every day these past weeks.”

You voice breaks with the end of your sentence. Lucien wipes away the singular tear that escapes.

“Please, my love. You owe me no apology. I fell in love with your dedication to your work long ago and have admired it ever since. Believe me when I say I know it is your work pulling you away from me, and nothing more.”

“I’ve taken on extra work, by choice. It is my own decision-making that has put us both in this position.”

“Whether given to you or taken on by your own actions does not matter. It does not make it any easier to carry. You are allowed to feel the stress and exhaustion, allowed to be affected by it. And should anyone tell you differently, you send them to me, and I will live up to the infamy of my last name. Promise?”

You let out a small laugh as you nod at his words, knowing he truly means every one.

“I’m not sure what I ever did to deserve a male as extraordinary as yourself. I will never stop thanking the Mother for bringing you to me.”

“We walked through a lifetime of pain before coming together. I like to believe that you are finally a gift, the Mother admitting she has put us through enough.”

It’s not often that the two of you speak of your romantic pasts, the pain still evident to this day. You, having lost your mate to the first Great War, watching as she was cut down by Hybern’s forces. And Lucien, who’s mate cleaved herself from him with no thought or remorse, never giving the male a second thought.

Lucien’s words were right, the two of you had fought long and hard to be able to live in the happiness you found in one another.

“I love you, Lucien.”

“And I love you, my spark.”

He closes the distance and kisses you, pulling you so every part of him is against every part of you. His hands roam your body as the kiss turns desperate, hungry.

Lucien’s lips move to your neck, finding the spot that has you letting out a gasp.

His hands skim your hips, and he wraps them around your thighs, lifting you into his arms. You hook your ankles around his waist as he moves you backwards, setting you on the edge of the pool.

Lucien’s lips return to your own as he grips your thighs to spread them further, pushing himself against you. You can’t help the small moan that escapes as you feel just how much Lucien had missed you.

“How I’ve missed that sound.”

His hands skim up your sides. His thumbs brush across your nipples, the night air having turned them to stiff peaks. Lucien’s lips join his hands, his teeth nipping at each of your breasts in turn. He straightens and runs his hands over the marks he created; an artist admiring his latest work.

Lucien’s gaze meets yours as his left hand grips your waist and his right moves down your front with a featherlight touch. His eyes don’t leave yours as he runs two fingers through your folds, your eyes closing and mouth falling slightly open at the feeling.

“And you’ve missed that, haven’t you?” His fingers begin circling your clit, eliciting a small whine from your lips. “You wonderfully insatiable female. I’ve barely touched you and you’re falling apart. Tell me Y/N, who else has this effect on you?”

“No…no one Luce.” Your words come out as more of a breath as Lucien sinks two fingers into you, them curling in just the right way.

“That’s my good girl, you’re mine and only mine.”

He quickens his pace, your moans becoming more desperate. You bite your lip to quiet them. Lucien’s hand moves from your waist to your jaw and his thumb pulls your bottom lip free.

“None of that. I’ve waited too long to hear you fall apart, let me hear you Y/N.”

Your hips begin to lift, meeting Lucien’s hand at every stroke. Your hands tighten their grip on either side of his neck, the both of you knowing you’re quickly barrelling toward an edge.

Lucien suddenly pulls his hand from you and the sound that falls from your lips is almost painful, your peak only moments out of reach.

“Lucien…” Your voice holds a warning.

“I need to feel you Y/N. The only way you’re cumming is wrapped around my cock. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

If anyone but Lucien had heard the desperation in your voice you would have been embarrassed. His commanding words in these moments never failed to cause heat to rush through you, never failing to turn you to malleable clay in his hands.

As you feel him position himself, and push into you the slightest bit, your eyes fall closed once more.

Lucien’s hand comes to grasp the front of your throat, his grip tightening just enough to cause you to look at him.

“Eyes on me. I want to see you fall apart on my cock. I want to watch the very moment I become the only thing that exists for you in this world.”

You manage to nod in response.

Lucien’s pushes into you at a painfully slow pace, as though he is refamiliarizing himself with the feeling of being inside you. He pauses once he’s fully seated within you.

“You are a needy thing, clenching around me already.”

He pulls most of the way out of you before setting a burning pace, his hips meeting yours almost painfully with each thrust. After weeks of not being with each other, the way Lucien is stretching you is intoxicating.

Lucien’s thumb moves to your clit as your moans become louder, the male knowing exactly what you need to reach your peak.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave from the ocean, the look in Lucien’s eyes as he watches you only intensifying the feeling. His hand moves to your waist, but his thrusts slow only marginally, carrying you through each and every aftershock.

“That’s it, spark. Give me everything.”

His movements stop after a few moments, his cock still buried inside you.

“Luce, you didn’t –”

“I didn’t, but are you telling me you’re done? That you can’t handle anymore?” He begins to pull out of you as he speaks.

Your ankles tighten around his waist, halting his movements. You thread your hands into the hair at the nape of his neck and pull him toward you, your lips meet his in a searing kiss.

“I can handle anything you give me Vanserra, I want it all.”

He’s still smiling as his lips meet yours again and he begins to move. Lucien sets a slower pace than before but slides you closer to the pool’s edge, allowing him to reach deeper, hitting a spot inside you that has you gasping each time his hips meet yours.

It doesn’t take long for both of your breaths to become laboured. You can’t help your arms wrapping around Lucien’s shoulders, nails scraping his back as you cling to him.

His hands take hold of your thighs in a bruising grip. This time it’s he who can’t help the groans that pass his lips.

“You were made for me Y/N, so fucking perfect…you’re taking me so well. I can feel that you’re close. Are you going to cum for me love? Grip me so tight, have me fill you up. Is that what you want?”

“Yes…Lucien…please –” Your words are cut off as he brings his hand back to your clit.

Lucien captures your lips with his, swallowing your cry as you cum. You break away, needing the air as he doesn’t stop his movements on your clit.

It takes only a moment for him to find his own release, a cry of his own coming out of him as he buries his face in you neck. His thrusts become begin to falter and the sound of both of your release combining has you choking back a moan.

You bring your hand to rest on the back of his head as he slows his movements. Neither of you speak at he stills, basking in the feelings still coursing through you both.

Without a word and without pulling out of you, Lucien picks you up and moves you both back into the centre of the pool. He lowers until only your chests are above the water and Lucien begins to gently sway back and forth.

He meets your eye with a searching gaze.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little sore.” You can see the concern instantly cover his expression and you are quick to correct any assumption he made. “In the best way possible, I promise. I wouldn’t trade tonight for anything.”

You pour all of the love you have for Lucien into the kiss you give him. It doesn’t turn desperate as it did earlier, you both relish in the love that exists between you for several minutes.

It’s Lucien who breaks from you first.

“I promised to only steal you away for a few hours, I should be getting you back to your study.”

You pick up on the sadness that laces his tone, your thumb brushing along his jaw.

“I think I can step away for one night…I want to wake up with you Lucien, I want you to make love to me as the sun floats through our bedroom windows.”

He kisses you once more.

“I would love nothing more.” He brushes his nose against yours. “Shall we head back to the Forest House?”

“Not right now…can we stay here for a while longer?”

“We can do anything you’d like, my love.”

“Thank you…for everything. Thank you for being understanding, for always standing by my side.”

“I will always be here. Always.”

“I love you, Lucien.”

“I love you Y/N, more than you could ever know.”

You smile at him before resting your head on his shoulder.

The two of you fall silent. The movement of the water as Lucien continues to sway is the only sound that makes its way into the clearing.

For the first time in weeks your thoughts aren’t filled with a checklist of your endless duties. Your mind is calm.

You think only of the love between you and the male holding you.

You allow that love to bring you peace. Silently vowing to never again lose sight of the gift that is having Lucien Vanserra in your life.

[writerloversjm]

Corrosive Jealousy

Darkling x Fem!Reader

A/N: Inspired by the events of Shadow and Bone S1

Summary: You know it's all part of a bigger plan, but you can't help but feel jealous every time he sees the approach between Aleksander and Alina. It gets to the point where even you can't take it anymore.

Warnings: Y/n is a Healer, Jealousy, anguish, mention drunk, canonical level violence, blood, bad thoughts, anger, mention of injuries, poisoning, Merzost.

Count: 3,1k

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You shouldn't be jealous of a Sun Summoner girl.

You knew you would never be more to him than a Healer while she was Ravka's salvation.

You also couldn't help the bitter taste rising in your throat every time you saw Alina and your general together.

How could? You never expected to be replaced after 150 years of working and living with Aleksander, let alone a pathetic, naive girl like her.

You saw how he was beside himself with excitement when he arrived with the Summuner, at first you wondered if it was just that the girl was what he had been waiting for, or something more. It didn't take long for you to have your answer.

“Did you call me General?” You asked, slowly opening the door, already predicting what you would find.

Aleksander was in his armchair without Kefta and with his shirt open, Alina was between his legs, trying to fix a deep cut. You would laugh if you weren't worried. You hated your stupid feelings.

His blood boiled. His heart bled. "I was healing a boy with a broken leg, remember that the next time you take me out of my job for nothing General, please" the two looked in their direction but only found a closed door. Ivan, who was at the door, said nothing before his furious look and his heavy steps moving away.

When you got back to the infirmary, Feydor was already done with the boy's leg in its place. You felt even more irritated. "Why don't you go get some air in the library Y/n?"

You, of course, understood Feydor's suggestion as get out of here before you explode. You nodded, calming your pounding heart. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I can cover for you for a few hours” your friend replied, you let out a sigh, feeling pathetic for letting yourself succumb to feelings after so many years. “And try not to have a heart attack, your heart is not so young anymore”

You laughed at his teasing as you left, the healers closest to you always unconditionally reminded that for all Ghisha, you had joined the Second Army a few years before General Kirigan's father died.

The library was silent when you arrived, not even the librarian was there. And by trade you entered the farthest hall. At the end of the hall was an inconspicuous door, made of Grisha steel, with a room filled with only books on romance, fantasy, and subjects you liked. It was made for you a long time ago.

You entered taking the last book you were reading and sat in your armchair to read and distract yourself.

You woke up to the sound of the door opening. It took her sleepy brain to recognize the tall figure that entered, but as soon as it did, her mood plummeted. "What are you doing here?"

“Were you here all night?” His relieved tone put you on edge. Something had happened. You nodded, closing the book that was in your lap and placing it on the side table. Her neck ached. "What happened?"

"Some Shu were seen circling Os Alta, you were gone all day Y/n, and everyone knows how you like to walk around the city" he said leaning against a bookshelf, did you notice how his skin seemed to be covered by a thin layer of sweat. "I'm sorry but I'm still here"

“Stop being an idiot Y/n, everyone was worried” Aleksander said and you did in a dismissive sound. All. All. But and you? You folded the blanket from your lap and stood up. “Have a good time Aleksander”

“Y/n...” as you walked past him, you heard his erratic heartbeat and the way everything seemed to be working slowly in his body. And it wasn't just that the Merzost that coursed through her veins and hindered her healing process like most of the time. “Y/n”

You knew he wanted to say something by his tone, but you didn't want to listen, you needed some time for yourself and distance from him, and all the feelings that were making you sick. "Go take a cold shower and relax, I'll stop by your room to heal you Aleksander."

You left the library quickly, going quickly to your room. You didn't stop to hear how happy and relieved everyone was that you were okay, you were too busy in your mind to pay attention to that. Alina appeared in front of her and you hurried past her. “Do you know where General Kirigan is?”

You entered her room – one that you hadn't used a while ago – and she followed you. You opened your briefcase with medicines and antidotes. Alina approached you. “I know Alina, and I need distance”

"Where is he?" Her demanding nature reminded you of a spoiled princess you once knew. You took what you needed to get the Darkling's venom out and left again, completely ignoring Alina. She followed you. “Could you not answer me?!”

“Alina, why don’t you go find something to do and let me do my job?” You were running hurriedly through the halls, with an annoying shadow behind you. “Y/n do I need to know where he is?”

“Not Alina, you want to know, and unlike everyone else, I don't give you everything you want. Now stop following me and get out of here.”

Ivan opened the door for you the moment you stopped in front of the door, which closed in Alina's face. “Did he get worse?”

“Do you take care of him? I'll bring David and Genya” he said leaving the war room and you locked the door. You entered Aleksander's room, Feydor was trying to take care of him, but apparently the poison was making him delirious.

“You can't summon General now, it will only spread more poison” his voice interrupted a series of meaningless words and Feydor looked at you in relief. “Y/n, thanks to the Saints, I'm trying to bring his fever down, but his body is too slow”

“Let me do it, can you start arranging the antidote dosages?” You asked and Feydor nodded, stepping away from the dying man. You approached Aleksander. “How are you feeling General?”

“It's cold, the clothes are itchy, and I want candy” you chuckled at his pitiful state. She didn't have to touch his skin to feel his fever. "I don't want that tomato near me"

“Are you going to be difficult today in?!” You joked to distract him. You made sure Feydor wasn't looking and summoned Merzost. You would never have lived so long without it.

When your fingertips turned dark you manipulated the Little Science to cure Aleksander, just enough to put him to sleep, you still needed to know how that poison got into him, and only David and Genya would know that. “Goodnight y/n”

“Good night Sasha”

“Why after healing the General does it always look like a carriage ran over you?” Genya asked as she made her dark circles disappear. “The poison was leaving serious sequelae, I had to work all night”

Her response was vague and she didn't question it. But the truth is, Merzost takes a toll, and refuses to be healed. You had to give yourself a lot to heal Aleksander. But you would do it a thousand times if you had to.

You just hated the doubts that roamed your mind. There was a time when you were sure what he would do for you, today you are not so sure anymore.

After she finished making you presentable, you tucked the gloves into your hands and headed out into the day, even though walking through the cafeteria made your stomach do somersaults and your head hasn't stopped hurting since you woke up.

“Where is Ivan or Feydor?” You asked one of the men guarding the Darkling's door. “Not arrived yet”

You nodded and left, just then you saw the time. Of course you knew it was early, but you were surprised at how early it was, it was barely dawn. You felt bad for making Genya wake up so early.

The quiet morning gave way to a noisy afternoon, and you were barely enduring your migraine when one of the General's men warned you that you were being summoned.

You felt like you were in déjà vu. “Did you call me General?” You asked, opening the door slowly, not knowing what you would find.

Aleksander was in his armchair without his Kefta and his shirt open, Alina was between his legs, trying to examine the cut on his shoulder. She completely ignored her, in fact she seemed to be in another world. You took a deep breath.

"My shoulder is killing me Milaya" Aleksander said with a murmur, but he broke into a huge smile when he saw you, which you couldn't help but reciprocate. You knew the antidote was working, you just didn't think it would get so soft. "Lucky for you it's just the shoulders, a few hours ago it was the whole body"

"Why the gloves?" Alina asked moving away from Aleksander, you took her place to see the stitches. You rolled your eyes. "I know you don't like her, but you could at least disguise your dislike for her, she's important!"

You gave a bitter laugh as you started to heal him again. Who knew that even knocked down by a dose of medicine Aleksander Mozorova still managed to hurt you. "I rolled my eyes at your idiocy in preferring stitches over a quick heal, Alina was just your victim"

“He's pretty doped up now, isn't he?” Feydor questioned entering the war room joining Alina, immediately Aleksander threw him a withering look. “You will not steal my woman Feydor”

“General are you having an allergic reaction?” You knew it would, but it wasn't serious enough to worry, so you could have fun. It masked the aching thud of his heart with his words. He ignored you and tried to get up. "What do you think you are doing?"

“Going to teach Feydor what happens when he looks at my woman like that” he was actually furious in his somewhat questionable state of mental equilibrium. You stopped healing him to place your hands on his chest and stop him. “I'm sure he loves Ivan too much to look at Alina the way he's thinking, you'll just stand there sir.”

His heart stopped for a second as he realized what he had admitted, it was a great relief to his soul nonetheless. You just went back to healing Aleksander's shoulder, looking only at the wound now.

“Stop being such an idiot Y/n, I don't care how he looks at Alina, I don't want him looking at you like that” You ignored every word he said in your state, avoiding the disappointments that would come as the medicine wears off. A tear trickled down his face. You finished healing him in silence and the moment you finished, you practically ran out of the room.

Hot tears made a path down his face.

You'd spent the last three weeks willfully ignoring Feydor, Ivan, Genya or anyone else who could and would report you to General Kirigan, you'd gotten good at it. But now you had no way out. It was the Yule Ball, and you loved it. Not showing up today would be doubly suspicious.

You grimaced as a servant pulled your hair into an elaborate bun. “I hate men, why are they so complicated?!”

“Women are not easier” the servant who was fixing you commented, looking at the one who was fixing your dress.

And okay, after you got some alone time to analyze your feelings and the circumstances, you came to the conclusion that Alina wasn't so bad. You knew about your husband's plan, and you had allowed it, only her feelings got out of control with the amount of time spent with the girl, her old ones start to take root in your head again and all the circumstances made you react badly. Alina was scared and clung to the first people who showed support and understanding, like a scared child.

But you were still very angry, especially with Aleksander, and you had no intention of forgiving him so soon. You were mad at Alina for the jealousy you still felt, and mad at yourself for acting like a freaking bitch; but for one night everything could have a truce.

“That's why book characters are better,” you said, getting up after they were done with your face and hair.

Someone knocked on your door, and you saw when they delivered a box, you already imagined what was inside and you weren't quite willing to use it. “Help me with the dress please”

Some of Ravka's most powerful Ghisha, as well as nobles and the royal family would be in this year's Fate, security would be more than doubled, there was no reason for you to use a Kefta.

Your maids helped you into your heavy dress and high-heeled sandals. After the fight against the fabric you could finally see yourself in the mirror.

For an instant you were reminded of the dresses you'd worn when you were a young Ghisha, smells of skirts and layers, with gems and tulle. In fact, you could just as easily have been dressing for a ball back then in her red tiered gown, with embroidered silver tulle.

Just their colors, no rings, no wedding symbols. Just Y/n and her eternally youthful looks. You felt beautiful and desirable. You would think that time had not passed if not for your hands.

They hadn't yet recovered from the use of Merzost, and from his fingers to the middle of his forearms they were streaked black, a stain that wouldn't go away for nothing. “Your Gloves”

You said thank you by reaching out to put them on and then you were done. Someone knocked on your door and before you could even think, the servant was already opening the door.

Aleksander came in in all his glory, his Kefta looked even blacker, all the light seemed to flee from him, his beard was clean and a slight smile graced his face. You knew that not even the Saints would be as beautiful as he was, but today it was hard to even look at it for very long.

Even if it wasn't for you. The servants left and you were alone with him. You saw that immediately when his gaze met you a crease formed in his forehead, showing displeasure. “You are not using your Kefta”

“I can't get through if you keep ahead of me” even the slowest of men would know that this is a sure sign that a woman doesn't want to talk to him, but *age must be getting to him* you thought how much he continued in front of you. "What do you want?"

“Stop being childish Y/n” his tone was scolding and you were already fed up. “Have you come to give me directions on how not to ruin your perfect night with Alina? Don't worry I promise it will be easy for you to forget I'm there, and by the way, please never pass your kids that notebook you pull the best quotes from to make me feel like shit.”

Aleksander looked at you in panic, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. You pushed him out of the way and left the room.

You had no idea how you ended up in that situation. One moment you were drunk and leaving the ball to spend time in your library, and now you felt your blood trickling down your gaping throat with an ugly wound.

You could have healed earlier, but the shock of fright and the alcohol made you lose precious minutes and now you didn't even have the strength to raise your hands.

The hallway you were in wasn't the most used, and the situation only gets worse because I don't move at all with everyone having fun at the ball. You never imagined that you would die alone, but perhaps it was a punishment for having become so bitter.

When the familiar darkness opened around you, all that was left was to close your eyes and accept your fate.

“It's going to be a slow recovery, she's going to be fine” your head ached at the sound of the voice, which although familiar you couldn't place. "I'll be back in an hour, if anything happens before then call me General"

You felt your throat extremely dry, and tremors of weakness in your body, and cold as if not all the blankets of the earth could warm you. His only source of heat was in the palm of his hand. But you couldn't open your eyes.

“Forgive me milaya, I should have realized how bad I was doing you, how I was hurting you, I should have been with you, be on your side, this would never have happened if I wasn't being a selfish bastard, it's my fault, please forgive me...” You recognized that voice, and your head didn't ache, but the inconsistency soon took over again.

The next time you woke up, there seemed to be an argument going on. You couldn't keep up with everything, your head was too heavy. You thanked the Saints when you blacked out again.

And then the next time you woke up your eyes opened to complete darkness. You immediately identified where you were, not only by the contours of familiar furniture or all the black walls but mainly by the quiet breathing behind you. “Aleksandr?”

The movement behind you was immediate, soon he was leaning over you, checking if it was you and then he got out of bed quickly and got a glass of water. He helped you lift your head to drink. You pulled away after your partnered throat better. You sighed, and tried to put into words everything you felt. "I am tired"

“I'm so sorry milaya” his words were also loaded with meaning and promise, but the doubts that had been creeping into your mind made you skeptical. He saw it. “I promise you that I will spend every remaining day of our lives making up for everything bad I made you feel, every doubt, bitterness, sadness, everything.”

“Can I go back to sleep in my bed?” You asked shyly, you saw his eyes fill with tears before he leaned his forehead against yours. His tear trickled down her cheek. “Of course you can my love”

“I think this is a good start, but I'm still mad at you” you said feeling the weakness hit again and he chuckled softly, then he settled you on the pillows, and lay down next to you, hugging your body with his arms. Careful. “I will earn my forgiveness milaya”

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