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vampsywrites · 1 year

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just a scratch

synopsis: while out on in the forest, you were busy foraging for healing herbs. everything was going well until you ended up getting hurt. and despite your best efforts to conceal and downplay your wounds, you end up failing miserably once you faint right in front of the entire clan.

characters: tarsem, tsu'tey + son! spider, aged up! neteyam, aged up! ao'nung x reader (all seperate)

tags: tsahik! na'vi! reader, hurt/comfort, warnings for blood, injuries, cuts, fainting, self-indulgent prompt, arguments, brief mentions of past trauma (tsu'tey), really overprotective mates, possibly ooc

son spider best spider, neteyam is about to have a stroke bc of his stubborn ass mate, ao'nung is an annoying shit but he's your annoying shit.

It was just a scratch.

A faint trail of blood marked a delicate line across the expanse of your torso, a disquieting contrast against your azure skin. A burning sensation flared up on your sides and yet, in spite of it, you pushed yourself off of the tree's trunk, grabbed your basket of herbs and trudged back towards your village.

At your sudden movement, the scratch stung harder, sending a searing hot, white pain up your torso. Gritting your teeth, you bit back a hiss of pain.

You were fine. It was fine. You had probably just pulled it when you stood up.

As you approach the village, you notice how a few of your people turn and gasp at your state. A cool shiver ran up your spine as you drop your gaze—Was it that bad?

Then comes a startling onslaught of dizziness that engulfs your consciousness. Before you could comprehend what was happening, your cheek meets the coarse texture of the earth beneath you, a jarring impact that sends your basket tumbling from your grasp. With a grunt, you strain your head up to see the herbal leaves scatter about.

As you fall, a wave of panic ripples through the crowd. Faintly, you register multiple pairs of hands coming to your aid, hoisting your limp body onto a woven mat.

"Call for the Olo'eyktan!"

TARSEM

"If we strike from here, the trees will provide us with ample cover," Tarsem remarked, his fingers gliding across the aged parchment of the map, tracing the landscapes with a keen eye.

Warriors and spotters encircled the table, their gazes fixed on his every move, minds soaking in every detail of the strategy unfolding before them. It was due time they began planning for their next attack on the RDA bases, it had been months since then.

Before the next words could be uttered, the room was thrust into chaos as a young girl burst through the door, her arrival punctuated by ragged breaths and a wild panic etched across her face. The warriors instinctively parted, creating a path through the sea of bodies, granting her passage toward Tarsem.

"Ma Olo'eyktan!" she panted, her voice trembling as she clutched his forearms tightly. "The Tsahìk was discovered unconscious deep in the forest. The healers are calling for you!"

"What?" Tarsem's expression tightened, a flicker of worry crossing his eyes. He swiftly surveyed the assembled warriors and spotters, his tone strung but composed as he addressed them.

"Continue the preparations," he commanded. "But be ready to adapt the plan if necessary. I will go and check on my mate. Until I return, Osek, you will be in charge."

Osek, a respected warrior renowned for his leadership abilities, nodded with a solemn expression. The rest of the group echoed their understanding, their voices hushed with concern. With the meeting taken care of, Tarsem turned his attention back to the young girl.

"Take me to her," he murmured, ears flat against his head as his posture turned rigid.

The young healer, with her face flushed and brows furrowed, nodded. Taking his hand, she began to lead Tarsem out of the tent, her steps matching his swift pace as they traversed the winding paths of the settlement.

As they ventured closer to the outskirts of the settlement, the ambient noises of the bustling camp faded away, replaced by the serene symphony of nature. Approaching the clearing where you had been laid to rest, Tarsem's steps grew cautious as he gently parted through the small crowd of healers, making his way towards your side.

"Ma'yawne," he whispered, his voice affectionate yet worried at the same time. The Na'vi knelt down beside you, brushing your damp hair away from your face. His gaze, a pool of tenderness, drank in the sight of you lying on the woven mat.

"What has happened?" Tarsem questioned those around you, only for them to shrug. They were just as clueless as he was.

Tarsem sighed, his frown deepening as he took in your appearance once more, noting the dizziness in your eyes and the pallor on your cheeks. However, it was the deep, crimson gash marring your side that captured his attention the most—a wound he guessed was inflicted by either a sharp branch or an encounter with Pandora's many wild animals.

"I…I am alright," you murmured, your voice a fragile reassurance, as you ran a hand over the wound, hissing at the touch. "It is not as deep as it seems. A few bandages will suffice. Return to your duties. The warriors need you."

"Nonsense," Tarsem shook his head, moving to tuck his arms beneath your back and knees. "I cannot leave you like this," he insisted, his voice firm yet gentle. "Your well-being is of utmost importance. The meeting can wait. Right now, you need proper care."

The look in Tarsem's eyes left no room for argument, reaffirming that his mind was made up.

Heaving a sigh, you gave in and nestled into his embrace, placing your weary head atop his chest, finding solace in the rhythmic beat of his heart. With ease, Tarsem carefully stood up with you in his arms, cradling you against his chest. Your mate began carrying you back towards the settlement, calling out for a few of the more experienced healers to follow along.

Once you had arrived in your shared kelku, he set you atop a hammock, staying close to your side but making sure to clear the way for the healers who would attend to you.

Turning your head back, you smiled up at him. "Thank you, Tarsem."

Tarsem simply hummed and lowered his head, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of your temple, lips a feather-light caress against your skin.

"Of course, yawne," he murmured, his voice a hushed vow. "I will always be here for you."

NETEYAM

"Kiri, it's nothing," you sighed, pushing yourself off the hammock, arms trembling. "I swear to you, I feel much better now."

Kiri clicked her tongue disapprovingly, shaking her head as she pushed you back down. "I am not even finished with your bandages, and the healing paste hasn't taken effect yet. You must rest, tsmuke."

You wrenched a hand into your disheveled hair as you let out a frustrated sigh.

"The herbs I gathered earlier—moonflower, healing rose—they're all gone, they lay wasted on the ground," you lamented. "We need to restock our supplies before the ambush in two days. It's absolutely crucial. Without fresh provisions, we'll be ill-equipp—"

"I will have the trainees gather the herbs, and I will inform Neteyam about your injury so you can rest easy. I am very sure he will understand," Kiri interrupted your rambling, her tone firm as she began wrapping bandages over your torso. At the mention of your mate's name, a pang of apprehension shot through you.

Oh Eywa, how would Neteyam react? He was already so protective of you, and this injury would no doubt only amplify his vigilance. You won't be able to leave the house for a month without him tailing after you like a second shadow.

"There's no need to involve Neteyam," you hurriedly interjected, forcefully pushing Kiri aside as you mustered the strength to stand on your feet, despite the pain. "I'm fine."

Before you could take another step, the tent curtains were abruptly thrown open, and a figure rushed in. A pair of amber eyes widened with concern as they locked onto your limping form.

Neteyam.

As he approached, his typically composed and reserved expression cracked, revealing the deep worry etched on his face.

It seemed like he ran all the way here. The Na'vi was in a frantic haste, sweat cascading down his furrowed brows while beads of perspiration clung to his jawline.

"By Eywa, what happened?" Neteyam's voice quivered with panic as he reached out, hands trembling slightly while he steadied you.

You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but the pain coursing through your body made it difficult. "Neteyam, I… I'm fine," you managed to say, your voice strained.

"No, you are not fine." Neteyam's distress was palpable, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "Look at you!"

Now he could properly see the swelling and gash on your torso, haphazardly covered by the unfinished leaf bandages clinging to your skin. A surge of horror washed over his face as he beheld the sight, eyes blowing wide open. Quickly, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to conceal the extent of your injury.

"'Teyam," you attempted to calm him, shaking off his iron grip. "It's not as bad as it looks. It's just a scratch."

"A scratch?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "What are you talking about, syulang? That is no a scratch. Why are you even up? You need to rest."

"I have responsibilities to fulfill, Neteyam," you huffed, stomping your feet in frustration, your actions mirroring those of a stubborn child. "You, of all people, should understand that."

Neteyam's tail lashed by his feet, a clear warning tinged with a touch of anger. Protective instincts, ingrained deep within, surged forth like a tempestuous storm.

"Do not argue with me," Neteyam's voice turned firm, his tone low. "I understand your position as Tsahìk is demanding, but this stubbornness will not aid your recovery. Do you really think you can heal in such a state?"

His stern words struck you hard, causing you to flinch involuntarily. The weight of his concerns settled heavily upon your heart, and yet your unwavering determination refused to give in to his protectiveness.

"I know why you're worried," you sighed, gently placing a hand over his chest, hoping to soothe him. "But I cannot remain here while important tasks await me. There is work to be done!"

Neteyam heaved a sigh, pushing you back down. His hands, roughened by countless battles, reached out to tenderly cradle your face. With a gentle motion, his thumb traced delicate circles onto your cheeks, the soothing caress speaking volumes of his love. His intense gaze then softened, those golden eyes losing their fiery edge as he allowed his anger to dissipate.

"I know you have an unwavering sense of duty, sevin," Neteyam murmured, the endearment rolling off his tongue like silk, a term reserved only for you. "And I love that about you. But sometimes, the best course of action is to prioritize your own well-being," he continued, peering deep into your eyes.

His warm, tender affections began to gradually chip away at the walls of your stubborn resolve. Though you initially resisted, deep down, you couldn't deny the truth in his words. Neteyam always knew how to get you to back down.

A bitter sigh slipped from your lips, laced with a hint of snark that thinly veiled the vulnerability simmering beneath.

"I hate admitting defeat," you grumbled, your tone tinged with reluctance, "But fine, you win. I'll rest."

As your words reached his ears, the corners of Neteyam's mouth curved into a grin, a blend of relief and amusement dancing in his eyes. In that moment, he couldn't resist the urge to draw closer, resting his large hands on your waist as he leaned in to press a tender kiss against your lips.

"Thank you, yawne," he chuckled softly.

TSU'TEY

(context: spider is your adopted son; although i decided to hint at him being an avatar in this scenario, you may also choose to perceive him as human instead.)

"Call for the Olo'eyktan!"

As you lay upon the bark floors of the Hometree, your mind spun, dots of black tainting your vision. With a low whimper, you attempted to raise yourself from the ground, only for a pair of hands to push down on your shoulder. You watched as your son's face came into view, twisted into a panicked expression as he took in your injury.

"Ma? Hey, hey, stay with me," Spider rasped, tenderly running his hand over your damp forehead. Eyes narrowing, you found yourself struggling to focus on his face, barely catching the look of worry in his eyes, and the lines of fear etched on his brow.

"Spider…" you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible. "I-It's okay. I can get up."

He shook his head, his grip on your shoulder tightening. "No, Ma, you need help. You can't push through this on your own."

You wanted to protest, to insist that you should be able to endure such trivial injuries, but your body betrayed you, the pain overwhelming and disorienting. As a healer, unlike your son and mate who were seasoned warriors, you weren't used to such levels of pain.

The stinging on your torso intensified with each shallow breath, making it difficult to form coherent thoughts or speak. Noticing your distress, Spider hurriedly reached a hand up to his communication device, paging for his father.

"Dad? You there?" Spider's voice cracked, laden with worry. "It's an emergency."

A familiar voice crackled through the communication device, filled with concern. Tsu'tey spoke, the rush of wind howling in the background. He must have been out on a ride with his ikran. "Ma'Itan, what has happened? Is everything alright?"

Spider's voice trembled as he responded, his distress palpable. "No, Dad, it's not alright. Mom is hurt. She fainted while gathering herbs, and she's in pain. There's a gash on her side. I…I don't know what to do."

Tsu'tey's heart plummeted, his entire being consumed by an overwhelming fear that gripped him to the core, seeping into the depths of his being. Reacting swiftly, his grip tightened on the reins of his Ikran, abruptly pivoting its course back toward Hometree. In the midst of his panic, he nearly forgot to respond.

After a momentary silence, his voice broke through, steady but laced with urgency. "I am on my way. Just keep her stable."

Spider nodded, ending connection before he moved to cradle your head in his hands. "Hang in there, Ma. Dad is coming. Just hold on a little longer."

As your consciousness wavered, the world around you seemed blurred and distant. Tremors of pain pulsed through your body, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on your son's voice. Soon enough, your strength fails you, and your eyelids grow heavy. Everything around you fades away, and your consciousness slips into oblivion.

As you gradually regain consciousness, the world before you seemed shrouded in a haze, the remnants of your unconscious state still clinging to your senses. Blinking away the drowsiness, you found yourself within the confines of a dimly lit tent, its earthy aroma intermingling with the soft flickering glow of a nearby fire.

"Tsmuke," Neytiri says softly, her voice filled with both relief and worry. The tenderness in her voice offering you solace, like a soothing melody in your ears.

"Thank Eywa," she grins, running her hand up your cheek. "Do not worry; you are safe now."

Before you could respond, a firm arm wraps around your center, tugging you into a sitting position. Spider frantically pulls you up and into his tight embrace, face twisted in relief as he sighed deeply. "Hey, Ma. I'm so glad you're awake."

"My brave boy," you hummed, a bittersweet warmth erupting in your chest as you pressed a tender kiss on his forehead. The familiar scent of the forest clung to him—a reminder of his untamed spirit as a warrior who roamed the jungles with no fear.

At that moment, your gaze shifted to Tsu'tey, who anxiously hovered by the entrance, tail whipping by his feet. Sensing the tension in the air, Neytiri quietly left the healing tent, granting you a moment of privacy. With her departure, Tsu'tey finally lifts his head and catches your gaze, taking it as a sign to approach you.

"Yawne," He calls out for you, his voice trembling like the leaves of a quivering tree. It's a plea and a rebuke, all at once, his tone a blend of protectiveness and affection.

Spider then releases you from his hug, allowing his father to take his place. Tsu'tey kneels down and moves to hold you, embracing you so tight that it was as if he was trying to merge your souls together, desperate to ensure your safety.

"What were you thinking?" Tsu'tey grumbles into your hair, "I have told you many times to never venture out into the forests alone. You know better than to endanger yourself."

Sighing, you leaned into the embrace of your mate, finding comfort in his presence. Your cheek finds rest against Tsu'tey's collarbones, the rough texture of his beaded necklace grounding you in the familiarity of his touch.

"I did not know the cut was that bad. I had a lot of work to attend to, so I thought I could handle it," you admitted, your voice weary.

As you nestled against him, Tsu'tey found his anger melting into something warmer, something softer. He draws you back slightly, hands cupping the sides of your face as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice now a caress against your skin.

"I know your work is important to you," he grunts. "But you must prioritize your safety."

"Tsu'tey—" you started, only to be interrupted.

"I cannot bear the thought of losing you. I have lost too much over the years," Tsu'tey took a moment to pause, his gaze searching the depths of your eyes for understanding. He needed you to understand. "This cannot go on like this. You must promise me that you will be more careful."

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heartstrings. A wave of guilt washed over you as you realized the fear you had awakened within him, causing old scars of his to resurface. With a sigh, you closed your eyes.

"I did not mean to frighten you. I will stay safer. I promise," you muttered, moving away from his embrace. "But things like this are inevitable. There will be times when you and Spider won't be by my side to protect me."

Tsu'tey and Spider exchanged glances, their expressions filled with concern. Without uttering a word, Tsu'tey enveloped both you and Spider in an embrace.

"We will come for you," he declared firmly. "No matter what. When you need us, we will be there."

AO'NUNG

As your consciousness flickered in and out, you became vaguely aware of the commotion around you. The panicked voices of your clan members and the urgent footsteps only added to your disorientation. And yet, amidst the chaos, a singular phrase pierced through the fog of your mind with an undeniable clarity.

"Call for the Olo'eyktan!"

That sent a chill down your spine, and you knew that the situation had escalated beyond your control. With great effort, you managed to open your eyes, the vibrant blue hues of the sky and the crashing waves on the shore seeping into your vision in strained fragments.

It did not take long for, Ao'nung to arrive. He emerged from beneath the waves, propelled by his skimwing beneath him. A frown was etched onto his face as he waded through the shallow waters, gliding across the waves with unmistakable urgency.

Upon reaching the shores, he swiftly dismounted from his skimwing, leaping onto the sand with ease. Pushing through the growing crowd that had gathered around you, he cleared a path to reach your side.

Lifting you off of the mat, he cradled you against his chest. "Yawntu?" Ao'nung's voice cut through the haze of your mind, "Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

With utmost care, your mate then shifted your body to the side, his gaze fixated on the deep cut marring your torso. The gash, painted in a vivid crimson, created a sharp contrast against the mesmerizing azure of your skin. The sight of it made his jaw tense, frustration evident.

"I-It is just a minor wound," you managed to utter through gritted teeth, your mind clearing as pain began to pulse through your body.

"Tsireya has already been called...She will help, but for now, I need your help in cleansing this," you murmur, gesturing to your bloodied side.

With a disgruntled nod, Ao'nung hoisted you into his arms and ordered the crowd to disperse. Once the people had departed, he began to take steady strides towards the water.

As the water levels reached the height of his chest, he shifted his position to support your head in the dip of his arm, allowing most of your body to be submerged beneath the rocking waves.

"I knew I should have come with you," he sighed, his voice barely heard above the salty swirling winds.

After a few seconds of struggling to find your voice, you managed to respond, though the words emerged with a subtle undertone of discomfort. "'Nung, it's only a cut…I think I just scraped myself along against a tree."

"Ah, yes, just a scrape against a tree," Ao'nung scoffed wryly, his mouth curling into a mocking sneer as his fangs peeked out from his lips. "I didn't know trees had razor sharp branches."

Cupping water in his hand, Ao'nung began to wash the upper parts of your cut that wasn't submerged. As the sting of saltwater made contact with the rest of your open wound, a sharp hiss of pain escaped your lips. This caused him to furrow his brow, concern swimming in those looming teal eyes.

"The pain seems to suggest otherwise," he noted, a heavy dose of sarcasm dripping from his lips.

"Funny," you replied, rolling your eyes in response.

Despite his biting remarks, his actions betrayed him, revealing a tenderness beneath that arrogant façade. His fingers moved with an uncharacteristic grace, tracing the contours of your cut as he delicately cleansed it, each touch a testament to his natural instincts as a mate to alleviate your discomfort.

It was a softness that you had grown accustomed to, but you knew that if any of the warriors caught a glimpse of their rugged chief in such a nurturing and affectionate state, their jaws would hit the ground so hard, you'd think Eywa herself had caused an earthquake.

As Ao'nung tended to your wound, he used his other hand to gently turn your head, guiding your gaze to meet his. Confused, you raised your brow. "Yes? What is it?"

"I will accompany you to your forages from now on. And I will not take no for an answer," he declared, his voice flat and void of any mirth.

And there it was.

"Ma Ao'nung," you cooed, your voice a velvety caress that was laden with both affection and understanding. "You worry too much about me. I am not as fragile as sea glass, you know."

A flicker of raw emotion danced across his irises, momentarily unraveling his stoic guise before he swiftly masked it with a dismissive scoff. "You should know by now that I won't let anything happen to you," he grumbled, ears tucked back as he meets your eyes.

"You may not be as fragile as sea glass, but you are precious to me," he says, voice a gravelly murmur. "I know you're strong, but that doesn't mean I will stop worrying."

With an amused click of your tongue, you leaned back against him, enveloped in the comforting warmth of his embrace. The gentle lapping of the ocean against your skin provided a soothing respite, easing your troubles away as you allowed him to dote on you.

yawne - beloved

syulang - flower

tsmuke - sister

yawntu - beloved one/loved one

sevin - pretty

kelku - house

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n0tamused · 4 months

Note

Hello there! I hope your day has been going smoothly!

As your requests are currently open (I hope I read it right), may I request Platonic!Jiyan x Sibling!Reader Angst, where reader dies not because they are a midnight ranger, but because of a chronic disease they were diagnosed with?

Reader and Jiyan can be twins, or Jiyan can be the older brother. Up to you!

I hope you have a great day!

A/N: Not sure what to say other than that I love writing angst and that I hope you enjoy this anon, sorry for the wait :)

Contents: Familial Jiyan x Twin!Reader, GN pronouns, angst, short lol, character death

Death crawls through the midnight blue washed streets of the Jinzhou, its flaky claws seeking and scratching. And seek out their victim it did. Found in a cozy bed that reeked of illness and herbal medicine. Ashes of incense laid on top of a long wooden tray fashioned in the looks of a dragon.

There were more dragon motifs sprawled around, in the embroidery of the blankets, on the painting, on tea cups and jewelry, but not one of those could protect the one confined within the bed and the one forever gone. Pale skin glistened with the remnants of sweat and water they were bathed in, and their hair smelled of old flowers in summer heat, and it was only going to get worse should they remain here, hand held by the person closest to them.

Jiyan. The General. The Qingloong. The medic in his youth. Their brother.

He had returned from the front lines at long last for a short reprieve, only to find his beloved sibling in a worse state than last time. It horrified him even more than the sights he encountered in war, and it shook him to the core. What’s worse, he could smell death waiting at the front door, and entering behind his heel after he went into the bedroom..

His hands gingerly held onto their cold hand, knuckles pressed against his forehead as he remains quiet, foolishly hoping warmth would spring to their skin and they’d greet him with a ruffle to his hair and call him silly for worrying so much. He swallows thickly, cheeks wet from the trail his tears left behind and he breathes out a breath so heavy, one would question how the world didn’t cave in where he sat.

“I love you…so much..” he whispers before lifting his head up, eyes fluttering shut to spare himself the sight of their forever slumbering face, his lips lingering on their knuckles in expression of love they’d never feel again.

They didn’t share just blood, they shared their childhood years, interests, and they shared their mother’s womb together. Their bond was one closer than any other, yet it was severed all the same as any other.

“I miss you…”

Even with all the knowledge Jiyan could’ve plucked from Jinzhou and from the outside nations, all various medical practices and all kinds of healers, Jiyan couldn’t save them.

Maybe in another life he saves them, but in this one he gets to carry their memories until his own demise, forever haunted by their absence.

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materlux · 1 month

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The Priestess and The Swordsman - Chapter 1: A Xianzhou stowaway.

Eden: A planet mostly avoided by travellers, due to their obsession with their aeon and their tendency for human sacrifices. The planet is lush and the soil is fertile, they produce more food than they could ever eat, and it’s all thanks to their ‘benevolent’ god, Yaoshi, the Abundance.

The Garden of Auri: The garden was once well kept and beloved by the nearby residence, then like a sudden switch, the residence abandoned the garden. It has been left to its own devices since then, to this day no one knows what happened.

Honkai Star Rail | Main Masterlist

CW: Angst, break down, hurt/comfort, mentions of: Blood, death, Jing Yuan. 3.8k words

The Xianzhou Luofu, one of six Xianzhou Alliance ships owned by the Hexafleet, traverses the endless universe in search of Denizens of the Abundance. Dedicated to The Hunt, Lan, and shares THEIR hunt for the Abundance, Yaoshi.

The Luofu is led by the Six Charioteers of which only three members are known; Yukong, the Helm Master of the Sky-Faring commission, Fu Xuan, Master Diviner of the Divination commission, and Jing Yuan, General of the Cloud Knights.

Of these three people you don’t know who you’d rather have met first, or at all if you could choose. You’d been hiding out on the Luofu for less than a few days, but people had already taken notice of your strange behaviour, and so for the last couple days you felt like you were being watched. And you were, by the cloud knights, see some store owners must have thought your strange behaviour was a sign, a sign of theft or plans of theft.

Being watched by the cloud knights only made your behaviour worsen, how were you supposed to know that they thought you were just a kid up to trouble, and not that they had figured out that you were from Eden.

You’d been hiding out in an uninhabited house in the back of some garden that most people avoid, the garden in question you’d later learn was called Garden of Auri. It’s not necessarily overgrown, but some bushes could use a trim and some flowers were growing out of their beds. You didn’t mind, if anything the extra plants made for good cover, you felt safer among them, they also offer good test subjects.

Plants no longer grow inexplicably around you, flowers don’t bloom in places or at times in which they’d surely die, you were free. And yet this didn’t feel like the freedom Kaira and Lethe had shown you, or the freedom you had dreamed of and read about.

The mark on your arm, the one that was burned into your bones, has spread further. Long black tendrils like water running along your skin, reach from the palm of your hand, down the back of your forearm and onto the front. It doesn’t burn anymore, but your arm is getting weaker and sore, you still cover it the best you can.

The Alchemy commissions healers offer little help, in their defence it’s not easy helping a patient, who won’t tell or show you the problem. The best they could offer was a recommendation, a specific kind of herbal tea sold in Aurum Alley that is supposed to soothe soreness and help with sleep.

Aurum Alley, the street most tourists are drawn to, with its friendly atmosphere and many options in delicacies native to the Luofu. It’s here you buy most of your supplies, given its more laid back nature and the openness of the area, and of course the lack of on guard cloud knights.

By now you know these streets like the back of your hand, you use the small streets and back roads to stay out of sight. You buy your recommended tea from Du’s Teahouse, Boss Du has by now given up on convincing you to buy some of his other ‘teas’. Maybe your mistake is that you got too comfortable in these streets, that you don’t notice the people following you.

Running through the near empty alleys was not your plan, you had hoped to lie low for at least a couple more days, maybe even a few weeks more, before you became part of the normal society. You aren’t out of shape per se, but you’re very thankful for your knowledge of these streets and your agility.

The cloud knight following you doesn’t have trouble keeping up speed wise, but you keep turning down a new street that at this point they don’t know where in Aurum Alley they are. In the end you lose them in the winding near identical streets, and you make your escape out of Aurum Alley.

On your way to the garden you nearly collapse, it’s odd that’s never happened before. You sit on the ground against a wall in the shade, this road isn’t frequented so there aren’t many people around, you’re on your own.

Your breathing becomes laboured and shallow, your vision is blurring at the edges, and it’s suddenly far too hot despite the usual weather of the Luofu being a comfortable temperature. You close your eyes, but this only makes everything spin slowly, it makes your stomach churn. You hunch over your legs and hold them close as you breathe in deep.

The world around you gets tuned out, you don’t notice the sound of boots and clinking metal, it stopping abruptly then coming closer. You only notice this person when a warm hand is gently placed on your upper back. Your breathing stutters for a moment, you lift your head to look at the person, you squint but can’t make out any distinct features with your blurry vision.

It takes you a second to tune the world back in, so you can hear what they’re saying. “What?” You ask in a quiet voice, so quiet the word is nearly lost in the wind, but they hear you.

They adjust and repeat themself, “are you okay?” They ask, their voice like honey in your ears, it takes a moment before the words and their meaning register.

“Mhm,” you hum and nod once, the action makes your head throb with a dull pain. You breathe deep and carefully, your knees slide away from your body to make the action easier.

“Are you sure?” They ask, there’s concern in their voice, it makes you uneasy. “You’re shaking,” they add.

“I’m sure,” you breathe, but you are shaking, you notice, and you cradle your arm to yourself like it hurts. It does hurt, the feeling hits you like a ton of bricks, the pain spreads from your hand to your shoulder. The burning feeling is back in your bones, it almost makes it numb. You fight back tears, you don’t want to cry in front of this stranger, you can’t trust them yet, you can’t show them weakness that they can use against you.

The hand on your back moves soothingly along your shoulders, you try to focus on it. “Breathe,” they instruct you, their voice is soft. “Let me help you.”

“No, it’s fine.” You try to shake your head, but it hurts too much.

“It’s not fine, you need help.” Their right, you know their right, but you can’t trust them. “C’mon, let’s get you somewhere safer, somewhere you can get help,” they say, but you make no attempt to move. They stay by your side, waiting for something, for you to give in to their offer of help and you do.

“Fine,” you mutter, closing your eyes again to ignore the world spinning faster. They watch you for a while longer before they mutter a quiet apology, it barely registers in your mind before you’re pulled into warm arms. You don’t get to protest as they stand up with ease, and turn to make their way down the road.

Your mind becomes more muddled and you start dozing off, they speak a few more words, most don’t register in your swimming head. You think they introduced themself, something with a title.

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You wake up 3 hours later, in a clean bed, in a sterile room. This must be the Alchemy Commissions infirmary, despite having been here at least twice, you have never seen the inside of the building outside of the consultation rooms.

A woman, foxian, with dark hair and eyes checks on you when you wake. She sets a glass of water down on the small table beside your bed, and offers to fetch you some food, you’re about to decline when there’s a knock on the door.

The woman opens the door, a child walks in followed by an imposing man, he looks down at the child with an apologetic expression as she scolds him. The foxian woman leaves the room, the two new people continue their conversation, like you aren’t even there.

You reach out for the glass, your hand shakes weakly and you feel heavy. You can barely hold onto the glass, the shake in your hand gets worse with the weight. You end up attempting to place the glass back on the table, it almost doesn’t go wrong, almost. Your shaking ends up knocking the glass over, water spills over the table onto the floor, at least the glass didn’t break.

The room is quiet, you note, you look up and the two new people are looking at you. They both look sympathetic, you hate that look it reminds you of the priest, but there’s something more in the man’s eyes. It’s like he knows something about you, it makes you want to shrink in on yourself, and you do a little, sitting against the pillow behind you with your head hung.

The child sighs and walks over, she grabs the empty glass off the table, then excuses herself and leaves the room, presumably to get more water. The man observes you from afar, before moving closer. He stands at the foot of the bed with crossed arms, you study his attire but avoid his face.

“Priestess,” his voice is stern, but you recognize a softness in it, he’s the stranger. With one simple word you are reduced to a meek pile of anxiety, he knows, you repeat those two words to yourself over and over again. Someone from the Xianzhou Alliance, someone dedicated to The Hunt’s mission to kill the Abundance, someone knows who you are, where you’re from, what you did.

“Priestess,” he repeats, you shake your head, tears line your eyes. You shouldn’t have stayed on the Luofu for this long, you only wanted to lose the people hunting you before you moved on. “Priestess?” He sounds closer now, a warm hand grasps your shoulder, it makes you flinch.

“Sorry.” The word comes out in a muddled mix of coherent speech and a sob, tears stream down your face in warm lines.

“Hey, look at me.” His voice has softened and lost its stern edge, he hovers by your side. You shake your head and lean away.

The child comes back with the refilled glass of water, she places it on the small table and takes in the scene before her. Your distressed disposition meets her analysing gaze first, then the man by your side whose hand now hovers over your shoulder.

“General,” she starts in a stern tone. “I told you not to stress out my patient.” She puts her hands on her hips, like a mother scolding her son. The General looks guilty, “Lady Bailu,” he tries. She points to somewhere further in the room, and like a kicked puppy the General of the Luofu steps away from your side.

“Breathe child,” Lady Bailu tells you, she walks around the room and comes back with some tissue papers to dry your eyes. “Here, drink.” She pushes the glass closer to your bedside, you heed her command and pick the glass up gently, you have to focus hard not to spill it again.

Lady Bailu turns away from you and sends the General a glare, she ushers him to a corner of the room, the two engage in a discussion of sorts, Lady Bailu scolds him and he lets her.

You hold the glass in both hands, sipping at the cold water carefully. You sniffle and regain control of your breathing, the glass is cold in your hands and it grounds you. The room is quiet, save for the muttered discussion in the corner, they must be discussing what to do with you.

You feel heavy and weak, you were never this meek when you were a child, but you also weren’t a wanted criminal on a ship full of people dedicated to hunting your aeon. You suppose anyone would become meek in such a situation.

“Child?” Lady Bailu catches your attention, there’s something comical in this woman who looks younger than you calling you child, but based on the horns and tail she must be vidyadhara. You look at her, she stands by your side, the General keeps his distance.

“The General wants to talk to you,” Lady Bailu tells you in an even tone. “Do you want to talk to him? You don’t have to, not now.” She looks deep into your eyes, you mull over your options, is it really okay if you deny the General? You know you’ll have to talk to him eventually, now that you have been found out, it will be near impossible to get off the Luofu.

You decide to rip the bandaid off and get it over with, the General has to be a reasonable man, maybe if you explain everything to him, he will offer you some leniency. “It’s okay, I don’t mind,” you tell Lady Bailu, she nods and shoots the General one last warning glare before leaving the room.

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The chair is settled on the floor with a dull thud, the General takes his seat by your side, you don’t look at him. The room is quiet, the air is dense and you shift in your seat.

“Tell me,” he starts, “are you from Eden?” It’s a stupid question, he already knows the answer, he knows who you are, it’s meant as an ice-breaker.

“Yes.” You don’t offer much in your reply, it’s soft, barely piercing the air.

“Eden is a planet favoured by the Abundance, right?” The planet is untraversed, but not unknown. “It is.” You still won’t look at him.

“You are part of the cult of the Abundance-”, “were,” you correct without thinking, it dawns on you that you just cut off the General of the Luofu. You shrink a little. “You were part of the cult of the Abundance?” He wonders out loud. “Yes, I left.” You didn’t really leave, more so fled the place after your crime.

“Why’d you leave?” He asks, you don’t know what to say, you don’t know if you can tell him the truth about the cult. Not because he can’t know, but you don’t know if you can retell it, to relive it. Repressed memories float around the forefront of your mind, the blade you should have discarded long ago, the blood, the feeling, the pain, the scar aches.

“Why’d you leave?” He tries again, this time softer. He must sense your nerves, your tense shoulders and uneven breathing. “You don’t know?” You ask instead of answering.

“I believe I do, but I want to be certain.” He keeps an even tone, he wants to hear it from you, you know, but you can’t say it. “What do you believe?”

“You’re wanted by the High Council of Eden for the massacre of the cult of the Abundance, including a priest held in high regard.” That’s the story the Council is going with, it’s not wrong factually, but it lacks your motive. “That’s true.” You feel small next to him.

“Why did you do it?” He asks, how could you ever articulate what you saw that day, what words could ever do it justice. You can’t find any, but it seems your silence speaks more than you intended.

“They did something to you, didn’t they?” He asks tentatively, you just nod along, words elude you at this point.

“Did they hurt you?” His tone grows darker, but somehow you get the feeling it’s not because of you. You nod again, and the General takes a deep breath, he thinks over the information and which questions work best. He doesn’t want to stress you out again, but he has questions that need to be answered.

“Is that why you did it?” The it stays unspoken, but you know what he means. Was it revenge? Yes, was it revenge for what they did against you? “No.” Your short answer hangs in the air, the General’s brow furrows.

“Then why?” He asks, you think it over, how can you tell him everything in the simplest way. It has to be simple, because if you make it complicated you might not finish. “For them,” you answer, your voice rises slightly, like you're not just telling him but yourself as well.

“The two underage victims?” ‘Victims’, the word leaves a bitter taste on your tongue, if it wasn’t for you they wouldn’t be victims, if you could’ve just accepted your fate they’d still be alive. “It’s my fault.” It’s your fault, you used them for your own desire to be free. It’s your fault, they stayed longer than they should, you walked out too far. It’s your fault.

“But you didn’t kill them,” he states it like it matters, like that fact alone means you weren’t a part of the problem. “They were there because of me.”

“That doesn’t make it your fault,” he reasons. “But.” You want to argue, tears spring to your eyes, you can’t argue with him.

“It’s not your fault,” he reassures. “They chose to be there, they chose to be with you.” His hand hovers over your own, warmth radiates from his palm. “But.” The word comes out choked as tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

“It’s not your fault.” He holds your hand gently, the warmth and rough texture grounds you to the present. “You didn’t know what would happen, neither did they.” Your breathing stutters, the blanket in your lap soaks up your tears.

“It’s not your fault.” You can’t hold it in anymore, you didn’t intend to break down in front of the Luofu General, but sobs wrack your body. You cry freely, he holds your hand the whole time, his thumb begins to gently stroke over the unmarred skin on the back of your hand.

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After you’ve calmed down the General leaves your side and Lady Bailu comes back, she offers a soft pat on your hand. You feel icky, but a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Lady Bailu stands at your bedside opposite of where the General sat, she holds out her hand. “Let me see your arm,” she instructs, you hesitate, but let her inspect the black tendrils. They’ve grown in quantity since you last looked at them, their beginning to resemble a broken spider web.

She hums to herself, deep in thought. “Does it hurt?” She asks, you shake your head no. “Do you know how you got it?” She asks, you think back to the statue. “Yes, the statue in the church was crying. Drops of water from it landed in my palm, it burned.” She nods along as you explain, studying the marks more closely.

“A crying statue,” she mutters more to herself than you. “Did the statue represent a specific god?” She looks around the room, she spots whatever she is looking for on a nearby cabinet. “Yaoshi.” Lady Bailu returns with a wet cloth, she gently dabs it on the markings, you sigh in contentment, you hadn’t realised the marks were so warm. “The Abundance.” She nods to herself.

“Is it possible that the Abundance has cursed you through the statue’s tears?” It’s the best theory, it explains the odd marks and the strange reason for their occurrence. “Yeah, Yaoshi would do that as punishment for what I did.” It makes sense, you disrespect THEIR church during a ceremony, that would anger any god and cause retaliation.

“Then I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do then,” she says, she seems genuinely sorry. “That’s okay,” you assure her, she offers you a smile.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You think the question over, the incident that led to you being in the infirmary is the first of its kind. “Do you have anything for pain or soreness?” You ask instead, it was just a fluke you assure yourself, it won’t happen again. “Pain and soreness, yes I think I have something for that,” Lady Bailu says before she leaves the room.

Lady Bailu comes back with a small container, she opens it to show you the salve inside, she smears it over your arm and makes sure to cover the marks. She then finds some gauze and wraps it around your arm, she gives you the salve and a few rolls of gauze, along with instructions.

Leaving the infirmary you make your way through the Alchemy Commission’s streets, once you make it back to the road where you collapsed, you’re met with a familiar face. The General smiles at you, he seems much more relaxed now.

He walks along with you in silence for a while, he notes the small container and gauze in your hands. “Did you figure out what the marks are?” He’s making small talk, you look down at your bandaged arm and think back to Lady Bailu’s theory.

“The theory is that Yaoshi cursed me for my crime.” He nods along.

“I would advise that you don’t say THEIR name out loud,” he warns, you hadn’t realised you were doing that, it was like second nature for you to call them by name. But it makes sense that it would be taboo to do so on a Xianzhou Alliance vessel, you’ll have to keep that in mind for later travels.

By the stairs to the garden you turn and begin your ascension, the General looks on in confusion. “Priestess?” He calls after you, the title makes you freeze. “Please don’t call me that,” you ask, looking back at him.

“Then what should I call you?” It’s then that you realise that you never introduced yourself, you laugh to yourself and offer him your name. “Was there something you needed?” You ask him afterwards.

“Why are you going to the Garden of Auri?” He looks at you, seeming perplexed, you’d think the General of the Luofu would know every part of the ship, you muse to yourself. “I live there.”

He observes you for a moment, like he’s thinking what you said over. “General?” You ask with a raised brow. “Please, just call me Jing Yuan,” he replies, he shakes away his thoughts and bids you farewell, you watch him leave before continuing up the stairs.

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#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr jing yuan #hsr x gender neutral reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan x you #Jing Yuan #hsr bailu #honkai star rail bailu #Bailu #found family

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moonlits-ocean · 9 months

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Long Way Home [Part I]

[Azriel x Reader fanfic]

Synopsis: Y/n is the daughter of a healer in the city of Velaris. After a small incident, she moves to the House of the Wind to work for the High Lord, Rhysand. Everyone in the house seems to welcome her except Azriel, the second in command. Even though he is just blankly polite and does not acknowledge her much, she can't help but fall for him. Does Azriel return her feelings or remain unfeelingly aloof?

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part I

My first glimpse of Azriel had been when he arrived at my doorstep, searching for the High Lord.

My father was famous in Velaris as a healer, and Rhysand had crashed through the front door—heavily injured and seeking the services of him. Unfortunately for him, I was alone in the house as father had gone to the mountains outside Velaris for an errand. I was mainly a chemist, researching herbs, concocting potions and salves; but I had dragged the half unconscious Rhysand towards one of the beds reserved for the patients.

His injuries were mainly on his wings, they were torn through with arrows. The said arrows seemed to be poisonous, because his skin was quickly losing its pallor. It was my first time treating someone without father by my side, but I had steadied my nerves and my hands enough to bandage the wounds appropriately. Then I made him drink a small cup of herbal antidote for the poison in his system and covered him with a blanket to rest.

As he rested, I cleared wooden splinters and pieces of the broken entrance door (Rhys had literally crashed through) and was erecting a temporary barrier of canvas when the commanders Cassian and Azriel appeared.

Apparently Rhysand had sent them some sort of signal to indicate where he was before passing out. They were relieved to see him in a peaceful rest, and I told them that they could take him back after my father did a once over to make sure he would heal well. That meant one of them staying the night, and Azriel had volunteered to do so.

I had noticed the royalties and members of the inner circle around the town, but it was my first encounter with any of them. Rhysand radiated an aura of pure, lethal power even when injured, and Cassian had the rough, fierce power of a wolf.

And Azriel—well, he was the shadow incarnate, his power being in the way he observed and gathered every bit of information about anything that surrounded him. His intelligence shone through the depths of his dark eyes, drawing in anyone like a moth to candlelight. While we waited for Rhys to wake up, he carried in a new door from the carpenter's workshop and helped me affix it to the entrance.

He was a fae of few words, politely murmuring thanks when I brought over blankets and pillows for him to sleep on the bed next to Rhysand's after dinner. He didn't lie down, instead just bundled himself against the cold with the blankets and kept a patient, quiet watch over his High Lord.

My father returned with the first light of dawn, and Rhysand woke up a couple of hours later. After giving him a thorough check-up, father told him that he would heal perfectly without any scars. I had done everything right, and I was proud.

This incident had led Rhysand into inviting me to the House of Wind and joining the inner circle. He was leaning heavily on Azriel's shoulder, but still had the poise of a powerful ruler as he painted a pretty picture if I accepted—having access to the limitless library, using its resources to gain knowledge in a field of interest and using it whenever needed.

I was hesitant at first, since father would be left alone if I left, but he himself had urged me to accept the offer. In the end, I accepted it with all my heart, and moved in to the House of Wind later that week.

When all the belongings I needed were shifted to my new quarters, I was warmly welcomed as a new member of Rhysand's household. Though I was very shy, none of them made me feel like an outsider and happily took me in, which I was grateful for.

The library was paradise for me. Rhysand arranged for a branched off space in one of its floors to be my laboratory to experiment what I had learnt. Amren helped by bringing me the rarest or the most poisonous herbs, and she never told me how she procured them even after me begging on my knees. I began to be happier, but also more knowledgeable with new healing potions. I divided my week so I could spend at least two days with my dad and the rest in the House of the Wind. All day, I made myself useful by studying and experimenting, or assisting the royal physician in her activities.

Dinner had to always be eaten with everybody, and it was filled with jokes (mostly Cassian), laughter (from everyone), eye rolls at the jokes (from Nesta) and quiet smiles (from Azriel). After the meal, I had to walk beside Azriel to my quarters, his being adjacent to mine.

As days passed, I slinked out of my shell of shyness and mingled with everyone. All except Azriel, of course. I mean, he was of a quiet nature, but I felt like he disliked me. I could see smiles and chuckles and small conversations drawn out of him by everybody but me. He never himself started a conversation with me, and when I tried to do so on the way back to our quarters, he gave disinterested one-word replies.

I told myself that it wasn't a big deal. I had other things to worry about. But when I saw him speaking with someone else in the way I wanted him to speak to me, my chest squeezed painfully. It was especially rough when I saw him catering to Elaine.

I never showed this turmoil on my face, though. Rhysand and Feyre were mates, and her older sister Nesta was Cassian's. It made sense if Elaine was Azriel's mate.

Why then, that just the thought of it made me sad and hopeless?

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

This fanfic can also be found in Wattpad, along with other exclusive parts like playlists and pictures. Here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/358573037-long-way-home

Happy reading! <3

Read Part II here.

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cherrsnut · 8 months

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Hostage - Chapter 2

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 4.5k

Previous // Next

Chapter 2

The television was on. Very important Capitol hosts, by which Mr Flickerman was included, were wrapping up scenes of previous Hunger Games. Talking about their ‘favorite’ moments, arenas, and even victors.

You were sat on an armchair, your gaze fixated on the scene playing out. Two boys, fighting in a game of death. The hosts never mentioned their names, nor from which district they came, but the bloody moment when that year’s victor was messily cutting the other’s throat paralyzed you. The cut was done from an odd angle, and you murmured a curse when you saw the adrenaline of survival almost decapitate his victim. You cringed your nose and eyebrows, and with your surgical knowledge, you could bet your finger that, that Tribute could have been killed in a cleaner, faster, and more painless way.

You didn’t notice just how your air had been trapped against your throat. So when you released it, your chest felt emptier and cleaner from the bloody mess the hosts were laughing and joking about.

“Ok so, we need to prepare for the Games” Scarlett, the pinkish escort of District 4 appeared from behind you two, grabbing the remote and turning off the screen. Two more people trailed behind her, an older woman with uncontrollable silver curly locks, and a man all too familiar, especially to the civilians of District 4.

“But first things first. Let me introduce you to your mentors. This is Mags” Scarlett pointed at the short elder impatiently. Mags simply smiled brightly at the two of us. “You needn’t me to tell you, I know you already know. But still, I introduce you to Finnick Odair” To this Finnick turned up a smug smile with a silent chuckle rumbling just beneath his Adam’s apple.

Sacreltt went to sit at the crown of the large table. She was impatient and too upbeat, just like a kid waiting in line to ride a rollercoaster for the first time, it sickened you. You went to grab a chair, not before giving another glance at the victor from your District from two years ago. His bronze hair shined with the sun that started to set through the transparent clear window.

Scarlett called for tea to the nearest Avox girl. Specifying for English tea, with exactly two spoonfuls of brown sugar, and for the drink to be scalding hot. Then she grinned and looked at you and Vito again.

“Alright, babes. First things first, tell us about yourselves” Scarlett slightly tilted her head to the side. You noticed just how her makeup was still intact. It was rather simple compared to the other Capitol civilians you had seen. A pink tint with a golden shine added onto her lips, with an eyeshadow of the same hue. A purple eyeliner, as a means to contrast colors, curved around her eyes with the added cat tail coming off the corner of her eye.

You and Vito looked at yourselves, wondering just who to start with. Vito was the first to speak.

“Well, my name is Vito.” he seemed nervous, or perhaps he wasn’t prepared for the question.

“I work with my dad on my family’s prawn farm” he looked up at shyly Scarlett, and you had to focus on not getting distracted by how he nervously peeled onto the skin next to his fingernail.

“My dad, he trained me to be here…” Vito suddenly declared. Leaving you speechless, and questioning as to why he kept it hidden for so many hours. This changed many things for this year’s Hunger Games. And maybe, District 4 would claim another victor this year.

Scarlett’s eyes sparked up in excitement, and she clapped twice without realizing it. You were glad she was at least, happy about one of the Tributes since it's not like you could offer much more.

Finnick eyed Vito for a second before asking. “Your dad trained you?” a passing curiosity crossed his eyes almost playfully. Just then you could truly take in the treasure of a man he was. Sitting across from you, you could see his facial features quite well.

The tan of his skin perfectly complements his blonde hair. The way his cheekbones were so prominent it highlighted his eyes if that was even possible when his eyes were so green and lively like nature itself planted a seed, and a forest grew in the summer breeze inside. And still, it almost seemed hypnotizing just how you wanted to trace your fingers across his cheek, then down to his thin lips that were stuffed with the beautiful color of candied pink. His clean-shaven face revealed the otherwise cute face he had. Not hard looking or intimidating, but soft, and just like his eyes. He reminded you of the summer under the silhouettes of maple trees, of warmth and refreshing sunlight.

“Correct. He used to tell me about how he used to train, and how he wished to have gone to the Hunger Games. I guess he wanted me to live his dream” Vito explained, a perplexed look on your face very much visible to the rest of the people present.

He didn’t add anything else, and you forced a few blinks to take in what he said and try to comprehend as much as you could. Your eyes left to stare off into the wall for barely three seconds, with the only conclusion that some people didn’t deserve to have kids.

“What about you, birdie? Who are you?’” Scarlett spoke in a more reasonable calmer tone than before. But you still struggled to understand the people you are sharing a room with. None of them seemed to be the least concerned about what Vito just said.

You were more lenient with the victors, especially Mags. You supposed it wasn’t great seeing so many Tributes you mentored, just to be brutally assassinated in the arena, and you supposed she’d already seen her fair share of wild parents stories, all with with questionable parenting skills. And Finnick probably was still succumbed to what he had to go through two years ago.

But why was Scarlett so nonchalant about it? It was rather bitter having her in your surroundings at almost all the time. It wasn’t exactly that she was completely indifferent, but she was excited to see one of the most God awful things in the world, laughing along to the cruelty that many children were subjected to, an you would soon join into that statistic.

However, you knew you had to get used to her behaviour sooner or later. Even when everything seemed so nauseating, and you knew it was bad when you could taste the bile coming up for your throat. God, you hated this.

So you ignored your sentiments and carried on. Because now taking pity on the way he was raised was not the right moment. Not when the both of you had been thrown into the same deadly game, when anyone’s background means absolutely nothing to spare your life.

Even if you hate to admit it, Scarlett was right, we need to trace a plan, and we only have a day to take a look over every card we were setting on the table.

“Well…” You started. “You probably already know this, by my name is Y/N L/N. I’m fifteen and I’m a doctor” You took a sneaky look over Scarlett, seeing her energetic face come back, and you retracted a bit. “Well, kind of. I work at a herbal shop. It's just a lot of fishermen get injured during the day, they normally come in when they need immediate care” you explained.

“Immediate care?” questioned the escort’s sparkling eyes. You internally sighed, you could already predict this was going to be a prolonged conversation. Over something that woudn’t be much of use once you’d be dropped off in the arena.

“Yeah.” you confirmed, but you furher continued. “For instance yesterday, a group came rushing to my shop because one of them had slipped and fallen on the deck, hitting his head in the process. They were logically concerned when he wouldn't wake up, even more so when a big bleeding cut appeared from his head” you recalled. If it meant this talk would help in any way, you give away the details of your former life. Still knowing there was barely a chance for you to survive, you still played along the planning game, even when you’d already convinced yourself of your eventual doom.

“That’s a pretty big injury, you can take care of that?” now it was Finnick speaking, his gorgeous face directed at you. It was something being in the presence of someone whose beauty was ethereal, but them speaking to you was a bigger milestone. Your heart thumped hard, and you cursed at yourself for just how embarrassing you were being. You took a mental note, one which consisted of berating yourself infront of the bathroom mirror. It was fine being attracted to someone; it was fine to walk by someone and to instantly be charmed by you. But all in its context, yours was exactly of that in a few remaining days of your death penalty would be finalized. You were going to die.

You supposed then you mind must’ve churned itself. You already accepted this fate. You might as well give yourself the privilege to internally comment about someone’s looks, you at least had that last bit of freedom to do that, right?

“Of course. I also can take a look for infected wounds, just like finding antidotes to poisons. I especially like that one” You told him with a small smile appearing. Oh god, that smile. Right there and then was the evidence of his popularity in the Capitol.

You had to bite your tongue before any of your senseless thoughts spilled all over the table for everyone to hear your most inner provoking thoughts.

Then again silence to your gratitude. The only sounds of the railing echoing against the bullet train. You went to look over at Mags, and noticed just how quiet she was throughout the whole planning, and you supposed she fitted into a more calming human prototype, one where her peacefulness enhanced her rather ‘listener rather than a speaker’ personality type.

She realized your gaze on her, and she returned it with a small smile. With a continuous electric reaction that zip zapped it ways until it reached her gliting eyes.

That warmth her embraced you in stuck with you, and you coudn’t help but find her especially so meltingly cute. All the wrinkles were in full display, and it taught you that even after decades of experience, and traumatizing memories of setting foot in the arena, you could still smile just enough that Heaven’s doors would open up for you without further doubt of your light as feather soul.

But even in her gentle smile, and pure eyes, so pure it was easily to compare of that a riverbank flowing down a green mountain. There was still something behind her skull, a lurking darkness swimming in bitter water.

“I think I know why you look so familiar” Finnick changed to a new topic of conversation. He looked at you pointedly, scanning your every pore and mole hidden along your skin. And he nodded once he made up his mind, a sly smirk coming up to his lips. This had to be illegal.

It wasn’t fair just how easily it made you so jumpy, and you hoped and begged to whatever entity, whatever you were feeling wasn’t reflected on the mirror of your body.

“I’m pretty sure you bandaged me up once, I remember going to an herbal store when I was younger when I cut myself with a fishhook,” he said. His smile should absolutely be prohibited for being under some sort of national scale threat, because the way his eyes landed on yours with that slow creeping smile made your heart trip hard… several times. But then you had to keep reminding yourself. Stop. Being. Weird.

You needed to think straight, freezing your heart and mind. If you could you’d punch yourself, and open your eyes at what was at stake here. A few more slow breaths and you’d be able to consume yourself with reason, at least you tried to convince yourself of that. But it was hard, the screaming helplessness surrounding you like a heavy poisonous fog, choking and hurting you with the sole purpose to remind you it was just days away for you fight for your own survival; and then, Finnick was the whispering thoughts. He was the only thing taking you out from a self-absored battling arena, almost like a human stoned oasis. You never has spoken to him, at least not that you oculd recall, but if it meant a pretty stranger would be the one to distract your distressing thoughts, then so be it.

“How old were you though? Edna never let me touch her things until I was nine. Which quite frankly never stopped me from using it behind closed doors…” Finnick chuckled at that last comment. He was slowly removing the bitter taste left on my tongue with his sweet presence. But to you, it was beginning to be a little too much. Having his attention was considered a precious treasure in itself, and you weren’t blind as to why. The way he had some sort underlying flirt in his normal talk was starting to put you on edge. His very own voice was just like caramel that melted in your tongue, and there was no dial it tasted just like high-class pastries.

The very moment you realized that this was in his nature, you were able to calm down slightly. There was no point getting internally worked up when he didn’t mean anything further other than to make conversation. A sigh of relief escaped escaped your mouth.

“Is that so? I suppose it must have been Edna then…Edna was it?” he trailed off with a more relaxed smile. Yup, you were confident to state that his entire being was a nuclear weapon, and you should fear the day they’d try to put him in use, because you were sure all of Panem would be doomed.

It was increasingly becoming harder trying to talk to someone in a noirmal conversation with your running mind.

“Very much correct” You leaned back against your chair, to try and find a more comfortable spot. Vito gave an odd look at the exchange of words given between me and the victor, the very same you plasmated earlier. One of indecipherable shock, and you coudn’t blame Vito for the way he was feeling.

“I. Just. Had. The. Best. Idea” Scarlett stood up, she looked like she was talking to herself in her usual loud manner. Her abrupt pauses were very much loved and used in everyday form by the people in the Capitol, they simply loved that sweet exaggeration they coudn’t get over. “No one will see this coming,” she exclaimed in excitement, and unlike her she mumbled her words out. “Y/N, the Healer of our Capitol’s Darling” She made a movement with her hands, just as if displaying the front title from a big article, and every word that left her mouth, the more she fell in love with your marketing strategy she just came up.

“Well, actu-” you tried to put out a single sentence. But Scarlett’s ideas were much louder than the what hjappened in reality.

“If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes” She went to walk away, presumably to her room. So happily she was one step away from dancing around the salon car to her sleeping chamber.

You exhaled a sigh, not in the mood to refute Scarlett, so you let her go on with her planning.

“Well, as long as I gain sponsors, I suppose it’s alright for me then” you absentmindedly talked. You felt a yawn crawl out of your mouth, so you went to cover it while rolling your eyes to the window. You were pleasantly surprised to find the beautiful view of the night. The moon and the stars shone across the sea, painting an alluring picture over it.

“You tired? Maybe you should head back to sleep?” Vito’s voice is concerned. You looked at him, still in a slight trance from the yawn, and smiled briefly at him. “Don’t worry. I’m fine”.

Just then, the red clothing of the Avox came into view. She was carrying a ceramic tray, traced with golden line art. Placed on top, where the cute tea cup along with the teapot and and a differently designed cup for its special use of storing sugar cubes. You concluded the ceramic products were all bought as a designed set.

The large teapot had a trunk of that of the elephant you have only seen in adventure books targeted to children. You respected the artist’s innovative cheeky drawing on it. Many types of birds, which reminded you of the representation of the higher class of society, things like peacocks and cranes showing their beautiful feathers, all in the shimmering brushstroke gold. The five teacups followed suit with the same design.

Along with drinks though, the Avox seemed to bring an extra treat. Two layers of plates hung, and above were many pastries you’d never thought you’d be able to digest. Your eye had caught one shortcake specifically, one where the top was filled with freshly cut strawberries, glazed over with molten sugar, its provocative appearance rumbled your belly with eagerness.

Then after placing everything on the table, the Avox gave a knowing look and walked off with the tray, presumably to the kitchen, or perhaps to knock on Scarlett's room and give her the requested drink.

Your attention was back to the contents of the table. Not wanting to come off as rude, but very impatient to try them out. You looked over the people’s faces. Vito was reclined against the chair, a gloomy expression on his face, and you didn’t need to ask to know why.

So you stopped. And while your belly was moaning for that sugary treat, you ignored it. A sensation similar to guilt washed over your chest. You supposed you wished you felt like him, to be worried about the arena. He felt like he was being skinned by the tumultuous thoughts of his, and tlhough differently, you understood that emotinal pain. However, what set you and Vito apart was that since stepping your foot on the train, you had been accepting your impending death seantence.

Perhaps you hadn’t truly taken in the situation, maybe the idea you were going to fight in the arena was so disorienting, your psychology couldn’t fully comprehend it. It hadn’t connected the wires, and once you’d be face to face with the rest, you’d probably sink and drown in remorse for not taking this situation as you should have.

The sleepless nights you’ve been having since the first Reaping you attended left you wondering if you’d be trapped in this hunting competition. Maybe you exhausted your brain with so many different scenarios, that it had simply got used to the idea of your death.

Just maybe that’s why you took more importance of the delicious snacks you’d never imagined you’d taste, because this is more of a shock than the Games itself. And you could imagine for Vito, who has family and friends beside him, it was much harder to take in. Because for you, the only thing you were leaving behind were just physical, instead of Vito, which were the built relationships he created long his nlife. The memories, the feelings, and the what could’ve been in the future with their company.

You touched his shoulder, rubbed it slightly to get his attention. His dark-as-coal eyes roamed to yours, worried traces evident on the wrinkles he formed. He didn’t say much else, and he found himself being unable to utter a word, not knowing what to say. You gulped down nervously.

You didn’t quite know what to do in this type of situation. You normally would scurry off and cry alone, but that was because you were used to your lonely life. Edna was your only friend, even adopting as a grandma figure over the decade you had spent together. And even so, she wasn’t a very sentimental person, and you were unable to read off her emotions. Naturally, you eventually learned that side of her, and you kept repeating to yourself you didn’t need anyone to comfort you, that you were just fine to deal with yourself.

But for Vito it must be different, he grew up in with people surrounding him. When you climbed up the car that led you to the train, you were able to catch fragments of his family. His father was there along with his mother, a baby in her doting arms. Three little girls, all with the same hair color as Vito's, waved him goodbye, with tear-stricken eyes and red cheeks.

He always had someone to talk to when needed to share something, and even if he didn’t, he was used to the physical comfort you lacked.

He looked away, staring off to the nightly ocean. You forced yourself to be that source of comfort that his sister must have provided him, because his pitiful expression was simply just too much for you.

“I hope this isn’t strange-” you cut yourself. You got reminded of the way Philip comforted Emi earlier that day. And as he looked up to see what you meant, you got up from your chair and leaned against him. A quick peck over his creased eyebrow while you hand found stability from his jaw, your index finger pressed over his cheek. You never saw his look of surprise, and if you did it would probably make you turn back and awkwardly sit back down on your chair from embarrassment. But you didn't, so with your chin resting on his shoulders, you pushed him further into your embrace. Your arms wrapping around his waist.

You didn’t say anything, and you obligated your body to relax from the physical touch you had avoided for so many years, for his sake. Because Vito was the one who mattered right now, and not your foreign feeling.

You closed your eyes. Your arm brushing passed to hold the nape of his neck. “Everything will be alright” you whispered into his ear. Even though you were copying everything Philip said to his sister, you still meant every word from your beating heart.

He wrapped his arms around you, and in doing so he pressed himself more into your body, in an attempt to hide himself from the rest. His tanned hands went along to grab your shirt from your back. His breaths were becoming shakier, and in some instances you felt him hiccup into your shoulder, whilst also trying to control his ragged breathings. You drew circles around his back for more added comfort, tickling his back with the phantom touch of your fingers slowly flowing around the body of his back.

“You’ll be fine” you whispered again, brushing his ears with the warmth of your breath. You slightly removed yourself from him, finding more room to untangle yourself from him. You noticed how his grip on you had become stubbornly stronger. But you didn't mind. Not when you hand crawled up to his hair and cupped the back of it. Your fingers laced with his onyx hair. You faced him, giving him another peck of his cheekbone. And you found yourself with the salty only tears could make, no matter how salty the sea may be, you let his pure tears flow down your taste glands and welcomed it into your stomach.

He hadn’t cried much you realized, maybe just two tears, one for each eye. And while you brushed his head, you felt his breath deepen and exhale, trying to calm himself down as well.

You stood up, your fingers planting over his jaw and nape. Tilting his head upward to you. You could see the shine of his tear river going down to his cheek. A small smile, one you hoped to encouraging, all the while you dried his tears with your thumbs.

His eyes locked with yours, traces of humidity on his lashes as he looked up at you. A shining sclera evident with the way the light bulb reflected on his eyes.

“I’ll make sure of it. '' Your smile widens, showing just slightly your front teeth previously hidden by your lips of affection.

You traced a few messy hair strands behind his ear, and he leaned deeper into your hand’s touch. He suddenly got stuck to you. He missed the warmth your body provided him, how hidden from everyone he felt, and how it made him feel like a little child being protected from the world’s cruelty.

His head was pressed against your chest, and you only chuckled, a few tones lower than your usual voice. You pet his head, sliding from the crown of your head to his neck, just to put it back up, and repeat that move over and over again. You closed your eyes, and a closed-lipped smile appeared in your features, forgetting the upcoming Games. He needed you to be strong for him, and today, you’d protect him from whatever threat lurked behind the dark corners “I promise” you gave him an oath with the very intention to keep it.

The victors sat across from them looking at the two Tributes. Mags looked over at Finnick, and just repeated what you had just done, she placed her hand over his shoulder. She grabbed onto it tighter, her look reflected on his green eyes. Mags closed her lips and eyed him more intensely. Finnick’s frown was present, and he interlocked his eyes with his mentor. She gave him a small smile, and slightly nodded at her, reassuring she needn’t be as concerned about him.

Finnick played with his fingers as he watched the both of you. He just felt something break seeing the both of you, like the only line that kept him sane, was suddenly cut and he fell to a dark abyss, one filled with the monsters he dreams about. He gulped down hard. And something in him wished for your empathic arms to wrap around him. He for once wanted to feel small and well taken care of, he wanted your words to help him cope at night. But he regretted how that could be disturbing for eyes of others, he was your mentor, and you were a Tribute who was most likely going to die soon anyway. He lamented just then, just how many souls, as clean as the white feathers of doves, would be taken for the Capitol’s entertainment.

Mags kept her gaze on the child she had started to consider her only son. She felt troubled over him, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty she couldn't erase his fragile and hurt soul.

Previous // Next

Heyaaa, hope you're having a wonderful day bestiess. I hope you're liking this Hostage so far. Just wanted to say two things

I could start preparing a Taglist for you all if you want to of course <3

Second, the next chapters are going to be DEEP, like a lot of emotional turmoil, so ye, be prepared.

#finnick #finnick odair fanfic #thg fanfiction #finnick x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x you #the hunger games #thg #thg finnick #thg x reader

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lillianofliterature · 1 year

Note

If your requests are open, and you are comfortable with it, could you maybe please do a King Thranduil x reader one-shot where reader has cancer and it is like angsty?

the toll of sickness | thranduil x reader

a/n: Anon, I am sincerely sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to provide all the angsty venting and comfort I could for you in this! Thank you for your request! I wanted to do this right by you. I hope this helps soothe whatever parts of you need soothing today. I don’t know anon’s/anyone’s specific diagnosis or symptoms, so I’m doing my best to remain respectful and widely general with the topic of cancer. I took inspiration from my own experiences with the mental/emotional toll of long-term chronic illness to supply a plot to resolve, I hope that’s okay (and still relatable). <3

The reader is implied feminine in this as they are referred to as lady/queen, but otherwise, I did my best to keep it gender-neutral with descriptions.

This could also be interpreted as a reader with chronic illness.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK. GIF EDIT IS MINE.

summary: after a long day of tiresome treatments and the heaviness of your thoughts, you retreat to your chambers to seek the comfort of your husband’s arms.

warnings: mentions of cancer (the reader has cancer), mentions of cancer treatments and symptoms (including needles), medical exhaustion, nonsexual nudity and nonsexual bathing, open discussions of symptoms, fear of death

word count: 6.1k

music: As Long As We Both Shall Live by Bear McCreary

elvish translations: melamin = my love, melda = my dear/beloved

“I think we will conclude here for today, my lady.”

The head healer’s voice drew your wayward attention back to his prim features. His thin lips spread into a smile as he gently unstrapped the tight leather band above your inner elbow, releasing the tension from your skin. The long syringe with its glass barrel was gently pulled from the blue vein that the pressure had highlighted. You rubbed your arm subconsciously as he set aside the supplies for cleaning, hoping the motion would rid your flesh of the awful sensation of being probed.

You blinked away your muddled thoughts. Briefly, you worried that perhaps he had been talking to you long before you’d heard his assessment to end the treatments for the evening. If you had, you were grateful to find no resentment in his gaze for your absentminded silence.

He softly closed his collection of books that had been displayed around a table on the wall adjacent to your cushioned cot in the infirmary. With a bottle of herbal salve, he applied a generous portion to the inner curve of your elbow, satiating any irritation from his needles. The cool gel of the aloe soothed the itchy redness, while the lavender masked the sterile scent of the medications and intensely bitter herbs.

You glanced up from the healer’s gentle efforts, trying on your best smile. “Thank you for your diligence today, Sudryl. It is very much appreciated.”

He bowed his head as he clasped your hand between his palms, “It is always a pleasure to tend to you, my queen. We will resume tomorrow morning if it suits your schedule?”

“My schedule is always free for your remedies. Thranduil has made sure to take over many of my duties so we may focus on my treatment.”

Sudryl smiled once more as he helped you stand from the cot, draping your silken robe over your bare arms as he did so. “The king is very wise, your majesty. I know you detest this period of healing you’re undergoing, but you mustn't mistake rest for idleness. Your people desire greatly for your full recovery, myself included. In order to achieve that, your rest is crucial.”

You didn’t know what to say. Rest was crucial, you knew that. As were the innumerable treatments and remedies being applied and adjusted every day.

But didn’t anyone understand that you were tired of all of this? Exhausted by more than just the cancer and its seemingly endless repercussions that it presented almost daily. Worn down by more than just needles and salves and bitter syrups that lingered in your throat.

You missed feeling well-rested when you woke up in the mornings after a long sleep—you missed having the energy to spend your days fulfilling your duties as a queen, as a servant to her people. You missed the days in which every activity was not dictated or measured by searing pain or groggy fatigue. You were tired of wrestling with your body just to exist comfortably.

But it’s your duty to get better, they keep telling you.

It’s what everyone’s hoping for, your majesty.

Do your best to rest and eat well, my lady.

Don’t give up hope, Queen (Y/n). You are blessed among our kin!

The people have been petitioning their prayers to the Valar fervently, your grace.

They were supposed to be words of encouragement spoken to invigorate your fighting spirit, to ignite that spark of determination that was starting to flicker these last few months. But these endless strains of hope and enlightenment had started to weigh heavily upon your shoulders like a milkmaid’s yoke, and with every well-intentioned word and chorus of song another stone was dropped into the buckets you carried.

The pressure to recover for the sake of others was beginning to feel like too much—the toll of the sickness itself was enough for one to worry about, was it not? Not only did you feel this fearsome desperation to recover for your own sake, for your own life, but also the need of a thousand other voices begging for a show of strength you didn’t feel tangible anymore.

The summoning of one of your servants outside the infirmary doors reminded you that the hour to retire for supper was nearing presently. You felt your posture deflate as it dawned on you that you couldn’t yet retire for the day. Although your extravagant evening meals were one of the few constants that motivated you to follow your days through until nightfall, your hunger had dispersed in the last few days. Being seated at a stiff table dressed with rich delicacies and savory wines sounded nothing short of torture at the moment, even with the promise of dessert.

The servant curtseyed in the broad doorway as Sudryl led you across the room. You couldn’t help but tense as your legs tremored from the sudden activity. A long exhale slipped through your pursed lips.

“My queen,” She rose gracefully, her hands folding together at her waist. “Your supper with the king is nearly prepared. He will be present in the dining hall shortly as soon as his meeting has concluded. I was advised to escort you there safely.”

Clutching onto Sudryl’s forearm, you hesitated to address the messenger. You couldn’t help the expression of distaste that twisted your face. The thought of food was not the only thing that churned your stomach at that moment; the prospect of being walked through your own palace as though you were an invalid, incapable of making it there of your own merit, as though every pair of eyes in this forest need offer you their due pity, bothered you even more than the risk of losing your supper to the toilet.

Knowing you couldn’t send her away under Sudryl’s watchful eye (for surely there would be further inquiries as a result of such an unnecessary dismissal), you managed to nod in thanks to her before turning to him. The head healer’s smile was brimming with empathy. You tried not to feel offended by his pitying compassion. He leaned forward and pecked your cheek reverently, bidding you a respectful farewell until the morning.

You turned from him and followed the servant into the winding halls. Gaze following the eroded pathway of the massive tree roots beneath your sore feet, you bided the seconds until you were both too far to be noticed by any superior voices that might challenge your decision-making. When your footsteps halted, she turned to face you.

Her brows raised, she asked, “My lady? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I’m alright,” You waved her worries aside with the vague gesture of your hand. “But I can manage the walk to the dining hall from here.”

Her brows drew together in an expression of confusion. You straightened your back—had she seen through your polite fib? Was it that obvious you had no intentions of eating this evening? Or was just she not used to being given conflicting commands between two monarchs?

“—On my own. I can make it there on my own.”

Her lips parted in protest as she recalled what you assumed were very clear orders from your husband only minutes prior. Stretching your hand out to gently touch her shoulder, you reassured her it would be alright. “I will explain to the king myself that I demanded to be left alone. No trouble will come to you, I promise. You will not lose your position.”

“But my lady, I—it is my duty is to ensure your safe arrival. Are you sure you don’t—?”

The irritation that swelled within you wasn’t her fault, you hastily reminded yourself. You bit back the frustrated sigh you wanted to release, tightening your polite smile. Reasoning with another person about what you wanted to do and why you wanted to do it was the last thing you presently wanted to deal with. Desperate to detach yourself from her and anyone else lingering about, you decided to be straightforward. No beating around the bush.

“I value your persistence, young one, but I would very much like to retire early tonight. You may inform my husband that I’ll be taking my meal in our chambers if you must.”

“Understood, your majesty. I shall inform the king. Have a good evening.” She dipped into an impulsive curtsy, quickly trailing back to the chancellery to relay your decision.

You didn’t even wait for her to pass beyond the long hall ahead before you turned in the opposite direction. Your private chambers weren’t too far from the infirmary, thankfully. However, it still took some resolve on your behalf to encourage your depleted energy through corridors and foyers all the way back to your comfortable bed. The silver silk of your robe billowed around your feet with every step, giving your eyes something other than walls of stone and root to follow.

You were sure your husband wouldn’t be taking the present news about your wellbeing all that agreeably. You could see it clearly in your mind—the disheveled, anxious worry in his eyes that he masked behind a wall of solemn regality. But you could always see what he was thinking. He wouldn’t like the fact that your treatments were taking more and more of a toll on your already wearisome state. He would like it even less when he found out you would soon be dismissing supper altogether.

His concern wasn’t for himself, of course. It was for you—it was always for you.

He wanted desperately for you to be able to enjoy your meals in the glittering brilliance of the dining hall, unperturbed by fatigue and nausea. He wanted you to be able to take those strolls through the forest gardens that you adored so much without the sore discomfort in your bones. He wanted you to relish in your life and its unrivaled importance. And most of all, he wanted desperately to take this lingering sickness away; he wished he had been born with a skill for healing like some of his kin.

But all he could give you were the promises of an unsure future and the enlistment of his most skilled associates and all relevant resources that could be found about your condition. And some part of you—some sad, twisted part of you—felt a rush of guilt that so much commotion and worry was being circulated about the kingdom on your behalf. And that guilt only made the whole affair all the more frustrating and maddening. These days, everything inflamed your anger. This whole tumultuous ordeal seemed to be unraveling more than just your physical state.

You knew it was ridiculous to feel responsible in some way for what was happening to you. You hadn’t chosen this, you hadn’t brought it on yourself—you most certainly didn’t deserve it. No one with cancer ever does. But reasoning with your inner turmoil was like wrestling a wild boar in the mud; there was never any true resolve without the cost of more anxieties, more wounds, more gashes in your soul. And the more you tried to gain a grip on yourself, the less grounded you became, the more it all slipped through your fingers.

The click of the door was a chime of resolve as you leaned against the tall wooden frame from within the calm confines of your spacious bedroom. Sliding out of your supple leather flats and letting your robe slump to your elbows, you took the first deep breath you had been able to control since earlier that morning. The king-sized bed frame creaked subtly as you lowered yourself onto the fluffed silken duvet. Ever so gradually, you felt the weight of the vertical world begin to reprieve from your muscles like steam rushing upwards from a boiling pot.

Rest wasn’t a cure for what ailed you, no, but Valar above, sometimes it felt like it.

Since your diagnosis—the terrifying sickness devouring your energy and livelihood from within your own body—nearly every day had been spent in the infirmary or the healer’s sanctuary, remedies administered by the hour, conversations turning tiresome and sour. It had begun to feel like your own home was a prison, the world beyond the palace unreachable, like every action was a strenuous transaction of vitality and exhaustion. Even just walking the gardens that lead into the forest had become inexplicably draining—it left you feeling as though you’d run to Mirkwood’s southern border and back rather than taking a few turns about the courtyard.

But here, on the cloud-like comfort of your private chambers, there was some reprieve from it all. There were no endless strands of questions about your well-being and your comfort and opinions on the tedious details of your health here—only the distant rush of the waterfalls that crashed brazenly into the river moat outside the palace gates. You could hear the chirping of the early summer insects as dusk narrowed on the horizon beyond the open terrace. There was no sterile smell of concentrated alcohol or the pungent gnawing of tart herbs. Instead, there was a faint aroma of lilacs wafting in from the gardens and the scent of your husband’s musk lingering in your bed.

Closing your eyes and rolling onto your lesser-sore side, you sought out the imprint that his body might have left there that morning. But the duvet was creased flat and folded with a chill under your skin. It was curious futility to think his warmth might have lasted after so many long hours away, you knew that; the bed was always plumped and remade in the mornings by your gracious servants. A coldness ran through you, engulfing your skin in little bumps that felt like prickling needles.

Too sore from your aches to unfurl the taut covers from the mattress and too comfortable to retrieve one of your husband’s many fur throws, you recoiled your arm and folded your limbs closer together, curling into a position that would magnify your own body heat. While quietly taking in the environment of your sanctuary, this small peaceful haven that almost made you forget the turmoil your body was enduring, you hardly noticed as you faded into a light slumber. Caught between the ebbing flow of consciousness as it bobbed around the sleepy release of your strained body, wading between thoughts and dreams.

Unaware of the passage of time as you laid there in groggy consciousness, you hardly felt the urge to stir from your position until you felt the back of someone’s hand on your cheek, the brushing aside of your askew (h/c) tendrils. Then you made out the quiet husk of a voice that hovered above you in the dark.

In the dark? Sunset was still a couple of hours away! And after that, dusk would linger still until the light vanished beyond the mountains to the west. Why was it already so dark?

Hadn’t it only been a few fleeting minutes since you’d closed your eyes, listening to the cicadas and savoring the sweetness of the summer flora? Eyebrows pursed, you could hear yourself attempt to answer, but the meticulous reply you’d fabricated in your mind was delivered in heavy vowels that grouped together lazily. Your speech felt like treacle slipping off your tired tongue.

A velvet chuckle reverberated in your perking ears.

“Have I forgotten my native tongue or was that a very poor attempt at Sindarin?”

Thranduil.

Your nose scrunched up as you fought to drain the sleepiness that was working against you so fervently. Before you could stir the tired droopiness from your eyes with eager fists, two gentle hands cupped your cheeks and swept their thumbs over your closed eyes. The motion was akin to a gentle massage, spanning your sore eyelids and dusting across your cheekbones, a cradling of your vulnerable stillness that filled your chest with a fond fervor. The supple tenderness of his lips collided briefly with yours before parting all too quickly.

“Mm?” Your vocabulary hadn’t quite refreshed itself, it seemed. “When d’dju geten?”

Another rumbling chuckle he didn’t bother trying to hide. You pictured his willowy frame standing primly in front of the tall gilded looking glass, unfastening his stuffier robes and tucking his powder–blonde hair behind his pointed ears, or perhaps even tying it back for the night as he often did.

Stars, it felt like there were weights on your shoulders pulling you back against the duvet as you forced yourself to sit up, like the muscles beneath your skin were unraveling at the seams. You rubbed your eyes and shooed your disheveled hair from your peripheral vision, glancing around the dark room for your husband’s silhouette. A flicker of light plumed suddenly in the sconce near the vanity, illuminating his fair features. The match in his hand extinguished with a puff of air from his lips before his pale blue eyes found yours.

“I only just came in,” he reassured you, “I’m afraid I underestimated how much wind some of our advisors have in their lungs, especially when provoked.”

Another votive flickered to life on the other side of the room, another match snuffed out under his breath. The sunlight outside had all but gone in the murky hours you had been asleep. Now that you could take in the mellow darkness of the evening without confusion, some part of you felt distressed about the sudden absence of natural light. The daylight, warm and golden, always brought you a sense of comfort. But now it was dark and grey and the light of the moon was cold, distant, and you hadn't had a chance to prepare yourself for it. Another chill ran across your skin as a more frigid breeze swept in from the open terrace.

“Did Sudryl have a chance to share the news with you before retiring this evening?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at you. His lips pursed when he saw your unmoving figure still sitting on the edge of the bed, your back draped in silks, facing away from him. Your slumped posture told him all he needed to know about how you were feeling after your treatments—the exhaustion was palpable in how slow your palm rose to cradle your own forehead, in how shaky you were as you forced yourself up from the bed and took hold of the bedpost.

He was near you in an instant, his strong hands taking gentle hold of your bowed shoulders. There he was, combing the stray hairs on your head down with doting affection, all while the same frustrations were building up inside of you as your sleepiness dissipated.

“You needn’t rise for me, melamin, I am no guest.” He chided gently.

“I know, I just need a bath before we settle in for the night.”

“You’re in no state to manage that tonight, (Y/n)—”

“Thranduil, I haven’t rinsed off the ointments. I smell like the forest—and not in a good way.”

“You smell like an herb garden, fresh and natural, as all things should be.”

“Pungent is more like it,” You quipped, catching the accent of bitter walnuts exuding from your thin robes. It was that old, damp, dingy sort of bitterness that made you want to expel the air from your lungs with a snort when you caught a whiff of it—not the pleasant sort of musk from the gardens.

He laughed again, this time with more relief behind his eyes. Even though he knew you were spent from the day’s strenuous activities, the presence of your humor provided him with some semblance of comfort. And as for your own weary senses, his smooth strain of laughter was more than a consolation for the muted anxiousness that the infirmary always inflicted.

“Then let me help you.”

“Thranduil, I can do it mys—”

“I insist,” He offered decidedly, and you knew well enough from past experience that arguing with him on the matter would prove ineffective.

He gently looped your arm through the curve of his elbow, placing a sweet kiss to your messy hair before turning along with you toward the adjoined bathing chamber. You leaned into him for support and begrudgingly admitted to yourself that he was right—there was no way you could withstand the exertion on your own, at least not tonight. Not while you felt this lethargic, not while your stress levels were causing such tension throughout your body, making everything denser, slower, sluggish.

Once he led you into the warmly lit haven of the spacious chamber, the steam of the hot spring pool seemed to draw you in on its own accord. The walls and their rugged shapes made the flickering yellowness of the torchlight spread longer shadows among its natural angles and divots. The far right wall was connected to the run-off of one of the many springs that stretched like veins throughout the mountain palace—and it was little cavern rooms like this one that reminded you that you were living in the majesty of a low-peaking mountain, not just nestled in the forested density of the Greenwood.

You knelt at the rim of the bathing pool on the soft stone edge, dragging your hand through the clear blue water. The natural warmth of the hot spring invigorated you with a sense of eagerness as you remembered just how soothing these glowing pools always were. A gentle touch to your shoulder lured your attention back to your husband, who with a fond smile, was waiting to help you unravel your robes and underthings. Taking his hand, you were pulled to stand in front of him with the gentlest limits of his strength.

You hardly felt the pressure or the tugging of his lithe fingers as he helped you undress, his touch but a breeze across your sore skin. When you were naked and chilled from the exposure, he guided you into the blue waters and leaned over the pool’s edge to make sure you were steady on the outcropped seat of eroded stonework submerged in the water. As the bubbling warmth enveloped your flesh, your eyes fluttered shut with an involuntary sigh of relief.

There were very rarely things that proved effective for your ceaseless pains—medicines and supplements only lasted so long or relieved so little, and sleep was growing more difficult to manage. But this—the heat bubbling up from the earth, sorted through sediment and mineral—was the most relief you found these days.

When submerged in the hot spring bath, your entire body numbed to its own plague as your bones and muscles absorbed whatever benefits came from the terrain around you. You briefly wondered how you ever managed to get out the last time you soaked like this, with every inch of your flesh basking in the warmth that enveloped you.

You relaxed against the glossy stones, trying to quiet your mind of all the infernal anxieties pressing a weight against your chest. The noise of your thoughts made it difficult to focus fully on the soothing effects of the natural hot spring, tensing and loosening your muscles and posture between every harsh doubt.

With a fresh cloth he brandished from a side table, Thranduil dipped it into the warm bath and began gently scrubbing away the ground athelas mixture. He’d seated himself comfortably on the edge of the bath, submerging his calves into the pool to cradle you between them. The cloth strummed along your chest and stomach as he reached over and behind, where the herbs from Sudryl’s remedies had been infiltrating the cancerous sickness plaguing your organs. You hadn’t meant to show him how weak you felt, how tired you were, how desperately you needed this—but your head fell back to rest against his stomach despite this as the steam curled around you both, dampening your hair and foreheads.

After your rinsing from the spout of a silver pitcher, he coaxed oils and lathered soaps across your flesh, your own fingers clasping onto the pale skin of his forearm or around his leg, refusing to cease contact with him. And although he generously and willingly offered his aide while the healing minerals of that glowing pool of steam soothed you, some venomous voice in the back of your mind tried to feed you strings of doubt and loathing.

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t have had to become my caretaker.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to get sick—neither of us was.

He deserves more than this mess I’ve given him. He deserves better than me.

You cleared your throat, trying to silence the growing guilt and shame before that stinging swell of tears could grow any more than they already were.

“What was it you were going to tell me?” You asked after the first of his own sweet-scented oils was being lathered along your arms, turning you about to face him. “Earlier, you mentioned something about Sudryl?”

“Ah, that,” he nodded in remembrance, “I gather he didn’t mention anything about Lord Elrond to you today?”

“Lord Elrond?” You inquired, lifting your questioning gaze to meet his. “No—no, he didn’t. Has something happened? Something to do with our alliances? Or with that trade treaty we adjusted with Laketown in the spring—”

“No, melamin, nothing of diplomatic proportions—all is still amiable with our kin for the time being,” he reassured. When he glanced up at you, the tranquil hope glittering in his blue eyes soothed the curious worry growing in your mind. He almost seemed excited about something. It tugged the corners of your mouth into a brief smile. “I sent word to him a little more than a month ago now, I suppose, to see what he might be able to do about your condition, to inquire about whether his skill with healing might mend what ails you.”

You swallowed hard over the sudden discomfort of anxiety that rose again like bile in your throat at the mention of more treatment, more guests, more expectations for healing. More, more, more.

“He is to arrive within a week of his latest correspondence, which came this morning. Preparations are being made for his arrival as we speak.”

Unknowingly, your grip had tightened on your husband’s forearm, your nails digging shallow crescents into his skin. The sharp sensation drew his attention downward to your hands, his dark brows furrowing in concern. His fingers winding around yours brought your attention to your vice-like grip, which you promptly loosened.

“What is it, (Y/n)? Does this news not please you?”

The earnestness in his pale eyes pierced your heart, the guilt bubbling up in your mind again. You weren’t sure what worried you most. The prospect of more prodding, more treatments, more attempts that might lead to nowhere; the fuss being made across the realm about your condition, about this peculiar, harsh sickness that was so puzzling to even the brightest minds; or perhaps, most worrisome of all, was the fact that you were no longer able to manage the upkeep of a happy facade. So many people were hoping, praying, supporting, and tending to you.

And somehow, you found that to be the most exhausting part of it all. Not only were you fighting for your own body, for comfort and life, but you were trying to uphold and appease every pair of eyes that was eagerly awaiting your miraculous recovery from something you didn’t even know how to fight. There were so many hopes to meet, so many hearts to comfort on your behalf, and your resolve was quietly crumbling.

Before you could think to soften your words in an attempt to save Thranduil’s optimism, your lips began to move, a sudden impulse of tears gathering in your eyes. “What if there is nothing even Lord Elrond can do to cure this?”

He paused, his eyes searching yours briefly before his damp fingers reached up to caress your cheek. How had he not seen the disparagement growing behind your gaze, darkening the lilt in your voice? Hidden behind humor and mischievous quips, but no less obvious.

“If—if I do not show improvement, our people will lose their resolve. Everyone’s counting on me to get better, to show some store of strength I no longer have and I–I can’t will my body to right itself,” you bore to him, panicked and spent from months of effort, “I cannot give everyone the hope they're seeking from me."

“Oh, melamin,” his chin nestled over your ear as he murmured with such rich affection, pressing your face into the musky homeliness of his neck.

“I know I should be grateful for their support, for their prayers and their offerings, but it’s becoming too much, Thranduil. I don’t have the strength for a kingdom’s worth of miracles.”

“You do not owe anyone but yourself the grace of your strength. Had I known their encouragement had put pressure on you to perform, I would have silenced the lot of them.”

Despite his sincerity, you panicked on. “What if I am never rid of it? What if this is my blight that I must war with for the rest of my life?”

He sombered then, drawing in a deep string of air into his lungs. You could see him wrestling with the reality of your honesty, with the questions you both had been too afraid to speak aloud before now. Gathering himself, he drew you nearer to him, clinging to you with a brief urgency that almost startled you.

“Then we will rise together each day to face it. There will never be a single day that you will have to endure this on your own. Do you hear me? That is my promise to you—that my vow and my diligence will never waver where you are concerned.”

Your tears burned with his words and you worked to force them at bay, his sweetness drawing every sour fear and thought of guilt from your mind and onto your tongue. “I am so sorry for this life I have given you. You didn’t ask for this—you cannot be happy with me—with this-this terrible thing I’ve brought upon us. You deserve so much more, and I can no longer give it to you.”

“You’re apologizing—?” He questioned, his voice quiet in shock.

Your eyes clamped shut, forcing the well of sorrows from your eyes to plummet. Gently, he pulled himself back, repositioning his hands on your upper arms as if to garner your absolute attention.

“(Y/n), this life you have given me has been far more than I have ever deserved and could ever strive to. From the moment we met, you have enriched my life just by your existence alone, much less the many qualities and traits about you I have come to treasure beyond all fortune or success. You have given me everything, a dozen lifetimes over, in the mere centuries we have been together.”

“You cannot have wanted this,” you breathed out, hushed by your own shame.

“No, I did not want you to suffer with something so abysmal, something so beyond my control. Of course I did not want for your pain…but if this is our future, if this is our path together, then I want every minute of it, and I will not settle for a second less. I would upheave the very crest of the world and drown mountains in flame if it meant saving you. And if that makes me selfish or ruthless, then I will be the standard at which devils compare their sins.”

His hands had gradually found their way up to your face, cradling your damp cheeks with a sincerity that made your lip quiver.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

The sight of the tearful waterline reflected in his eyes drew a noise of curt regret from your lungs. Your sob pierced his heart, filling him with a desperation to amend the shame and anxiety plaguing your mind.

“If you truly believe that you are at fault for this sickness, then in turn I must be held responsible for allowing it to happen in the first place. As your husband first, but also as your king.”

“No, no that’s not true! It’s not even reasonable of you to—”

“Then how can it be your fault? How could any of this be on your shoulders? There is no sense in blame, (Y/n). Not here, not with this.”

There was a stillness after his words, a stillness that was meant for rumination, and sealed with his lips against your skin and hair. Your hands rose to rest against his chest, nestling them over the dip of his collarbone as you felt for comfort in the blur of your tears. His silence prompted an answer.

“It’s not my fault,” you replied.

“Say it again.”

“It isn’t my fault,” you echoed, meeting his gaze once more, “just as it isn’t yours.”

And as shocking as it was for you to realize it, you truly believed the words he encouraged from you. This sickness wasn’t your fault. Neither of you could have had any sway with fate or destiny, with whatever had brought this on. And perhaps, it just simply was, with no cause or fault at all. What mattered now was how kind you could be to yourself, how to take one moment of strife and find something in it to hold onto. Moments like this were one of those morsels between the ebbing aches of pain and grief that you could relish and devour again and again.

Thranduil leaned forward, pressing his sweat-laced brow against yours. “Do not ever blame yourself, melamin. Do not let those foul words pass between your lips again.”

You nodded against him, pulling him nearer. “I promise.”

In the long minutes that followed, there was the solace of quiet intimacy as he rinsed through your hair one final time, peppering you with kisses and caresses at every opportunity. He met you with a soft fluffy towel when he led you out of the bath, never allowing a breeze to nip at your damp skin. His touch was featherlight as he patted you dry from head to toe, scrunching your drenched tendrils of (h/c) hair without complaint.

“I’m still so afraid,” you managed the courage to speak aloud, “What if–...what if this sickness claims my life?”

“You will not part this world without me, melda. Not a single breath will leave your lungs without my sharing it, not a single heartbeat will we not share,” he vowed, the absolute belief in his voice making the promise all the richer, “there isn’t a corner in this world or any other that you could wander to that I would not accompany you.”

Your silk nightgown slipped over your outstretched arms swiftly, sliding down your body and into place comfortably. He did up the lace of the collar with efficiency, not missing the chance to playfully tug you closer with the slightest bit of his strength. You planted yourself against his chest, the smile on your lips effortless with his own. The firm warmth of his arms wrapping around you had the same sort of pain-numbing effect as the hot spring, lulling every fretful thought to a close. His somber laugh reverberated again, this time through your bones, bringing an ethereal kind of peace with it.

The pillows of your large four-poster bed were positioned, fluffed, and repositioned. You waited patiently, upon his insistence, as he untucked and pulled the puffy duvet back for you to crawl under. Once comfortably tucked beneath layers of silk and cotton, he assumed his place beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress as he settled, mindful that every movement enticed your discomfort.

His body heat made you sleepy as you sank further into the covers, fogging your thoughts with a drowsy anticipation for the release of slumber. You’d waited for this moment all day—it had been the image that had pushed you through the hours of treatment and questions—the moment you could finally burrow against his warmth and drunken yourself with his scent. There was a slight stirring as he reached off to the side to retrieve something on the bedside table.

The fluttering of pages caught your fading attention, pulling your heavy-eyed gaze toward the book in his grasp. “Would you like to continue where we left off?”

You smiled tiredly against his chest, not recalling the events of the book he’d been reading to you for the last few nights. Oftentimes, the first few pages would strike vividly in your imagination, but as his lustrous tone carried on through paragraphs and chapters, the sleepy security that his presence enticed made it impossible to recall anything beyond the thrilling hum of his voice. In all actuality, you were quite sure he didn’t mind if you knew anything at all about the story he was reading aloud. It was enough to hold you and be held.

TAGS: @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossoms73 @sunnysidesidra

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