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lookbluesoup · 1 year

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D&D Classes - Nahte'to Vhia

bold what definitely applies to your muse. - italicize what somewhat applies to your muse.

Tagged by @briar-ffxiv and @mimble-sparklepudding Thank you both :D

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𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙽 » toothy grins, stories around the campfire, clothes covered in pet hair, hot temper, old jeans, heartbeat in head, potatoes and steak, beaded jewelry, bruise like galaxies, mementos, backpack stuffed full, craigslist furniture, spontaneous road trips, air ripped from lungs. (11 / 3 / 0 Wow Nahte ok)

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙳 » homemade bread, white lies, easily excited, trying on hats, band geek, pep talks, no impulse control, sunsets, vintage fashion, long showers, selfies, following dreams, rosy cheeks, song mash-ups, pink lemonade with tequila, loves easily, animated storyteller, full of comebacks. (9 / 4 / 4)

𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙲 » list of wishes, biting their tongue, band-aids and neosporin, shoulder to cry on, morning sun, necklaces, trial and error, homemade quilts, formal clothing, astrology fan, messages in bottles, pleated braids, speaking up for friends, feathers, motivational quotes, vivid dreams. (9 / 4 / 2)

𝙳𝚁𝚄𝙸𝙳 » bird watching, shy kid, wind chimes, trying to whistle, summer camp, apple orchards, lost in their head, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, hoodies, thrift shopping, saving worms off the sidewalk, pig latin, bare feet, thunderstorms, numb fingers, braided hair, naming potted plants. (11 / 1 / 5)

𝙵𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝚁 » goosebumps, leather jackets, adventure, chewing nails, cares deeply but can’t show it, bronze locks, no sleep, taste of iron, netflix binges, never forgets, combat boots, stories behind scars, table for one, official soundtracks, sore calves, trusts themselves the most. (9 / 0 / 6)

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙺 » always trying to be better, wanderlust, meditation, sweatpants, old photographs, yoga, sleeping in hammocks, nostalgia, minimalist design, breath of fresh air, baby animals, volunteering, perfectionist, doesn’t care about fashion, healthy snacks, noticing the little things. (12 / 1 / 3)

𝙿𝙰𝙻𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽 » school uniforms, thick jackets, sleeping with the windows open, logical advice, scrap booking, compasses, I fight for my friends, sculpture gardens, cold morning air, big soul, likes routine, secret romantic, last to get jokes, sunflowers, practical presents, misty weather. (10 / 1 / 5)

𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁 » herbal tea, smell of rain, blinking away tears, camping trips, collecting bones, swiss army knives, first impressions, anxious thoughts, bobby pins, burnt marshmallows, too competitive, clothes lines, messenger bags, holding grudges, gets along better with animals than people. ( 10 / 2 / 2)

𝚁𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙴 » flirtatious sarcasm, candid photos, lost phone chargers, adrenaline rush, picking dirt out from beneath their nails, social chameleon, clashing clothes, self-deprecating jokes, claw machines, sits in chairs wrong, smudged eyeliner, has too many sunglasses, eats nothing or everything. (5 / 3 / 5)

𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚁 » infectious laugh, family trees, shivers down their spine, lipstick and roses, mood swings, clumsy, believing in destiny, high expectations, sleeping in darkness, collection of nail polish, passionate, good grades but never studies, poetry books, blowing kisses, not knowing their own strength. (8 / 5 / 1)

𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺 » knowing everyone’s secrets, backpack covered in pins, envy, being in walmart late at night, earl grey, selective memory, conspiracy theories and cryptids, keysmashing, need to know basis, can’t cook, bags under eyes, experimental art, flickering bulbs, black clothing all year long. (3 / 2 / 8)

𝚆𝙸𝚉𝙰𝚁𝙳 » piles of books, cat in lap, keeping a diary, indecision, scented candles, studying alone in a café, lingering touches, museum dates, unanswered questions, taking on too much responsibility, collections, chalk dust, comfy robes, unnecessary apologies, coming home after a long day. (9 / 1 / 4)

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Winning Class: Barbarian

Just right out of the gate I guess x'D This isn't the class I'd have guessed he'd get but y'know, I can see it. He WAS raised in the woods, he IS a protective figure, he doesn't know how to give up. And he loves animals. So many pets. Nahte how do you have so many.

To a lot of outside eyes, he probably does look like a barbarian. Gridania certainly thought so. That doesn't mean he's not an old soul beneath.

I'll tag @ronqueesha & @ellastara and anyone else seeing this who wants to do it! :3

#im tempted to do this for lyrha too since i got tagged twice #also thinking about making one of those posts ppl can like if they want to be tagged by me in memes #ffxiv #nahte'to vhia #dnd class meme

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shadesofblades · 1 year

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D&D Classes: Baatu Ardakium

(Thank you for tagging @briar-ffxiv ! I'm doing just Baatu for now bc there is a lot of stuff here lol. May do it for Aoki if I get tagged again.)

bold what definitely applies to your muse. - italicize what somewhat applies to your muse.

(Winning classes in order are Fighter, Paladin, Barbarian!)

(I am tagging: @midnightmagicks, @sirenofdusk, @eyetheguard, @amissa-fide, @mistdrinkersblade, @azure-seadragon, and you!)

#prompts #thank you again! this was fun!#the moonlit shield// baatu ardakium

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neely-osbarrow · 1 year

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D&D Classes- Neely

Stolen from @briar-ffxiv Anyone else who wants a go can nick it from me ^^ I thought I would have a go at this as Neely basically fell into being a ranger through childhood raising and then pure necessity rather than choice

bold what definitely applies to your muse. - italicize what somewhat applies to your muse

So, I still got the most in ranger, which tracks but I was surprised by how many I got in fighter and druid too for Neely!

#➶neely aesthetic #➶story #➶personality #dnd #dnd oc #d&d #d&d oc #fantasy character #halfling oc #oc blog #rangercore

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seasaltandcopper · 1 year

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D&D Classes - Mal/A'mahl Tia (he's pretty consistent across aus so I'm picking all of them)

bold what definitely applies to your muse. - italicize what somewhat applies to your muse.

Tallied up: Barbarian and Fighter tied with 10, Rogue coming in second with 8. Yeah, that tracks LOL

tagged by: @briar-ffxiv tagging: @ronqueesha, @ellastara, @blood-is-compulsory, uhhh and anyone else who wants to do it. Apologies if I forgot anyone/if you don't want to do it, no pressure.

#tag game answers #salt ocs #salt oc: mal #salt oc: a'mahl tia

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wildgirlcinna · 1 year

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D&D Classes - Cinna

bold what definitely applies to your muse. - italicize what somewhat applies to your muse.

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Yoinked from @briar-ffxiv

#rp memery #dnd aesthetics #this was a fun one!

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actualkomodo · 1 year

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D&D Classes

bold what definitely applies to your muse. - italicize what somewhat applies to your muse.

Tagged by @niomemizune in 2020;; thank you!!

Tags for @pearlescent-scales, @ffxivtribehydrae, @grumpy-limsan-customs-cat, @briar-ffxiv

#|memed #|meme: dnd classes #|jikhaa

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embroiderytool · 2 years

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[FREE-SHIPPING!] $22.0 Vtg Bucilla Embroidery Cotton Kit 98 sk. Double Bed Quilt BRIAR ROSE Design 2323 Embroidery Floss Price, Embroidery Floss Thread CLICK HERE for details.

#EmbroideryFlossPrice #EmbroideryFlossThread

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somediyprojects · 2 years

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Mirabilia Designs #181: Rosamund designed by Nora Corbett.

She has been called Talia, Briar Rose, Rosamund and The Sleeping Beauty.

There are many versions of her story. Here she is draped in delicate violet and lavender quilts. She is wrapped in ribbons. Crystals accentuate her linens. She dreams of roses cascading castle steps. The myth of the sleeping princess will forever enchant us.

Model stitched on 32 count Tumbleweed Linen (65-137) by Wichelt Imports. Alternate fabric 16 count Tumbleweed Aida (355-137) by Wichelt Imports. Stitched area is 17.94″ w x 12.94″ h with a stitch count of 287 x 207. Stitched 2 over 2.

#cross stitch #inspo #x #mirabilia designs #nora corbett

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bevanne46 · 5 months

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Time to hide our Fabric Scissors!!

#crafts #gifts #decor #holiday #christmas #quilting #sewing #quilters of tumblr #briar rose quilts #scissors #fabric #hiding

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whumping-to-conclusions · 3 years

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So I lost the ask where I received this prompt, but it was from @ironwhumper359. She had given multiple options, but I decided on 14 +28!

14. cottage, 28. poisoned blade

This is another installment in my whump fics centering around Pyotr, a Kvani man from the world of a Victorian-equivalent supernatural detective novel I'm working on. I'll be making a masterlist soon, but you can find my first Pyotr fic here.

Enjoy!

CW: Burn scar, fever, past whumper (assassin) reappearing, poison, restrained with ropes, gunshot, character death (from gunshot)

Pyotr stepped into the cottage, shaking off his rain-soaked coat and hanging it on a hook by the door. This should be a safe enough place to spend the night. Shining his oil lantern around the place, he saw that it was small, but blessedly dry. Large windows gave a view of the woods surrounding the house, darkened by the rainstorm, and a small cuckoo clock made a gentle tick-tock, tick-tock in the background. A wooden rocking chair sat in front of the hearth. It was draped in colorful quilts and, upon closer inspection, exquisitely carved with flowers and vines.

Stepping into the adjacent room, the golden ring of light from his lantern shone on a bed--a real bed!--piled with more quilts. Oil paintings hung on the walls, and white stone vases on the windowsills held dried flowers. This place would be the first real comfort he’d seen in weeks.

Glancing around the cottage, the place looked abandoned--the bedsheets were rumpled, but the fireplace in the main room was ashy and cold. Probably sometime in the past week, since not much dust had collected anywhere yet. The poor soul who owned this cottage must have gone off and died in the woods. Bear attack, maybe. Pyotr had heard there were bears in this part of the country.

One night here couldn’t hurt. He hadn’t seen Briar in weeks, since he’d given her that terrible burn back in the hotel. There wasn’t any way she would find him now, especially now that he was tucked away in the woods like this, right?

Pyotr strode over to the hearth and struck the flint and steel he kept in his pack, setting the ashy logs ablaze. As the flames crackled to life, he crouched and warmed his hands in front of the fire, feeling the molten heat glow on his rain-drenched skin. Gods above, that felt good. He straightened up, stripped down to his wool drawers, and curled up in the rocking chair, wrapping the quilt around his soaked, freezing body. He watched the flames for a while. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The cuckoo clock made a rhythmic, soporific beat in Pyotr’s ears. How warm it was here… how lovely it would be to rest….

A shadow passed in his periphery. Pyotr’s eyes snapped open and he slowly rose from the chair, letting the quilt fall onto the ground.

“Thought I couldn’t find you here, didn’t you?”

The rough burr of Briar’s voice still sent a chill of dread down Pyotr’s spine. He’d heard it in his dreams, every night since their first encounter.

“I told you I wouldn’t rest until you were dead. I’m not the kind to give up. I’m not the kind to flee, unlike a certain man that I know. Deserter.” She spat out the last word like a curse.

Pyotr didn’t dare move, even as he heard Briar step closer. “Kill me,” he rasped. “What are you waiting for? Put your knife in my heart. I’ve got nowhere to go.”

“That would be far too quick for you, deserter. You left the Styx, and I want you to suffer for what you did to me.” Briar stepped in front of him. In the dying firelight, the twisted burn on her cheek was a livid scarlet. “I killed the little old woman who lived here, you know,” Briar crooned, her lips curling into a smirk. “She’s buried in the garden, being eaten by the insects and birds she loved so dearly. Funny, isn’t it? How we’re all eaten eventually?”

Pyotr couldn’t stop his breath from hitching. What was Briar going to do to him? Burn him? Torture him?

Pyotr raised his fist to punch Briar in the ribs, but Briar was prepared. She slugged Pyotr in the gut and twisted his arm behind his back. Pyotr howled in pain as he felt something in his arm pop.

A few minutes later, Pyotr was tied up in the rocking chair, hands bound tightly together. Briar crouched beside him and raised a knife. Its cruel, curved edge glistened a strange green in the firelight, like it had been dipped in….

“That’s right,” Briar whispered. “Poison. I’ve been saving it for this moment. You’ll be in pain for hours until you finally drop dead.”

Fear burned with cold fuel in the pit of Pyotr’s stomach. Though he clamped his mouth shut tight and closed his eyes, he could not stop his limbs from shaking as he waited for the slash to come. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The sound of the cuckoo clock was the slow, hard beats of Pyotr’s heart, pulsing in his heaving chest.

There it was―a sharp, efficient slit in the crook of his arm, a viper’s bite. Pyotr grunted as he felt a drop of warm blood roll down his arm.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. How long until the poison took effect? How long until he started to shiver and scream as it made its course through his body?

A few moments passed before the pain began. A dull, aching throb in his arm that spread as the minutes went by. Soon, his whole body hurt. Pyotr tried to move into a more comfortable position, but he was bound so tightly to the chair that he could barely move a muscle. All he could do was sit, enduring the ache in his bones, breathing deeply and trying not to groan, trying not to let Briar know how much pain he was in. At some point, the shivering started. Then the sweating. Even as he had resolved to stay strong, the ache worsened until he couldn’t help but cry out. Sweat trickled down his temple and dripped onto his clavicle.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it, deserter?” Briar said. “Imagine how I felt after you stuck that poker in my cheek. That took weeks to heal.”

Pyotr could only whimper in response.

As the hours went by, the cottage echoed with his screams, but Pyotr found no relief. His body was an enemy, a trap that he could not escape. Briar watched on, occasionally whispering gloating comments in Pyotr’s ear.

“No one is coming for you, Pyotr,” Briar crooned at some point. “Your friends are long-gone. They think you’re dead, left in a snowy grove with your chest split open.”

“Someone will come for me,” Pyotr panted. His mouth was dry, his skin pulsing with heat. “If not them, then someone else.” The words were achingly naïve, he knew, and he wasn’t even sure what “friends” Briar was talking about, but saying them brought him comfort, however small, something to cling to.

Briar gave a long, slow smile, saying nothing.

Pyotr lost track of the time he spent in that dark cottage. Briar had closed the curtains over the windows, so no daylight found its way into that foul place, letting Pyotr know that morning had come.

At some point in this feverish haze, Pyotr heard the door crash open. He lifted his head as Briar rose from his side and stepped towards the door. No sooner had he heard the shink of a dagger being drawn before a gunshot cracked the air, making Pyotr jump.

Briar’s body thudded to the floor not three feet away from him, a trickle of blood trailing from her mouth, eyes open and glassy, her knife clattering to the ground.

A pause, before a low, feminine voice broke the silence. “...is she dead?”

A tall man knelt beside her and pressed two fingers to Briar’s throat. “Yes. She’s gone.”

The floorboards creaked as someone knelt down in front of him. A woman―sable-skinned, with a tumble of dark braids and a tattoo of a rattlesnake coiling around her shoulder. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. The room was spinning.

“Pyotr,” she said. Another wave of pain racked Pyotr’s body and he cried out.

“Pyotr, are you okay?” She reached out and felt his burning forehead with a cool, slender hand. “Pyotr, answer me!”

More voices rang out in the cottage. “Pyotr! Pyotr!” So someone had come for him after all.

Their voices chased him into the dark.

#whump #whumpblr #whump fic #whump blog #poison #poisoned blade #dagger #knife whump #oc #writing #victorian whump #unconscious #pass out #poisoned #restrained #rescue #gunshot #character death #shot

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berryblissbby · 3 years

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Whispers of the moon, endurance of the heart

Pairing: I have literally no clue I’m sorry. I have no set character but I can see Dabi, Aizawa, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Mattsun, Sakusa, Atsumu, Osamu, Kita, Suna, Jean, Reiner I know that’s a lot I’m sorry

Work Count: 1.4k

A/N: This story came to me very vividly, but i literally have no context. It started as one idea and then bloomed into this. I’m still pretty proud and wanted to share. I hope you like my vague, obscure story <3 He can turn into a wolf (I hope that clears one thing up lol)

The last smoke from the summer's festival fires had blown away on cooler winds today. The night sky crystalline from where you watched it in your bed, an inky blackness with winking stars.

The moon shone brightly, its view as clear as a looking glass, a glowing face in the sky. So bright, its light pooled into thought your window, lighting up your room, and the world outside.

The white panes of your window framed the sky, and were turned silver by the moonbeams. You watched the trees whose leaves brushed the bottom of that dark space. The leaves shone and swayed in a breeze, forever reaching to the endless sky.

You were cold. A cold that froze past your flesh. It seeped into your muscles and bones, frosting over your marrow. You felt fragile, so frozen over that you could shatter any moment. Porcelain.

A little doll, becoming more and more inanimate every day. Each night a piece of you would slowly freeze over, giving way to cool glossy glass.

How ironic the bed clothes you wore, a white silky nightgown, with lace along the trim, cutting low and stopping high along your thighs. The silk was a different kind of cold, it wrapped around you like a gentle breeze, brushing its icy fabric against your skin. You should have worn better nightclothes, warmer nightclothes. But it would have made no difference.

It had been a gift, you couldn’t resist wearing it once.

The fire that had once been burning bright past the foot of your bed was little more than embers now. Not that either felt any different from the other. No matter how great the fire, how many quilts you covered yourself with, or what you wore, you would be cold.

Looking again to the night sky, you curled your little porcelain toes, feeling just how frigid they were as they pressed into the pads of your feet. Next you curled your little porcelain fingers from where they were tucked away under your chin. You could have sworn you heard the glass tinkling, gently touching at the joints.

Nothing would make it better. Nothing but him.

You threw the blankets back, your body meeting the cold rush of air. Chills ran over you, gooseflesh spreading under the rapidly cooling silk covering your body. You pressed your feet to the floor, forgoing slippers. It was so cold it stung, but you fought the urge to curl back into your bed.

He was out there, you knew it. He was always out there, waiting. Watching and guarding.

You hated him; hated him so, so much. Everything he did filled you with anger, you loathed him like no other. Never having felt such disgust, his presence made you want to be sick. It made you want to curl into the recesses of your mind, to imagine a place where he couldn’t touch you.

Or at least, that's how you used to feel about him. How you still tell yourself to feel.

You don’t think of how those feelings had been replaced. Replaced with twitching fingers that longed to bury themselves in the warmth of downy fur. Replaced with dark eyes, yearning for rest.

You still hated him. You did.

Each step was colder than the last. Longing filled your bones, longing to not be standing, to rest. It was so hard to stand, to have your head so high.

You ignored the cushioned seat below you, letting yourself only kneel on it for a second while you unlocked the window and swung your legs over the sill. Carefully you slid down, your feet landing on the soft dirt, barren of any weeds or grass in favor of the manicured bushes and plants that surrounded the perimeter of the manor.

Making your way through the ever so carefully planted briar, you felt your nightgown catch and tug on twigs and branches, but didn’t stop. The moment your feet touched the grass beyond the garden plot, you fought to keep your knees strong.

Two more steps and you were tumbling into the grass, so soft and gentle against your frozen skin. Your breakable skin. It was so hard to be upright, the grass granted your heavy head refuge.

Running your fingers through it, you imagined it was the furry scruff you were craving. Imagined the dirt below it radiating heat, instead of sapping it from you.

You also couldn’t…. you couldn’t sleep. Stuck in an infuriating in between. Always drifting, never to fall over. The knife's edge that you had been skirting never giving way; always keeping you dozing. In between.

He would fix it.

You stared up at the night sky, falling into that space. The stars glowing pinpricks, only to be blotted out. You didn’t know when you would close your eyes, but suddenly they would be open again and you would be met with the face of the moon.

Laying not quite on your back, not quite on your side, you stayed there. Not quite asleep, not quite awake. Watching the trees sway, the wind whistle thought their branches, a harmony for the two of you. Freezing but numb.

He would find you.

He had thought you dead.

Only for a moment, when he first saw you as he prowled on padded feet. As his wolf gazed at you, it itched to release its claws and find the cause of what lay before him. Until he heard your beating heart, and even breaths.

Asleep but not. An angle, but earthly. His gentle Juliet, waiting among an altar of grass, shining in the moon.

He made his way to you, and watched as your eyes slowly blinked open, and shut again. Opening your arms you silently beckoned him. He entered them with no qualms, wanting to shudder at how you immediately ran your hands through his fur.

Burying his face in your neck, he shifted.

“You're not hurt.” A statement mumbled into your skin as he kneeled beside your splayed, pliant body.

A soft, “Mmm,” was your only response.

Nuzzling his face into your skin he took deep breaths. Looking for any sign of fear or adrenaline, smelling for any spilled blood. He emerged from your neck to look at your face. Turned to the moon, eyes closed.

“Is this you giving in to me?”

“No.” A simple answer, the easiest one you had to give.

Liar.

Liar, he wanted to sing, to scream and chant and repeat over and over. Liar, liar, liar. But it was your truth. No matter how many times you weakened, how many times you let him hold you, to make you better, you would never fully give yourself to him. Never wholly, in body and soul, in heart and mind.

“Shift.” You commanded, and he knew what you needed. He could feel how cold you were, how your legs were twitching for what you really wanted.

“Get on my back,” was all he could offer, turning into the vision of what you craved.

He tried not to think of how high your nightgown rose as you straddled him, and how tight your thighs were squeezing his hips.

Burying your face between his shoulders, he could feel your hot breath seeping through his coat. Your arms again wrapped around his neck, burrowing your fingers into his thick fur to rest among his downy undercoat, letting the heat from his body warm you.

He knew you were using him to fight the aching inside of you. But he would endure your stubbornness, cure its plight when you couldn’t stand it anymore and called for him.

Endurance would be his to conquer. To know through and through. To memorize the throbbing in his heart that it caused, the swelling and suffocation in his chest.

He could endure it. And you could use him.

He could especially endure it while he laid with you. In the place he had chosen with a view of the stars, where the spindly aspens parted just enough to let the cool moonlight through.

When you had your cold little fingers buried among his fur, resting against his skin; he could manage. From where he laid with his head in your lap, and his tail covering your toes, watching you breathe; he’d let you use him. And from where you laid, your torso resting along his side, your face turned to his, he would let you rest, to gain what you craved every moment you weren’t with him.

Your fleeting moment of warmth would be gone, a restful night of sleep would only last for so long. Soon enough you would call on him again, and he could endure, would endure, until then.

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beyondtheciouds · 3 years

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I of The Storm

The little bluebird house in the middle of the Parisian countryside was cold; too cold for July, she knew from experience. Matthew and her always came here when it was hot; when the sun burned beyond the night so they could lie in bed feeling the warm breeze settle on their sweating skin. But tonight was different. Matthew had fallen asleep right after, and Lucie had felt chill in her bare flesh.

Uncomfortable, was more the word.

Her breath puffed in front of her face like clouds in black water as she pulled the nightdress back on. The breeze was soothing ice as it sang through the open windows along with the creatures of the night cusping her body like a lover as she settled into bed.

If I could face them If I could make amends with all my shadows I'd bow my head and welcome them

The river beyond the property stank of frogs mating and insects breeding. Carnivores seeking their prey among the trees. Josiah cried out, probably from a nightmare. Jonas shushed his brother; scolding him for being awake at such an odd hour.

Micheal, in his crib, cried out. No doubt he'd been awoken by his brother's squabble.

Moments later, footsteps rounded up the stairs. Brigit, the ancient housekeeper from London pushed the door to the boy's room open with a sigh. Lucie had dragged her here to watch over the children. A moment of crying passed, then the toddler was calmed, soothed by a very short story; the other child was wearily told go back to bed; not to worry. A baby shushed with a lullaby, the old maid's voice quite slurry.

A door closed. Footsteps retreating down the stairs.

Gooseflesh flooded Lucie's skin as she kicked the quilt off; her body burning fever hot with fear. Sweat glistened on her forehead; salty tears dripping like raindrops down her cheeks and onto the pink silk pillowcase.

But I feel it burning Like when the winter wind stops my breathing Are you really gonna love me when I'm gone? I fear you won't I fear you don't

Lucie Blackthorn stared into the dark, waiting to be taken away.

And it echoes when I breathe The boy she loved as a child. The man she adored as an adult. The familiar melancholy juniper eyes that haunted her daily in the eyes of her sons. The simple white collared shirt and plain black trousers he'd worn so often, still hanging in the closet back at the house in Hamburg. The routine way his fingers walked up her spine like tiny spiders.

Until all you'll see is my ghost

He had come back. Come back to find her-- to take her and his children, his boys home. His voice; so real in her ear like a melody she missed for years. "Lucie, my love, where have you been?"

Jesse, she pronounced his name in her head when she closed her eyes again. Jesse. Come home, darling. Come home, she called to him, her mouth moving soundlessly. In her mind, her body ran through briars and thorns; roses rising up from the ground beneath her feet, although her body stay paralyzed in bed. She yielded to her desires; hands and arms eagerly reaching for him. Take me, take me, take me.

Drums. Horns. Chanting.

Empty vessel, crooked teeth

Tatiana's stabbing screams as her son died for the second time.

Drums. Horns. Chanting.

Wish you could see

The heavy beat in time with her heart and the turning of the earth as ghostly shovels unveiled grave after grave. The soil turning to dust.

And they call me under

Tessa frantically calling her name; her arms whipping wildly like the wind. Will's quiet urging; warning her not to return to London no matter what happens. Ashes falling; houses burning.

And I'm shaking like a leaf

James and Cordelia, huddled together; their corner cries evident of their plentiful pain. The axe, bloody, gripped in Lucie's hand. The fox; fur and flesh butchered at her feet.

And they call me under

Christopher holding Grace up, his eyes narrowed like violet moonflowers. Thomas holding Alastair down; his strong arms bending arms like tree branches.

And I wither underneath in this storm

The untimely laughter of her grandfather, Belial mocking in the background. A flash of silver; chains of iron around her wrists and ankles.

The hem of her canary nightdress was ripped and torn; shredded pale skin bleeding underneath like deja vu as she stumbled. "I command you Jesse. Come to me." She sounded like a stranger.

I am a stranger

Her feet; bare, rough and calloused felt as heavy as stones as she staggered through the castle grounds towards Jesse. Dead leaves crunched under foot until her body felt stiff. Her heart stopped, chest heavy. Breath cloned the night; still as stones in the riverbed.

I am an alien inside a structure

Struck; her brittle bones betrayed her. Lucie's body was giving out and she collapsed, chestnut curls tangling in the roses only a few feet from Jesse. She cried, scrambling to get any kind of grasp or footing. Fingers and feet flailing and failing beneath the heavy iron cuffs.

A crack; like lightning, her world suddenly flipped upside down. She was flying. Woozy; dizzy she felt her grandfather hit her harder than expected, sending her further away from Jesse.

Are you really gonna love me when I'm gone?

Her cheek burned of the raw feeling of being slapped; bones snapping; broken in her face.

With all my thoughts

Jesse sunk to his knees; hands molded into prayer for his love.

And all my faults

She closed her eyes as the shadow of Belial covered her. "Get up."

I feel it biting I feel it break my skin, so uninviting Are you really gonna need me when I'm gone?

The church bells ringing in the distance were what woke her out of a deep slumber that morning to her dismay. Remembering; reminding her of something that would never be if she had her way. A day that she never wanted to become real.

Groggy, the baby kicked inside her, nudging her out of the dissociation of sleep and internally, she scowled at the babe. The wedding would have been today, she thought drearily glancing beside her at the sleeping form in the queen sized bed. She would hold off as long as she could, but Charlotte, having now two grandchildren would expect a wedding sooner rather than later.

I fear you won't I fear you don't

The man smiled in his sleep, his white teeth gleaming like pearls in oysters beneath the lips she had known been kissed a thousand times before. Women had marveled at her. Men wanted to be her. She had tamed the London Lion; King of Infidelities' was no longer. The Fairchild ring glistened on her finger beside the emerald engagement ring; his promises to her. He had loved her for so long, his heart did not know any different. Now that she was finally his, he'd changed.

And it echoes when I breathe Until all you'll see is my ghost

Lucie had preened like a peacock at first; her reputation already indisposed by the addition of another bastard. Society was eager to see her wed; her children cared for by a man with a good family name and money to dispose of.

Empty vessel, crooked teeth Wish you could see

Lucie, however, did not care what society thought or needed. If others had known, they said no word. Michael had been an accident and this baby, well, this baby was a necessity.

And they call me under

Matthew rubbed her skin; mumbled her name; pulling her close as if he owned her by heirs alone. "Lucie, kiss me."

And I'm shaking like a leaf

She pushed his heavily runed arm that was draped over her body like a sheet, off like it bothered her to be touched. "Shush, you'll wake the boys."

And they call me under

The manicured hand flapped like a apricot wing and then landed on the bed. The soundly sleeping owner muffled a disgruntled noise that sounded similar to a swear; rolling over on his side with a grunt. With his broad back to her; the golden hair appeared like a halo on his head.

And I wither underneath in this storm

She wished it were him instead of Jesse. How could she?

I feel it

She bolted upright, disturbed by her selfishness. She carried his child too and his other was in the same room as Jesse's boys. They were both glued to her; body and soul for eternity.

And they call me under

Lucie's stomach gurgled in revulsion and nausea rose in her throat. She started rubbing her tired eyes; reflecting how the day might play out. She hoped it would not be a terrible reminder of what should have been.

Matthew might stay quiet she knew, but Charlotte and Charles weren't so easily persuaded. The retired Consul and the new Consul were both eager to have the Blackthorn boy's last names legally changed to Fairchild.

A scandal they were now; Matthew and her. Four children and not wed. Matthew had been used to gossip, but Lucie was not.

Lucie decided she would not think about the day, only go through her routine like normal. She was well aware that her priorities would shift today if Charlotte came to speak to her. She almost expected an arrival for mid-afternoon tea.

Of course, Lucie would be obliged, scheduling another false date. Tomorrow would come and be better because she'd be able to write. Putting on her best face, she began watching the sun rise through the uncurtained windows. A new dawn on the horizon; another chance for her to come clean to Matthew about Jesse's second death.

And I'm shaking like a leaf

He would ask soon, she knew. In the last year, he asked several times what happened.

Could she this time? Would she be able to confess?

Lucie didn't think she was capable of such honesty. She pulled the maid bell instead, thinking of excuses.

She wished Jesse hadn't been ordered by the angel. Sequestered like Jem to a leftover life beyond death; beyond living. Now she knew how her mother had felt for all these years.

Empty. Betrayed.

Like something precious had been stolen from her; a could have been; a should have been; a would have been. Her future.

And they call me underneath to this storm

The baby kicked again as she set her feet upon the pristine hardwood floor and Lucie marveled at the mud, blood and scratches covering her skin and canary nightdress. She placed her hands on her thighs as Marta, the maid, came into the room, bright eyed and bushy tailed. She was talking nonsense as usual, oblivious to Matthew's naked body.

Dumbfounded, Lucie whispered to herself, glancing at the stained bedsheets, "But it was only a dream."

#cassandra clare #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #fanfiction #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #matthew fairchild #of monsters and men #i of the storm

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phrynewrites · 3 years

Note

1-3 and 7 for the fic asks please 😌

Thank you for the asks baby!

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

COFFEE SHOP AU BABEY. No but really I love writing morons, silly jokes, fluffy kisses, and everything going wrong spectacularly. That’s the fic I live in.

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

I’d love to try like a friends with benefits kind of fic, but I typically do more pre-established relationship or friends to lovers, but not the lil in between bit. So I’d love to try it.

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

I mean, there are some that just feel icky to me so I’m just not into them and like wouldn’t write them, wouldn’t read them. But like, in terms of regular tropes, I wouldn’t write a magic au or anything really high fantasy that involves a lot of world building. I know my writing works best when I can reference stuff in the real world and use real world humor and comment on real stuff, and I find that so difficult when I can’t integrate it. But kudos to everyone who does fantasy and magic because they’re so fun to read.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Here’s a snippet from my Like Real People Do Au (Scyvie):

“Hello, love.” And Yvie anticipated that she was empty as well, calm, assured. But she breaks on love, needing Scarlet closer, bound by her own accord, needing to say it to her face. Her lip quivers. A tear leaks and runs as far as it could, unencumbered. And when she licks her lips, she tastes salt.

Scarlet remains quiet for a moment, her grip still tight, firm, as though her only offering is her presence, though Yvie supposes she is thankful for that. She had prepared herself to remember the cake and kissing Scarlet’s temple and residing under her quilt, speckled with intermittent dried blood from sewing mistakes made years ago, to be her last memories of Scarlet. She’d reconciled with that. She turned it over and over as the bay turned sand and shells. She embedded the sweetest parts, as though they too were dusted in cinnamon and wrapped around honey sweet apples, as though they too were crafted by Scarlet’s hands.

Yvie hadn’t considered this possibility, of course. There was always the possibility of leaving Scarlet behind in this world without her, letting the world live without a permanent weariness, though she should not see it. But for the both of them to exit together, hand in hand? Her chest swells at the thought.

“I…” Trembling. Scarlet shifts, encasing Yvie’s hand entirely with her own. “I wish this were in more loving circumstances.”

Yvie takes a pause, takes the worn lace of Scarlet’s cuff between her fingers, unconscious of how hard she’s rubbing it, finding her touch sensitive, pulling at each individual thread as though these threads could bind her to Scarlet.

Though, really what the difference when it’s all to be gone forever in one charred moment. She lets herself wander, to look down rather than up. She can see Scarlet in lace. New lace, white and stark and bustling in the breeze. And a new woolen dress, rich against her skin, rich with the flowers woven in her hair, thorns and briar roses wound like a crown. It’s winter and there’s nothing more than Scarlet, snow-pale hands bound between hers, and crisp lace against her wrists. Yvie can imagine them bound to one another, this whole life long, beginning with that winter and that new lace and those flowers with all their lush morning dew. And then the gimmel rings...

Yvie is wishful. She has to glance down, make sure she is not already aflame, make sure that she’s not already lightheaded from smoke she can’t see.

There’s no better time to be wishful, she supposes. It’s all that is left.

“Never to be bound to anyone else,” Yvie whispers to herself.

But Scarlet hears her. They share the same breath and the same air and she hears her. “Neither was I.” She takes Yvie’s other hand, writhes about under the rope to reach her. She shutters as a stone hits her thigh, but grips her hand tightly nonetheless. “It’s only you,” Scarlet says with a hiss, unable to tend to her pain.

Another stone is thrown. Misthrown. Yvie’s collarbone seers, and Scarlet grips her tighter, shushing, extending her fingers to bring her closer, ever closer. God, to bury herself in Scarlet’s chest. That is all she could ask for.

She sees Scarlet hit as well. But Scarlet only grips tighter, anchoring Yvie back to her, trying as she might to turn the rope to her arms. She always tries to be soft. Grace. Sometimes she is graceful.

#thank you for the ask baby girl #for rebeccah #asks answered #fanfic asks #like real people do au

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takingcourage · 5 years

Text

Mobilis in Mobili

Pairing: Sir Luke Harper x MC

Word Count: 2,450

Summary: During a rainy day at the seaside, Luke and Helena consider the nature of change.

Note: This story was written as part of my 150 Followers Celebration and fulfills kiss prompt #7 (topless and face-down, a kiss on the shoulder blade). Credit for the title belongs to Jules Verne and my ultimate literary crush, Captain Nemo.

Mobilis in Mobili: moving amidst mobility

The first raindrop landed on Luke's nose, running along the curve of his nostril before it lost momentum on his upper lip. The second splashed against Helena's ear, the cold startling needles beneath her skin. By the third drop, Luke had taken her hand to guide her back to cottage that had been their home since the previous afternoon. She paused for just a moment, casting a final look toward the brilliant orange of the morning sun.

As she watched, the surface of the water became speckled with rain, the agitation beneath suggesting that more was brewing than a simple autumn shower. She turned away to follow Luke, wondering if these were the sights that had earned her husband's love for the sea.

Their pace quickened as the skies continued to pour forth with increasing vigor. Her thin slippers, tugged back on in haste, did little to aid her in gaining traction through the loose sand beyond the shoreline. Helena lurched forward, the shadows of the jacket Luke held over her head blocking her view of uneven path. His arm was at her side in a moment to catch her.

"I'm well, Luke," she promised, giggling at the foolish image they would have made had anyone else been at the seaside to observe them.

"We're nearly there," he encouraged as they came within sight of their temporary abode. He flung open the door and ushered her in, stopping to flick the excess water from his jacket onto the ground outside. When he had finished, he stepped back, latching the door and casting his eye around the darkening cottage.

"It looks as though we may be stuck inside for a while," Helena surmised as she brushed the wet curls from her eyes. "But I cannot fault the company."

"Nor I." The affection in his voice produced a shiver that had nothing to do with the inclement weather.

The dampness of her clothes finally settling against her skin, Helena drew close to the fire Luke was stoking back from embers. “We’ll dry much faster if we change out of our wet things,” he advised with a quick glance back at her.

She nodded at the welcome suggestion, fingers already working at the ties of her dress. Still, she watched him as he worked the coals, divided focus slowing movements that should have come easily.

He added a log to the fire, the flames crackling greedily to consume the new wood. In the glow, his eyes gleamed emerald as she stepped nearer. Three months of marriage, and her heart still raced every time she saw the way he looked at her when they were alone together. She hoped it always would.

Luke joined her in standing, his posture straight and still as he allowed her to assist in his process of undressing. Helena’s deft fingers made short work of his shirt, tugging out the layers of fabric that had been tucked down the front of his trousers.

"You're soaked through," she noted quietly, wondering how many times he'd been similarly drenched without a place of retreat. How many times had he gone without someone to care for him?

I will see that he lacks for nothing, she promised as her hand lingered over the well-known scars on his chest.

He covered her fingers with a large hand, dragging them gently from the puckered skin at his side. His lips skimmed the knuckles with the lightest of kisses before he returned the hand and directed his attention to the fastenings at her shoulders.

She watched his face as he worked, feeling his efforts come to fruition in the loosening neckline. Idly, she wondered whether there was anything which his hands were not skilled in doing. If there were, she had yet to discover it.

Moments later, he eased the shift over her head, leaving her bare before him. “You are beautiful, my Helena.” With a tender smile, he extended a hand to cup her cheek.

Helena stood on her toes, offering her mouth for a kiss.

His lips tasted of wind and rain, wakening a heat deep within her that even the cool of autumn could not steal away. It was only with some effort that she pulled back to gather their clothes from the floor. While she arranged their wet things by the fireplace, Luke stepped into a dry set of trousers.

"Perhaps..." she began, catching his movement in the corner of her eye. "Perhaps we should wait for these to dry. There is little reason for us to dress fully now. No one is here to see us, and it will be some time before we are able to return outside."

He laid aside the shirt, but his fingers still worked to fasten the buttons of his pants. "I would not object to that."

Task complete, Helena crossed the room, winding her arms around her husband’s waist and pressing her cheek to his bare skin. Even out of the wet clothes, she was far from warm. A faint shiver crossed her shoulders as Luke’s arms circled them.

"I may not be fond of it, but tea is very good for warming up on such mornings," he suggested, stepping aside to pull a quilt from the bed. Returning to her, he wrapped the blanket around her petite frame.

“Indeed, it is,” she agreed, clutching at the fabric. “But since you do not fancy it, I suppose I will have to keep you warm instead.”

“I would not object to that either.”

Her lips pursed slightly at the quiver of humor in his tone.

While he began boiling water, Helena took stock of the supplies they had brought with them from his estate. The servants had done them a great favor, not only preparing days' worth of food in advance, but including all of the things they might need to cook for themselves as well. She thought that Briar might have had something to do with the state of the provisions, especially when she located the little pot of honey that had fallen to the bottom of one basket.

Setting it aside, she replaced the contents of the basket -- a task that took much longer with one hand occupied in holding up her blanket. When she had finished, she sat and watched her husband’s capable form over the fire. Even as they had adjusted to the roles of their new life, moments like these reminded her just how quickly the familiar had become foreign.

"Is this what you imagined when you wished for a cottage by the sea?" she inquired softly, pulling the corners of the quilt into a knot at her breast.

He turned from the fire momentarily in order to address the question. "You already know that life with you is much more than I ever imagined, Helena."

"That does not quite answer my question,” she protested, falling quiet for some moments before she attempted it again. “Do you never wish for a simpler life?”

Luke withdrew the boiling pot and set it beside the fire to steep. Contemplative, he rocked back onto his heels.

“Our life may be far from what I expected, but I would do nothing to change our fortunes -- especially when we may rely on Briar to help arrange for such disappearances as this one," he urged with a smile. "With her to assist us, I doubt that this will be the last time we escape to the sea together.”

"I hope that it is not.” Her legs scratched against each other as she pulled them up under the chair. “Though I’m not sure I expected this particular excursion to be quite so dirty,” she observed, rubbing the salt and sand that had dried on her calves.

"Was it not worthwhile to walk barefoot through the waves?” Luke poured her a measure of tea and sat across the table.

She thanked him and took a small sip, mulling over the question he had posed. “It was worth seeing the sea at your side.”

He watched closely to gauge her response. “You do not like it on its own?”

“I’m not certain what I think of it. At the moment, I find it rather frightening. And there’s rather more sand than I imagined. I’m afraid I’ll be finding it in my shoes for months to come, and that part of life by the sea does not seem very appealing."

He laughed gently at her complaint, green eyes shimmering with his amusement. “My imagination rarely included sand. I spent little time on the shore."

"Then tell me what it is like to be at sea. What is it about the water that you love?"

Even beyond the sand, her own first impression had been less favorable. She could smile as the foamy waves lapped her feet, but the thought of being stranded in the midst of the wide ocean made her shudder. It was too large -- too uncertain for her to understand his great affection for it.

"That would be a very long story indeed."

Thunder boomed, a tremor reverberating throughout the small cottage.

“This seems a good day for long stories.” Helena tightened her hold on the mug and took a draught of the liquid.

"Very well.”

“But if I am to keep you warm, then I must join you for the telling.” She stood, barely catching the edge of the quilt before it slipped from one shoulder.

A smile flittered across his face at her brief struggle.

“I do not think this chair is large enough for both of us.” His eyes darted from her to the opposite wall. “Perhaps we should sit before the fire, where we may both be warm.”

Tea in one hand, Helena rose to the balls of her feet and pivoted toward the place he’d indicated. Her tiny steps beckoned him to follow, but he outpaced her easily. Once there, he sat a distance from the flames, legs outstretched so that she was able to easily climb into his lap.

She untied the blanket and spread it around both pairs of shoulders. Luke’s hands held her secure, arms encircling her slender waist once everything had been properly situated. She sighed with contentment as her bare skin settled against his broad chest.

“This is very pleasant” she mused, slipping one arm outside of the alcove to retrieve her tea.

“It is, perhaps, too pleasant. If we sit like this for very long, I may be in danger of forgetting the sea altogether.

With a titter, Helena slipped from his lap to the floor. “I’ll return once you’ve finished your story.”

Luke leaned down to kiss her crown, one arm stretching behind to draw her close. Heads together, he began to speak.

For nearly an hour, he told her of moonlit nights with calm, open seas; of the ceaseless rocking that enticed sleep such as no other force could bring; of the bliss of seeing land at long last after a hard voyage -- countless descriptions and tales that Helena endeavored to commit to memory.

She listened intently as he spoke, and while her own feelings toward the sea remained unchanged, she thought, perhaps, that she could understand his better.

By the time his words had reached their end, the roaring fire had dwindled and they had long since given up their seated positions in order to lie beside one another atop the quilt.

"Has your curiosity been satisfied?” he asked finally, voice low against the patter of rain above them. “Or is there anything else you wish to know?”

She considered the sum total of all she knew, both from his words and from her own observations. “Just this. The sea that I have observed is nothing like what your stories describe. Even between this morning and yesterday evening, it is completely altered. What is there to love about something that is so full of changes? How can there be any comfort in returning to something that is never the same?”

"Aye" he agreed readily. "It changes often. But I think I love it more because of the changes.” His gaze dropped to the blanket beneath them as he wove his thoughts together.

Helena gave him room to think, lazily combing through wild curls that were still damp from their previous drenching. When his eyes returned to her face, she was startled to see the depth of emotion held within.

“It is rather like the way I love you, though my love for you is much greater.” Luke swallowed, the lines in his face softening as he continued. “Helena, you have altered a great deal since you first arrived at Edgewater. Few would recognize in you now the same frightened girl who’d just come from Grovershire. Yet, I love you for many of the same reasons that I loved you then. In the months that have passed, I have seen many sides of you, but there is not a single one I do not love.”

Luke looked on her meaningfully, and she felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. Throat thickening, Helena rolled onto an elbow to get a better look at him. He gazed back with honesty and adoration, and she wondered what on earth she could have done to deserve such complete devotion from so generous a man.

"My love for you is constant, Luke," she breathed, brushing her fingers along the length of his strong jaw, “even through the changes.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade, the thick muscles rippling under her touch. “And it is the deepest love that I have ever known.” She traced a line of kisses to his neck, pausing at the nape tenderly. When she pulled away, he turned to his side and drew her into his arms.

She melted against him readily, every vein alight with desire to show him her promises were true.

He searched her face, though her features could hardly be discerned in the dim light. “You are the greatest change to my life, my Helena, but the greatest constant too. I would not trade this life with you for all of the dreams and stories my mind has ever devised. I have the sun itself. How could I desire more?”

The fire before them had faded to embers, yet the flames within Helena burned bright as she met his lips in a passionate kiss.

A shock of thunder rumbled, and rain beat heavily against the panes of the small window. But neither thought of the weather, or even the sea that lay outside. They did not even ponder the future changes which waited for them beyond the cottage walls. Instead, they found joy in one thing they knew would never waver.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #desire and decorum #sir luke harper #luke harper #harper x mc

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goldenclasp · 5 years

Text

words that stay between us

a kingdoms of thorn and bone fic

August Writing Challenge

Day 13: Hurt/Comfort

Rating: General

Word Count: 1,974

Summary: It’s been four months since they last saw each other, Aspar is shocked to learn that he’s a father! Winna is more concerned with whether or not he’s been faithful. Will they be able to talk through their problems? Or will Aspar’s habit of dodging serious conversations get in the way?

A deeper look into the heads and hearts of KTB’s first couple during their book 4 reunion!

ao3

Fatigue clung to his eyelids like cobwebs to a dusty door frame. He sat heavily on the bed, feet squared on the floor, hands in his lap.

Aspar White had experienced more near-death scrapes in the last year and a half than he had in all his forty or so years. It was almost a shock that he was still breathing, especially after the latest of these encounters. Aspar rubbed his bruised knees, letting his mind tumble back over the sensations of the morning. Falling and the impact of the hard earth under his back as he rolled, and the woosh of air by his ears. And the pure displeasure of looking at that hideous creature. And the hateful gaze of the nobleman’s boy. It had been a rush of emotions and adrenaline and-

Winna.

She had seemed shocked to see him, wide mouthed, out of breath.

And pregnant.

That detail, the roundness of her, stood out stark against the image in his mind of how she had looked last he saw her.

Out of the silence of the room came a sharp knock. It rang through the plain room, muffling in the quilt of the bed. Standing he glanced at the door, it was a knock he had both been hoping for and dreading. When he opened the door, Winna was standing there. Her body was tense and she had the eyes of a frightened deer. And in her wide eyes was the same look she had given him that morning, one of disbelief. In her eyes a forest of thoughts and questions rose up tangled and confused hiding something he couldn’t identify.

Standing before him, she looked almost exactly the way she had before. Light wheat colored tresses unbound, and falling over her narrow shoulders, matched the goldish brown of her eyes. And she was just as small. Well, in height.

“Are you unpoisoned now?” Her voice held a strained note to it.

“I reckon.”

“You’ll kiss me, then, or I’ll know why.”

His hands found their way onto her hips holding her firmly but welcomingly. She fell into his arms, nestling there, taking up as much room as she could manage. The relief he should feel was missing. The physical feelings all he could muster.

Her mouth was warm and soft but something between them was wrong. Discordant. Something between them was different. Too many questions seemed to buzz like insects right beyond her mouth. And so the kiss went on longer than its sincerity. She pulled away from him, reaching to cup his face in her rough hands and she smiled. It was genuine and yet the joy held back a bit from her eyes.

“So,” Aspar said, glancing down at her round belly.

Her eyebrows went up and the displeasure was so familiar it set his heart thumping in his chest. “That had better not be a question Aspar White.” She said. “I truly hope you’re not asking what I think you are.”

“No,” He said quickly, knowing his voice rang false. “I just- but, uh, when?”

“When do think? When we were last together! That time in the tree house.” She smiled indulgently, letting her eyes say it all. With a gentle zeal, she took his face in her hands and kissed him again. “This babe is yours, no question about it.”

His heart beat harder in his chest and a sick weight like lead settled in his gut. No. That had been the day she had been poisoned by the woorm. A terrible chill crawled up his spine. Of course she had conceived that day. Of course he had laid with her that morning, when the danger had been greatest. And by the cruel hand of fate that had been the day she…

“That’s not the look I was hoping for.” She said flatly.

“I’m just- I’m trying to take all this in is all.” That she was really with child… with his child! That weight in his stomach was growing and he felt nauseous.

“Well yah, yah, I’m trying to take it in too.” She pulled back a bit. “Where have you been? Where have you been Aspar? With that woman? What is she doing with you?”

“Leshya?”

“You know who I mean!”

“That’s a long story Winna.”

“You had better start then.”

He took a steadying breath and touched her side carefully. “Sit down.”

She sat. On the bed, perching on the edge.

“I went off after the woorm, followed it for a long time up through the Bairghs. Deep up in there I caught up with it, but I wasn’t the only one. Hespero had been tracking it too. Somehow.”

“The praifec?”

“Yah.”

The lying churchman. Hespero had tricked them like the snake he was. And if the old man’s plans had gone right, he and Winna and Stephen would be dead. If the churchman had gotten his way…

He paused. And looked at her, letting his eyes take in the swell of her belly. “He tried to kill me, so I reckon he knows we don’t work for him anymore.”

“Tried to kill you?”

“Yah.”

Fidgeting, “He was in the wrong place to do it, up on a cliff and me below, so I gave him the slip. But Fend was there, too.”

“Right. Riding the woorm.”

“Ai, and there were Sefry in the mountain: Leshya’s people. I think they were fighting the praifec. But I was occupied. The Briar King showed up, only you and Stephen were missing.”

“You didn’t find him?“

“No. I killed the woorm with the praifec’s arrow. I got into a fight with one of them Mamres monks, he hurt me bad. Broke my leg. If it hadn’t been for Ogre, I’d be dead and that’s certain.”

“Ogre…?”

He cleared his throat gruffly, “Didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry Aspar.” Gingerly she stood, cradling her belly, taking a step toward him.

He shrugged, “I meant to pasture him soon, the chance just never came up. But he died fighting and I reckon that’s how he would have liked to go.” he paused. “Fend. He, ah, killed the Briar King.”

She stopped, hand mid sweep toward his face, “What?”

“With that same arrow. Turns out it can be used any number of times, not just the three Hespero said. Fend was about to use it on me when Leshya showed up and got us out of there.”

Responding icily, “Convenient.”

“Yah, but I got sick after that. Really sick. When I came to my senses, she had found us a hiding place, but I wasn’t able to travel for months.” He looked into her eyes, hoping to make her believe him. “Fend found us. He’s on my trail again and he’s not alone. We can’t stay here Winna.”

Narrowing her eyes, “You were alone with her for four months?” she asked.

“Yah.”

“That must have been awful cozy.”

He felt the emptiness in his chest flare up, angry, “That’s kindertalk, Winna! There’s nothing there. If anyone’s been courting all this time, it seems it was you.”

“Emfrith? He’s sweet.” She tapped her arm, “He’s not you. He is not the father of my child.” And taking a deep breath, “As for kindertalk, yes, I’m young enough to be your daughter, but that doesn’t make me a fool for being jealous. In fact, it gives me even more reason Aspar! I have even more reason to suspect her! You don’t see the way she looks at you, but I see it.” Her expression softened. “It just means I love you. I don’t want you to leave me, I don’t believe you would, but I was beginning to lose hope. I was beginning to think you were really dead, that you wouldn’t return. And then you show up with her? Just don’t get all angry and don’t you dare,” She jabbed a finger at him, “dodge my question. You tell me nothing happened between you, and I’ll not raise this again, ever.”

“Nothing happened.”

She let out a deep breath, slowly, keeping eye contact. “Fine.”

“We’re done with that?”

She paused, to examine his face. To check his eyes and the curve of his mouth. But then looked away, “Yah.”

“Good.”

“That’s all? Don’t you have more to say than that?”

Aspar closed his eyes for a moment. “You know how I feel about you, Winna. But maybe it would be best for you- and the babe-”

“Stop,” She held up her hand. “Just stop there. There’s no best for me. There’s only you. You know I never asked anything more than you could give, but you have given me something! This is what I always wanted and you gave it to me.” She stroked her belly gently, lovingly. “I never imagined I’d lead a normal life with you, holter. You never promised it, and I still don’t expect it. But whatever happens,” She reached for his hands and pressed them palm down on her abdomen. “This child is ours.”

He stared at his hands pressed to her swollen middle, the warm pressure should have been comforting but revulsion rose in his throat and he closed his eyes. From the dark of his closed lids bloomed the vision of the black slick greffyn being born from the cow. Grassy meadow morphed into a dark bubbling pit in his mind. And the natural creature’s scream pierced his ears. Aspar’s eyes shot open, to see Winna’s soft smile. She let go of his hands and clasped his arms.

“Winna.”

“What?”

He swallowed hard, the nausea in his throat slithering down into his gut. Sceat. Grim take the Sarnwood witch. And curse any great force that had let him act the fool he was. “Let’s take you somewhere safe, then. Somewhere you can have this baby without fear.”

“You’ll go with me?”

“Yah.”

She smiled and wrapped her arms tightly around his back, so that the hardness of her belly pressed into him. “I believe you. I promise I’ll never say anything about that woman and you again.”

He resisted the urge to step back, to distance himself from her and what might be there. “Good.”

“I’ve missed you, Aspar White!” She held him tighter, “You’ve no idea how I’ve missed you.” Her smooth cheek brushed against the rough stubble of his jaw as she leaned into him. The churning of his gut connected with the relief of her touch like a blow. What kind of creature was growing in her? Human? Or something greasy and demonic?

Even still Aspar’s body leaned into her, for it felt so right to touch her, to sink into her embrace.

She let go, taking his hands. “Where shall we go?”

He lifted her hands to his mouth and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. As he began to answer, he meant to say that they would go to Virgenya or Nazhgave, or to the sea, any place that seemed outside the sickness of the wasting world. And yet, when he opened his mouth strange words tumbled out. “To the Mountains of the Hare,” he heard himself say. “I can protect us there.”

Strangest of all was how smoothly the lie slid off his tongue.

She didn’t seem to notice, only glow with a new found happiness.

And he kissed her again.

Winna smiled into his lips, the swarm of questions gone now. All that remained was the relief of a woman that believed she would be safe. He could not return her joy, because she would not be safe. But- now that he had touched her again, held her, he knew that he would hold her until the very end. Even if the things he had to do harmed her. Even if she came to hate him. Even if it meant the end for both of them.

He wouldn’t let go.

Not again.

A/N my goal for day 13 was to try to mimic Keye’s writing style. can’t say I did it… but I can say that I’m a step closer in trying to fill the void in my heart left from the lack of Aspar/Winna content.

I really love their relationship! so, hopefully someone else finds this and is just as thrilled to find the only shred of Thorn and Bone fanfic out here.

#aspar/winna #aspar white #kingdom of thorn and bone #greg keyes #fanfic #fanfiction #born queen #hurt/comfort #august writing challenge #day 15 #suuuuuuuuuper late but whateves #V important tag-but knuckle kiss #book 4 aspar and winna reunion #winna rufoote #i never realized she had a last name until i wrote this and had to look it up #age-gap relationship #canon couple #obscure book things

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